"That's your apology?"

"Yes," Ridley interceded. "He feels very bad about this. He knows you were simply trying to do your job."

"He doesn't feel bad about what he did to me. The man is a monster... he's a sociopath. He's incapable of remorse."

"What the fuck do you know?" Rapp asked.

Leland sat back and said, "I told you." He looked at Garrison and added, "This should be referred to the Department of Justice."

Rapp, looking at Garrison, said, "Is he always this big of a prick?"

The general looked up with bloodshot eyes and in a tired voice said, "I wish both of you would give it a rest."

"I have done nothing wrong, sir," Leland protested.

Ridley, sensing that things were spinning out of control, waved a hand to get everyone's attention and said, "Obviously, nerves are still a little raw. I would like to assure you, Captain Leland, that Mr. Rapp will be dealt with harshly. Director Kennedy has assured me that he will be punished for striking you, and..."

Before Ridley could continue, Leland turned to his CO and the assistant secretary of defense and said, "I don't trust any of them. I want to press charges."

"You're a prick." Rapp came out of his chair lightning-fast. "And you have an overinflated sense of how important you are in this whole thing. There's thousands of officers who can do exactly what you do, Captain, and thousands more who can do it a hell of a lot better than you. Look at you." Rapp waved an open hand at Leland. "I twisted your wrist and you fell, and now you're sitting here looking like a wife who's been battered by her husband. Aren't you even remotely embarrassed? You're a damn officer in the United States Air Force. Can you at least pretend to be a warrior?"

"I want to press charges, and I want him thrown back in lockup."

"Shut up, Captain," Rapp snapped. "Me taking that gun away from you was the luckiest thing that ever happened to your dead-end career. If you'd shut your mouth for a minute and listen, you'd realize just how lucky you are. You're going to get promoted to major immediately, and then you'll be on the fast track for colonel. Any post you want, you name it."

"I am not looking to prosper from this."

"He's right, Captain." It was the first words spoken by the assistant secretary of defense. "Secretary England wants you to know he considers your cooperation in this matter a personal favor, as does the president. He knows that Mr. Rapp here can be little rough, but wants you to understand that every American, including you, owes him a debt of gratitude."

Leland felt the room spinning. He was hit with a sudden fever. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. It went against everything he'd been taught at the Air Force Academy. Why couldn't his superiors see that this was wrong?

"You say the word, Captain. You want Colorado, California, Hawaii... Europe? You name it."

An exasperated Leland said, "I want justice."

"I told you he was a prick."

Leland looked up to see Rapp talking to the other man from the CIA.

"We're out of here." Rapp looked at Garrison and Roemer. "I'm sorry for all of this. I really am. I never wanted to put the military in the middle of this, but we're running low on options."

"You're just going to let him walk out of here?" a shocked Leland asked.

For the first time, Rapp felt sorry for the young officer. The guy was way out of his league and he hadn't a clue. "Captain, you have to let go of this," Rapp said in an almost pleading voice. "This entire thing is way above your pay grade. I told you not to draw your weapon. I told you I would cooperate, but you wouldn't listen to me. Maybe if you knew where I've been and what I've done for the last eighteen years you could understand why I did what I did. That's about all I can tell you. I'm sorry I had to get physical."

"But you're not sorry that you hit me?"

"I didn't hit you. I disarmed you, and you fell on your face."

"You assaulted me," Leland half screamed.

Rapp was out of patience. "You know what, Captain, good luck with your career. I'm out of here."

"No, you are not," Leland shouted. "General, do something."

The general sighed and put his hands over his face. "Captain, give it a rest."

"But, sir, I must protest..."

Ridley opened the door.

"That's an order, Captain. I want you to wait forty-eight hours, weigh all your options, and then file your official report. Until then, I don't want to hear another word about this issue. Have I made myself clear?"

Ridley didn't wait around for the answer. He pushed Rapp out into the hallway and closed the door behind them. Moving quickly down the hallway, he looked straight ahead and said, "Boy, that went well."

"I told you he was a pain in the ass."

"And you're just a treat to deal with." Ridley glanced at his watch. "Let's hurry. We have a plane to catch."

CHAPTER 25

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA.

THE elevator doors opened, and Mike Nash was relieved to see it was empty. He stepped in, hit the button for the ground floor, and leaned against the far wall. The bright overhead lights made his headache worse. He covered his eyes with his right hand and began muttering to himself, knowing damn well his morning stood a good chance of getting worse.

The doors were within inches of closing when a large, callused hand shot through and gripped the rubber seal. The doors opened, and in stepped Chuck O'Brien. At six foot three O'Brien was a couple inches taller than Nash. He was a Dartmouth grad who had come to the CIA by way of Naval Intelligence. More than twenty years Nash's senior, he was still a physically imposing figure.

Fortunately, the elevator was almost as large as the type you would find in a hospital. Nash watched as O'Brien went to the far corner. He knew his boss would be less than enthusiastic that he had lost his cool in front of the director.

As soon as the doors were closed, O'Brien said, "What in the hell is wrong with you?"

"What in the hell is wrong with me?" Nash asked as he pointed to himself and sprang off the wall. "I've slept maybe ten hours in the last five nights, I've got that prick Adams all over me, the Post Post puts this shit on the front page, Mitch is sitting in a cell over in Afghanistan and I go to bed every night and wake up every morning with a headache that feels like someone is shoving a screwdriver through my eye socket, and you want to know what's wrong with me." puts this shit on the front page, Mitch is sitting in a cell over in Afghanistan and I go to bed every night and wake up every morning with a headache that feels like someone is shoving a screwdriver through my eye socket, and you want to know what's wrong with me."

O'Brien glanced up at the camera in the corner as a reminder to Nash to watch what he said and then with a clenched jaw said, "You need to calm down."

"And you need to watch my back," Nash snapped back. "That's the deal. I do my job, and you keep idiots like Adams away from me."

"I can't control Adams, and you know that."

"Then don't call me in here and waste my time. I've got more important shit I should be dealing with right now."

"What just happened up there was not my fault. If you had your phone turned on we could have dealt with this in a more timely manner." O'Brien jerked his head in the direction of the camera.

"I know it's up there," Nash snapped. "He's probably watching us right now." Nash turned around and flipped off the camera. "Are you listening, Adams, you prick? There's a third cell out there, buddy, but am I looking for them? Nooooo! I'm here making sure all the forms have been filled out in triplicate and I haven't trampled on some terrorist's rights."

O'Brien pulled Nash's hand down just as the doors opened. He dragged Nash out of the elevator and into the lobby. "Do you have any idea how a guy like Adams operates? He builds his case slowly, over a long period of time, and episodes like this all go into his file." O'Brien pulled him in close and whispered, "And while I understand and agree with all of your frustrations, you are giving the man everything he wants. He'll take this stuff up to those hacks on the Hill and the Justice Department and he'll make you look like a raving lunatic."

"Well, maybe I am," Nash said with a wide-eyed, crazy look.

"Don't say that."

Nash yanked his arm free. O'Brien followed him through security and across the lobby to the main door. When they were outside Nash said, "I'm not kidding."

"About what?"

"Sometimes I feel like I'm going nuts."

"You are not."

Right before they reached the visitors' parking lot, Nash spun around and said, "Then answer me one question. Which side is Adams on?"

"He's on our side."

"Bullshit. Maybe the FBI should investigate his ass. Maybe he's on al-Qaeda's payroll. You ever think of that?"

"I'm done talking about him," O'Brien said, obviously exasperated. "We've got more important things to worry about." The gray-haired O'Brien pointed at Nash's car and said, "Let's take a ride."

Both men climbed into the front seat of Nash's blue Chrysler minivan. Nash started the vehicle and cranked the stereo. The station was tuned to Elliot in the Morning Elliot in the Morning on DC101. The host finished abusing a guest and then cut to "Rockstar" by Nickelback. on DC101. The host finished abusing a guest and then cut to "Rockstar" by Nickelback.

As the car backed up, O'Brien said, "Please tell me you pulled the plug on this thing."

"It's in the works." There was one loose end, but Nash saw no reason to get O'Brien worked up about something neither of them could control.

"Damage?"

"Damage?" Nash thought about it for a second. "We're fucked. We were on the verge of a couple of breakthroughs. Now we're flying blind just when everything is pointing to something big." He put the van in drive and said, "This couldn't have happened at a worse time."

They turned left out of the parking lot and began winding through the campus. Neither spoke for several moments. They were both, however, thinking the same thing. O'Brien finally asked, "Who leaked?"

"It wasn't me or anyone who works for me."

"You can't be sure of that."

"I'm as sure as I need to be. If I had to put my money on it, I'd say it was someone in your office or some other clown on the seventh floor."

O'Brien laughed. "You're a dandy."

"How so?"

"I think you are going out of your way to piss me off." He reached over and turned the loud music down a bit.

"Well, I'm not really feeling a lot of love and support from your office today."

"Well... unless you have some evidence, don't go around blaming my people for this thing falling apart. You'll get a reputation as one of those needy field guys who never gets enough support."

Nash sighed in frustration. "Don't turn this back on me. I've got a tight group, and I'm telling you, not a one of them would narc us out."

"And I'm telling you to take another look at them, from top to bottom, and you need to do it immediately. If the full scope of this thing gets leaked the agency is going to disappear up its own ass."

As they wound around the back side of the massive employee lot, Nash said, "This operation has saved lives."

"It doesn't matter. The FBI will tear our balls off. We've stepped all over their turf."

"The FBI didn't have the balls to put these mosques under surveillance, so we did."

"It wasn't the bureau's fault. It was the Department of Justice who told them no."

"They didn't tell them no. They told them the Judiciary Committee would freak out."

"So back to my point... they didn't have the balls to do this, even though it makes complete sense, so we have to step in and do it for them and now it's our asses on the line."

"There are plenty of good people over there who are going to do everything they can to protect us."

"What about Mitch?"

"Ridley is over there right now trying to sort things out."

"And?"

"Listen, this is going to piss you off even more, but Irene says she wants you as far away from this Mitch deal as possible."

"Why?"

"For a couple of reasons, but most importantly, you have to roll this other thing up and you have to do it today. You don't have time to be sticking your nose in this other deal."

Nash took his eyes off the road. "Sticking my nose in it... I'm up to my neck in it. Al-Haq wants to strike a deal with us. I had him convinced to come over. You guys need to send me back over there so I can push this thing over the goal line."

"No, and I'm not going to argue with you about this. Irene is adamant. She wants you as far away from this other thing as possible. It will be handled."

"By who?"

"None of your business. Now put it out of your head. She wants you to go see Stan this morning."

O'Brien was referring to Stan Hurley, a retired spook. Nash thought about the crass old operative and his unconventional ways. "Do I have to?"

"Mike, put yourself back at Officer Candidate School. I'm your DI. Look over here at me and imagine I'm wearing that ugly green Smokey the Bear hat and I'm about to bite your head off if you say another word. You're not working for Microsoft. This isn't a debate club. There's shit going on here that she isn't telling me about and she sure as hell isn't going to tell you, so I'm handing down an order and I expect you to carry it out. Do you understand me?"

Nash stared straight ahead. "Yes, sir." He wasn't so sure, based on his current mental condition, that he could handle the notorious Hurley. "Where is he?"

"Bethesda Naval Hospital. I saw him yesterday."

"Is he all right?" Nash was surprised.