«Good morning, honey.»

Tommy mumbled something that his mother couldn't quite understand and kept his eyes focused on the screen. Kennedy rubbed his head, picked up his empty cereal bowl, and headed into the kitchen. On her way past the table, she grabbed the milk and put it back in the fridge. After placing her son's bowl and spoon in the sink, she started the coffee maker and grabbed a banana.

As she leaned against the counter, her thoughts turned to Rapp. The anonymous tip to the German authorities about the freighter had gone as planned. For good measure, they had also alerted the media. That way, the BKA wouldn't be able to downplay the story. As far as what had happened with Hagenmiller, Kennedy was in the dark. The Counterterrorism Center had the ability to monitor events from afar, and with the help of the Global Operations Center, there wasn't a news story that could break without them being informed in fifteen minutes or less. The problem with this particular story was that Kennedy had to play dumb. She couldn't let even her closest people in the CT know that she had any idea that Hagenmiller was going to be taken out.

Kennedy finished the banana and told Tommy to turn off the TV and get dressed. He reluctantly obeyed, and fifteen minutes later they were out the door – Kennedy with two cups of coffee and Tommy with his football and rubber Godzilla. Waiting for them in the driveway was a dark blue Ford Crown Victoria with their driver, Harry Peterson, from the Agency's Office of Security. Irene and Tommy got in the back seat and said good morning. Kennedy handed Harry the fresh cup of coffee, and they were on their way.

Kennedy had resisted getting a driver. She lived less than ten minutes from Langley and at first saw it as an intrusion into her private life. Unfortunately, though, the previous summer the Washington Post had done a profile on her titled «The Most Powerful Woman in the CIA.» Kennedy had not cooperated with the interview, and the president himself had asked them not to pursue the story; But the Post went ahead and did it anyway: She wanted nothing to do with the limelight, and more directly she wanted the people she was hunting to know as little about her as possible.

The fallout from the story was predictable. The threats started to roll in. Thomas Stansfield moved decisively. He ordered a security system for Kennedy's home and gave her a driver. The CIA monitored the security system, and at least once a night, a CIA security team would drive by the house and check things out. Kennedy was also given a pager with a panic button. She was ordered to have it on, or next to her, twenty-four hours a day.

Tommy was at that age where there was no such thing as an inappropriate question. He had glimpsed Harry Peterson's gun one day while the two of them were playing catch in the driveway, waiting for Irene to come out. Tommy had asked to see the gun, and Harry resisted his natural instinct to say no. Harry was fifty-one and had learned that the last thing you wanted to do with a young boy was to make something taboo. It only served to pique their curiosity. Harry showed him the gun, gave him a very stern lecture about safety, and let him touch it. Later on, during the drive into Langley, Tommy had blurted out the question, «How many bad guys have you killed?»

Irene had wondered the same thing many times but had, of course, never asked the question. Men like Harry Peterson didn't fall into this line of work when they grew bored with selling copiers. They were typically former military types, cops, or covert operators who were a little too old to be crawling around rooftops in some Third World hellhole.

The car pulled up in front of the Old Headquarters Building. The OHB was completed in 1963, and the New Headquarters Building was finished in 1991. The two buildings combined had more than 2.5 million square feet of office space. Irene and Tommy entered the building and stopped at the security checkpoint. Irene signed Tommy in, and the guard gave him a visitor's badge that restricted him to the common areas down one level. After she scanned her own badge, mother and son went through the turnstile and downstairs.

Like all of the other modern government agencies, the CIA had become sensitive, inclusive, and caring. Full day- care services were offered six days a week. Kennedy only used them on Saturday mornings, and Tommy actually liked it. He had gotten to know some of the other kids, and they typically enjoyed their Saturdays together building and then destroying things. Kennedy signed him in with Joanne, the weekend den mother, and then resisted the urge to kiss Tommy on the head. His friends were watching. She had been severely reprimanded on several occasions for committing this egregious act of affection in front of the guys. Instead, she waved and said she'd be back down for lunch.

Kennedy went back to the elevators and took one up to the sixth floor. In 1986, Ronald Reagan signed a presidential finding that authorized the CIA to identify terrorists who had committed crimes against American citizens and help bring them to the United States to stand trial. Later that year, the Counterterrorism Center was born. Its purpose: to coordinate the fight against terrorism, not just within the CIA but also with other federal agencies. Cooperation with other agencies, especially the FBI, was not something that had been encouraged throughout the CIA's history; This was a first, and there were many individuals among the old guard who saw this new relationship with the FBI as a sign that the end of the world was near.

Next to the door was a simple sign with black letters that read «Counterterrorism Center.» Before punching her code into the cipher lock, Kennedy paused, collected her thoughts, and pushed. The room's main features were its projection screens and a large two-tiered rectangular conference table. The middle of the conference table was raised several feet. Underneath it sat a vast array of computer monitors, secure faxes, and phones. This mess in the middle of the room was the nerve center. This was where the case officers sat and coordinated information and activities with allies and other U.S. government organizations. The room was a cross between a network news control room and an air traffic control tower.

The first face Kennedy saw was that of Tom Lee, the CTC's deputy director and Kennedy's number two. Lee was speaking with two of the case officers who had been working on the Hagenmiller case. When he saw her, Lee cut off the two case officers and crossed the room to Kennedy. Halfway there, he jerked his head in the direction of her office.

The two converged outside Kennedy's door, and Lee gave his best «You're not going to believe what happened» look. Kennedy and Lee got along well. Both were quiet, even-tempered intellectuals. As was traditional with the deputy director slot at the CTC, Lee was not an employee of the CIA. He was FBI. This was the brave new world that the Counterterrorism Center had pioneered. Under Kennedy's command were employees of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Secret Service, the National Security Agency, the Drug Enforcement Agency, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco arid Firearms, the Defense Intelligence Agency, the Pentagon, the State Department, the Justice Department, and scientists from the Centers for Disease Control and Lawrence Livermore. Fifteen years earlier, not even the heads of these agencies would have been allowed to view the classified material that these mid-level analysts were able to.

Lee closed the door and placed his hands on his hips. Bureau all the way, he was wearing a suit and tie, even on a Saturday morning, though at least he had taken his jacket off. The CTC tended to be a little looser on the dress code than the rest of Langley. Most of the case officers out in the pen were wearing jeans. Lee was a native of Seattle, though his parents had immigrated from Korea. He had graduated from the University of Washington with a double major in accounting and computer science.