Kennedy raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly has anything changed?"

"Everybody, including and especially the Pentagon, are using civilian contractors, and they're not just hiring engineers to build bridges, schools, and hospitals. They're hiring firms left and right to provide diplomatic security, food prep services, cleaning services, trucking…you name it, and if it doesn't involve actual combat, the Pentagon is using private contractors."

"Scott?" Kennedy asked.

"I've seen my business grow from about two million a year to over twenty."

"Tell her about Black Watch." Rapp was referring to the private security firm that had been started by one of Coleman's fellow SEALs.

"They're going to do over two hundred and fifty million in business with the government alone this year. They have six thousand acres down in North Carolina that they've turned into a Disneyland for shooters. They have a race track to teach defensive driving, they have a state-of-the-art sniping range and shooting house, their own airstrips, planes, helicopters, armored personnel carriers…you name it. They have equipment that is forward-deployed around the globe. They've even built a damn lake to train SEALs on the underwater delivery vehicles."

"Their philosophy," interjected Rapp, "is that they can do it better and in a more cost effective way than the federal government."

"That wouldn't be difficult."

"Well, they're the first people to really try it, and they are succeeding."

Kennedy knew about Black Watch. The CIA already used them to protect certain assets abroad. There was a very liberal, antiwar minority in Washington who thought of the group as nothing more than a bunch of overpaid mercenaries who were eventually going to give America a black eye. Kennedy thought those people tended to have a naпve view of the world. To them, anyone who carried a gun was bad. Even cops.

"So, where I'm going with this," said Rapp, "is that we begin to use a series of companies to…" Rapp didn't get to finish his sentence because the door to Kennedy's office opened. He turned to see two men entering.

"Don't bother getting up," announced the new director of National Intelligence, Mark Ross. Ross was tall, thin, and well dressed, and exuded an air of importance. He marched across the long office trailed by a second, shorter man.

Rapp looked over his shoulder with undisguised irritation. He'd been in countless closed-door meetings in this office, and when the door was closed it was for a good reason-especially this morning. This was a first. People did not simply barge in on the director of the CIA unannounced.

"Irene, sorry to intrude, but I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop by." Ross reached the area where they were sitting and let his gaze fall on Rapp. "Mitch," he said, placing his left hand on Rapp's shoulder and extending his right hand. "Good to see you as always."

Rapp nodded. He'd only met the new intel czar twice, both times when Ross was in the Senate. Kennedy had warned him to be cordial to their new boss. Rapp recalled her being unusually cautious about the former senator. Kennedy had explained that it wasn't Ross as much as it was his new job. No one in Washington was quite sure how the new position of director of National Intelligence was going to play itself out, and that uncertainty had caused the political gamesmanship to begin. At the mere mention of politics Rapp tuned her out. He was more concerned about who Ross was and where he'd come from. If Ross was going to politicize intelligence they would butt heads big-time.

The skinny on Ross was that he had a firm grasp on national security issues and knew how to motivate people. It also helped that after graduating from Princeton he'd actually worked at the CIA in the Directorate of Intelligence. His claim to fame at the Agency was that right before leaving to get his law degree at Yale he prepared a report on a fringe Iranian religious figure known as the Ayatollah Khomeini. Ross predicted that Khomeini's religious fervor and growing following was likely to lead to a full-blown revolution in Iran. He was one of the only people in the government who read the tea leaves correctly. On the surface Ross had an outgoing manner about him that was interpreted by some as self-assured and by others as arrogant. Rapp assumed that like most men who had been members of America's most exclusive club, the U.S. Senate, Ross was a bit of both, depending on the situation. Now Rapp sat uncomfortably in the chair, with the man's hand still on his shoulder, wondering if the former senator had any idea how much he hated being touched. He glanced down at the offending hand and briefly envisioned snapping one of the fingers.

"I see that pretty wife of yours on TV every day," Ross continued. "You're a lucky guy." He took his hand off Rapp's shoulder and looked at the third party in the room. It was obvious by the square jaw and athletic build of the man that he was not your average Langley bureaucrat. He appeared to be a Nordic version of Rapp, and Ross suddenly found himself wondering what he, Rapp, and Kennedy had been discussing.

"Mark Ross," he introduced himself to the blond-haired man. "Director of National Intelligence."

Coleman nodded. If he was impressed he didn't show it. "Scott Coleman."

"You work here at Langley?"

"No, my IQ is too high." Coleman gave him his best shit-ass grin.

Ross laughed. "I don't think there are too many people in this town with an IQ as high as Doctor Kennedy's, but I'll go along with your explanation for now. You look ex-military to me. What branch?"

"Navy."

"SEALs?"

"That's classified."

Ross hesitated for a second, and Rapp thought he noticed a flash of anger just beneath the surface. Ross quelled it and looked to Kennedy. "Definitely a SEAL. Nowhere else in the military do they breed such contempt for authority."

Rapp was the only one in the room who laughed. Kennedy never found such banter very funny, and Rapp knew Coleman well enough to know he was having an internal monologue as to the merits of blindly respecting authority versus real leaders who earned respect.

Before Coleman could respond Ross placed his hand on the back of the man he'd come in with and said, "This is Jonathan Gordon, my new deputy. He's going to be my point man on all coordination between Langley and National Intelligence."

"Nice to meet you, Jonathan," replied Kennedy. She took off her glasses and set them on the leather folder in front of her. Her body language revealed nothing.

Gordon was a half head shorter than his boss and looked to be in his early forties. Rapp tried to size him up, but got nothing.

"Again, sorry for interrupting," said Ross as he clapped his hands together. "I'm trying to get up to speed as quickly as possible. I'll let you three get back to whatever it was you were discussing. I'm going to go check in on a couple of my old intel buddies, and then I'll pop back up here in about thirty minutes." Ross checked his watch. "Will that work for you, Irene?"

"If you give me a few minutes to finish up here, I'll show you around myself."

"No, don't bother," Ross insisted. "I still remember my way, and besides you're too valuable to be giving tours." He started to back away, and in a quieter tone said, "I'll stop back up in a bit. There's a few things I'd like to discuss with you." Ross and Gordon then left the corner office as quickly as they'd arrived.

When the door was closed Rapp turned to Coleman and asked, "Why do you have such a problem with authority?"

Kennedy shook her head. "Mr. Pot, leave Mr. Kettle alone and let's get back to where we were."

ROSS, GORDON, AND the two bodyguards approached the bank of elevators. Ross stopped and folded his arms across his chest. He looked back toward Kennedy's office and appeared fixed on a particular thought. As the elevator doors slid open Ross whispered to Gordon, "I want you to find out everything you can about Mr. Coleman." Ross stepped into the elevator.