The headquarters of the Office of Naval Intelligence occupies the entire fifth floor of the sprawling Pentagon, an enclave in the middle of the largest office building in the world, with seventeen miles of corridors, and twenty-nine thousand military and civilian employees.

The interior of the Office of Naval Intelligence reflects its seagoing inheritance. The desks and file cabinets are either olive green, from the World War II era, or battleship grey, from the Vietnam era. The walls and ceilings are painted a buff or cream colour. In the beginning, Robert had been put off by the spartan decor, but he had long since grown accustomed to it.

Now, as he walked into the building and approached the reception desk, the familiar guard at the desk said, “Good morning, Commander. May I see your pass?”

Robert had been working here for seven years, but the ritual never changed. He dutifully displayed his pass.

“Thank you, Commander.”

On his way to his office, Robert thought about Captain Dougherty, waiting for him in the parking lot at the River Entrance. Waiting to escort him to the plane that would fly him to Switzerland to begin an impossible hunt.

When Robert reached his office, his secretary, Barbara, was already there.

“Good morning, Commander. The Acting Director would like to see you in his office.”

“He can wait. Get me Admiral Whittaker, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

A minute later Robert was speaking with the Admiral.

“I presume you have finished your meeting, Robert?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“How did it go?”

“It was … interesting. Are you free to join me for breakfast, Admiral?” He tried to keep his voice casual.

There was no hesitation. “Yes. Shall we meet there?”

“Fine. I’ll leave a visitor’s pass for you.”

“Very well. I’ll see you in an hour.”

Robert replaced the receiver and thought, It’s ironic that I have to leave a visitor’s pass for the Admiral. A few years ago he was the fair-haired boy here, in charge of Naval Intelligence. How must he feel?

Robert buzzed his secretary on the intercom.

“Yes, Commander?”

“I’m expecting Admiral Whittaker. Arrange a pass for him.”

“I’ll take care of it right away.”

It was time to report to the Acting Director. Dustin fucking Thornton.

Dustin (Dusty) Thornton, Acting Director of the Office of Naval Intelligence, had won his fame as one of the greatest athletes ever to come out of Annapolis. Thornton owed his present exalted position to a football game. An Army-Navy game, to be precise. Thornton, a towering monolith of a man, had played fullback as a senior at Annapolis, in the Navy’s most important game of the year. At the beginning of the fourth quarter, with Army leading 13-0, two touchdowns and a conversion ahead, destiny stepped in and changed Dustin Thornton’s life. Thornton intercepted an Army pass, pivoted around and charged through the Army phalanx for a touchdown. Navy missed on the extra point but soon scored a field goal. After the ensuing kick-off Army failed to make a first down and punted into Navy territory. The score stood at Army 13, Navy 9, and the clock was running.

When play resumed, the ball was passed to Thornton, and he went down under a heap of Army uniforms. It took him a long time to get to his feet. A doctor came running out onto the field. Thornton angrily waved him away.

With seconds left to play, signals were called for a lateral pass. Thornton caught it on his own ten-yard line, and took off. He was unstoppable. He charged through the opposition like a tank, knocking down everyone unlucky enough to get in his way. With two seconds to go, Thornton crossed the goal line for the winning touchdown and Navy scored its first victory against Army in four years. That, in itself, would have had little effect on Thornton’s life. What made the event significant was that seated in a box reserved for VIPs were Willard Stone and his daughter, Eleanor. As the crowd rose to their feet, wildly cheering the Navy hero, Eleanor turned to her father and said quietly, “I want to meet him.”

Eleanor Stone was a woman of large appetites. Plain-faced, she had a voluptuous body and an insatiable libido. Watching Dustin Thornton savagely plough his way down the football field, she fantasized what he would be like in bed. If his manhood was as big as the rest of his body … She was not disappointed.

Six months later, Eleanor and Dustin Thornton were married. That was the beginning. Dustin Thornton went to work for his father-in-law and was inducted into an arcane world he had not dreamed existed.

Willard Stone, Thornton’s new father-in-law, was a man of mystery. A billionaire with powerful political connections, and a past shrouded in secrecy, he was a shadowy figure who pulled strings in a dozen capitals of the world. He was in his late sixties, a meticulous man whose every movement was precise and methodical. He had razor-sharp features, with hooded eyes that revealed nothing. Willard Stone believed in wasting neither words nor emotions, and he was ruthless in obtaining what he wanted.

The rumours about him were fascinating. He was reported to have murdered a competitor in Malaysia, and to have had a torrid affair with the favourite wife of an emir. He was said to have backed a successful revolution in Nigeria. The government had brought half a dozen indictments against him, but they were always mysteriously dropped. There were tales of bribes, and senators suborned, business secrets stolen, and witnesses who disappeared. Stone was an advisor to presidents and kings. He was raw, naked power. Among Stone’s many properties was a large, isolated estate in the Colorado mountains, where every year scientists, captains of industry and world leaders gathered for seminars. Armed guards kept out unwanted visitors.

Willard Stone had not only approved his daughter’s marriage, he had encouraged it. His new son-in-law was brilliant, ambitious, and most important, malleable.

Twelve years after the marriage, Stone arranged for Dustin to be appointed Ambassador to South Korea. Several years later, the President appointed him Ambassador to the United Nations. When Admiral Ralph Whittaker was suddenly ousted as Acting Director of ONI, Thornton took his place.

That day, Willard Stone sent for his son-in-law.

“This is merely the beginning,” Stone promised. “I have bigger plans for you, Dustin. Great plans.” And he had proceeded to outline them.

Two years earlier, Robert had had his first meeting with the new Acting Director of ONI.

“Sit down, Commander.” There was no cordiality in Dustin Thornton’s voice. “I see by your record that you’re something of a maverick.”

What the hell does he mean? Robert wondered. He decided to keep his mouth shut.

Thornton looked up. “I don’t know how Admiral Whittaker ran this office when he was in charge, but from now on we’re doing everything by the book. I expect my orders to be carried out to the letter. Do I make myself clear?”

Jesus, Robert thought, what the hell are we in for here?

“Do I make myself clear, Commander?”

“Yes. You expect your orders to be carried out to the letter.” He wondered whether he was expected to salute.

“That’s all.”

But it was not all.

A month later, Robert was sent to East Germany to bring in a scientist who wanted to defect. It was a dangerous assignment because the Stasi, East Germany’s Central Security Secret Police, had learned about the proposed defection and was watching the scientist closely. In spite of that, Robert had managed to smuggle the man across the border, to a safe house. He was making arrangements to bring him to Washington, when he received a call from Dustin Thornton, telling him that the situation had changed, and that he was to drop the assignment.