«Oh my God! You can't be serious!» Rudin was back out over the table.

Calmly, Clark replied, «And what may I ask is wrong with Dr. Kennedy?»

«Where do you want me to start?» asked an incredulous Rudin.

«Wherever you'd like.»

«First off, she's an insider, and we sure as hell don't need another insider running that damn place. We need someone who will go in there and clean house. Someone who will pay the strictest attention to congressional oversight. Above and beyond that, she's not even qualified.»

«She's done a very good job with the Counterterrorism Center,» argued Clark.

«Bullshit, I don't believe a single briefing she gives my committee. That woman is a liar and a conniver, and I'll be damned if I'll allow her to take over as DCI.»

«From what you just said, it sounds like she's the perfect person to run an intelligence agency.» Clark couldn't help smiling just a little. This was going all too well.

«I'm glad you think this is funny, Hank. It's one thing to lie and connive when dealing with our enemies, but when they come before my committee, I want the truth, and the bottom line is that there is no way in hell that woman is going to give it to me.»

Clark pointed at Rudin. «Did you ever stop and think that she doesn't tell you things because she knows you would like to cut funding for her agency in half?»

«That isn't her prerogative. She is bound by law to report the facts to my committee, and she doesn't, and it pisses me off.»

«Then you should investigate her.» Clark had just put Rudin in check. He knew Rudin was the ultimate party man. To investigate Kennedy would mean bringing down the heat on President Hayes, a fellow Democrat. Rudin retreated and crossed his arms, conflicted between his loyalty to his party and his hatred of the CIA.

«Let's all just calm down a bit,» interjected Midleton. As unhappy as he was with the president at the moment, the last thing he wanted was Rudin going off on a witch-hunt. The Republicans would gain serious mileage out of a Democratic congressman going after a Democratic president, and as a member of that president's Cabinet, the last thing Midleton wanted to see were congressional hearings. They had a habit of expanding, and once the shooting started, no one knew who might get caught in the crossfire.

«I am calm.» Clark took his napkin and set it on the table»

«Good.» Midleton glanced over at Rudin as if to tell him to stay quiet for a few minutes. Looking back to Clark, he said, «Who would you like to see take over at Langley?»

This was far too easy. Clark cautioned himself not to overreach. He had his person and two more as backups, but now was far too early to throw a name out.» As I've already said, it's not my job to nominate. I only confirm.»

«But if you could pick someone?»

Clark shrugged his shoulders. «I have no idea. I haven't put any thought into it.» He added with a laugh, «Not that it would matter.»

«It might,» offered Midleton.

«What he's trying to say,» interjected Rudin, «is that we don't like the idea of Kennedy taking over. And from what you're telling us, she's the president's choice. I am prepared to go to the president and tell him that I oppose Kennedy's nomination, but considering how vocal I've been on the issue, it will be no big surprise to him. He and I have been around and around on this issue, and we cannot see eye to eye.»

«Why don't you threaten to cut funding?» It was a very subtle jibe. Clark knew Rudin didn't have the votes on his own committee to push such a policy.

«I'm a party man, and you know it, Hank.» Rudin said this as if it was the most honorable thing that could be said of a person. «I can't go against my president on this.»

«Well, I don't know what to tell you, gentlemen. If you don't like Kennedy as a nominee, then you'd better find a way to change Hayes's mind.» It was a high lob back to their side of the net.

Midleton fidgeted in his chair before speaking. «If you were to come up with a nominee who was more palatable than Kennedy, we would be willing to take that name to the president and plead your case.»

Clark tried to act surprised. «So you'd like me to play the bad guy.»

Midleton didn't like the term but nodded.

«Please tell me why I'd want to do this?»

«Because,» started Rudin, «there are a thousand people in this town alone who could do a better job of running that damn place.»

Clark nodded slowly. «I'll think about it.» Then, while checking his watch, he said, «I should get going. Is there anything else?»

Both men said no, and then Midleton added, «just please be open-minded about this. We can help each other.»

Clark said he would try and then left. As soon as he was gone, Rudin turned to Midleton and said, «He'll play ball I know how to handle Hank.»

«I hope you're right. I don't think our foreign policy could take much more of this cowboy mentality.»

«Don't worry, I am.»

Midleton wished he could feel more optimistic, but he was still smarting from his meeting the morning before. The president had turned into an absolute hawk. He needed someone to reel him in. Kennedy needed to be cut out of the inner circle. Midleton looked over at his fellow Democrat. «Maybe it would be a good idea to call Dr. Kennedy before your committee.»

Rudin scowled. «Why would I want to give the Republicans a chance to make political hay out of this?»

«Think of it as taking the wind out of their sails before they can make an issue out of it on their own.»

Rudin liked the idea. He'd love to take her to task and remind her whom she answered to. «I'll do it, but I don't want to hurt the president.»

«Don't worry, it won't. I don't think she would ever expose him to that type of scandal.»

While waiting for his limousine to pull around, Senator Clark could barely contain his glee over how the meeting I had gone. Things had not turned out in Germany the way he had planned, but now, with these two buffoons offering their assistance, the end result would be the same. His backers for the Oval Office would be very happy. Very happy indeed.

The warehouse was located near the National Arboretum off Blandensburg. When the gray Dodge Durango came skidding around the corner, one of Duser's men was waiting with the garage door open.

The truck disappeared into the old brick structure. The man standing watch looked up and down the street and then pulled the door down.

Duser stopped the vehicle but left it running. When he got out, a man was standing by with a trash bag. Duser dumped his submachine gun in the bag and went around to the rear of the Durango. Sandra Hickock was lying in back. The bullet had smashed her beautiful face. He looked down at her and shook his head. Part of him was glad she was dead. She'd started to get a little possessive. In the end, it was probably the best thing, but right now it was a pain in the ass. He stepped away from the tailgate and began shouting orders.

His men went to work immediately: New plates were put on the Durango while Hickock's lifeless body was stuffed into an oil drum. The drum was topped off with sand, sealed, and loaded onto the back of a flatbed with eight other drums just like it. In less than five minutes, the body and the guns were gone. As was the Durango, on its way to a chop shop.

Peter Cameron used the time to calm himself. He was an idiot for going along. This would be all over the news within the hour. Close to a hundred rounds had to have been fired. Almost all of them from silenced weapons, but that wouldn't matter much once the police and the media showed up. The two parked cars looked as if they'd been caught in the world's worst hailstorm, and the body of Mario Lukas was riddled with bullet holes. This was not the way he'd wanted things to go. Villaume had been right about Duser. The man was as subtle as a wrecking ball.