There were five other individuals at the conference table, and none of them spoke to each other. Max Salmen, the oldest of the group, didn't care for the others, with the exception of Irene Kennedy. They were, to him, dangerous mongrels – each a mix of bureaucrat, politician, and lawyer and each nearly incapable of making the correct decision for the right reason. They headed three of the Agency's directorates, and Salmen headed the fourth. As deputy director of Operations, Salmen was in charge of the spies. It was his people who ran the black ops, recruited agents from both friend and foe, kept tabs on counterespionage, and tracked the terrorists. His people were the front-line troops, the case officers, the people out in the field getting their hands dirty and taking the real risks. Salmen had cut his teeth with Stansfield in Europe, and then, as Stansfield had risen through the ranks, the crusty Salmen had come with him. Salmen was Kennedy's immediate boss, although she often reported directly to Stansfield.

The other three people at the table were also deputy directors. Charles Workman ran Intelligence. His people were the bookworms, the Mensa geeks who pored over reams of information day in and day out. Rachel Mann ran Science and Technology, and Stephen Bauman was in charge of Administration.

Of the three, Salmen disliked Workman the most, but Bauman was a close second. To say that he hated Mann would be unfair. Under different circumstances, Bauman thought he would probably like her. She was very bright and for the most part tried to avoid the political backstabbing that Workman and Bauman thrived on, but in the end there was only so much money to go around, and everyone wanted to take it from Operations. If it wasn't for the recent spate of terrorism, Salmen knew his budget would be in serious trouble.

Salmen folded his nicotine-stained hands across his bulging belly and wondered how much longer he could hold on. His days were numbered. He'd been at the Agency since 1964, stationed first in Cambodia and then in Laos, doing things for his government that were still classified. After Vietnam, he moved on to Europe, where he worked in various embassies before becoming the station chief in Berlin. When Stansfield became director, he recalled Salmen and brought him into his inner circle. Now, with Stansfield on his deathbed, things looked bleak. The only reason Salmen put up with all of the bullshit was out of a sense of duty to the people in the field. He needed to protect them. He needed to keep these desk jockeys off their backs. And there was one oilier reason. Stansfield had asked him to stay and keep an eye on things, and, more explicitl, he had asked his old friend to watch Irene Kennedy's back.

The door to the director's office opened, and Jonathan Brown entered. The deputy director of Central Intelligence, or DDCI as he was known, was the second in charge at the Agency. In theory, the four deputy directors reported to hin1, and he reported to the director himself, but Salmen had never played that game. He went right to the director when there was a problem. Brown had shown some irritation with this, and Salmen knew the second Stansfield was gone, his ass was grass. Until then, he would try to keep the bureaucrat's attention focused on him and off Kennedy.

Brown sat at the head of the table and looked over the attendees with his usual dramatic flair. Because of the sensitivity of most of the things Kennedy worked on, she rarely reported to the DDCI. Kennedy did not have a problem with Brown. The man was more than talented enough to handle his job. Under different circumstances, he might even have made a good director of Central Intelligence. But in the end he was an outsider, a former federal prosecutor and judge. He owed his job at the CIA to a handful of politicians on the Hill who lobbied for him. His loyalty was to them and not to the Agency.

Kennedy was invited to these types of meetings more than she would have liked. Within the four directorates were thirty-plus offices or groups. Of those, Counterterrorism was the one that garnered the most attention. Kennedy had a pretty good idea why she had been yanked out of the CTC on such short notice to attend this meeting on high, and she wasn't happy about it. The CIA was supposed to be about compartmentalization, not openness. If Brown wanted to talk about Germany, he didn't need to bring Science and Technology and Administration in on the meeting.

Brown cleared his throat and appeared to be choosing his words carefully. «I just received a call from Chairman Rudin.» Brown looked genuinely troubled. «He wants everything we have on what transpired in Germany this past weekend.»

The assassination of Count Heinrich Hagenmiller had taken on mythic proportions in just a few days. Even within the secretive bubble of Langley, it was being discussed by almost everyone. The three top suspects were the United States, Israel, and Iraq. But as of yesterday, the British, the French, and even the Germans were added to the list. The British were added because they were the British, and they'd been doing just this type of thing better and longer than anyone else. The French were added to the list because it was said Hagenmiller had cut them out of the deal. And the Germans, it was being said, killed the count because he was an embarrassment. Kennedy didn't mind any of this. The more speculation, the better. This was, after all, the intent of the operation, to send a message to all who dealt with Saddam. The more governments to be suspicious of, the better.

Brown looked in the direction of Kennedy and said, «And he would like to see you in front of his committee first thing in the morning, Irene.»

Salmen let out a moan, and Kennedy said, «All right. Would he like anything specific?»

«He didn't say. He just asked me to remind you that you'd be under oath.» Brown said this with all of the reverence of a former federal judge.

Salmen scoffed at the comment and said, «What a joke!»

Brown did not like dissension. «Is there a problem, Max?»

«Yeah. Rudin is the problem.»

«Pardon me?» Brown seemed to be in an even more serious mood than normal.

«Chairman Rudin is a frustrated little man who's had a bug up his ass since day one about this Agency:»

Deputy Director Brown did not think the comment was funny, and two of the other deputy directors were forced to stifle their reactions to Salmen's candid and accurate analysis. Kennedy, as always, kept a neutral expression on her face.

«I would appreciate it if you'd show the congressman from Connecticut a little more respect.»

This caused Salmen to laugh out loud. «The congressman and I have had a hate-hate relationship for years. If I started to respect him at this stage of the game, he'd be very upset.»

Brown decided to move on. Looking to Charles Workman, the deputy director of Intelligence, he said, «I want a report on my desk by five. Anything and everything you have on what went down in Germany.» Workman dutifully replied that he would personally take care of it. Brown turned back to Salmen. «Is it true that we had Hagenmiller under surveillance?»

Salmen stuffed his hands under his armpits and shrugged. «That's on a strictly need-to-know basis.»

Brown's face became flushed over Salmen's blatant disrespect. «I am in the need to know, and I expect a report from you on my desk by five.»

Salmen remained defiant. «I will give you no such report until Director Stansfield tells me to do so.»

«Listen, Max, I have done nothing to deserve this from you. I am the DDI, and for all intents and purposes the acting DCI. When I tell you I want something on my desk by five, I mean it.»

Salmen appeared to back off just a touch. «Jonathan, I mean no disrespect, but I've been doing this a hell of a lot longer than you. The bedrock of this agency is the philosophy of 'need to know.' When Director Stansfield tells me you need to know, I'll tell you.»