"Absolutely," Rapp said in an upbeat tone.

"But you know" - Nash glanced up at the men and women who represented nearly one-fifth of the United States Senate - "they're nasty fuckers, Mitch. They won't play fair."

Rapp laughed casually and said, "I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Just sit back and keep your mouth shut. You're only here because they asked for you."

"I don't like you taking all the heat."

"I don't give a shit what you like," Rapp said with a grin, "you're not running the show. Just be a good Marine and sit there."

The background noise reached a crescendo as the last two senators entered the room. Bob Safford, the chairman of the committee, and Evan Whaley, the vice chairman, tried to get to their seats but every few feet they were stopped by a colleague or a staffer. Nash had been told by Ridley that there had already been a great deal of fighting between the two parties, and various factions within the parties, over not just how this hearing should be handled, but whether or not the Intelligence Committee should even get the first bite at the apple. The Armed Services and the Judiciary Committees were both trying to stake a claim, and then there was the House of Representatives to deal with. There was a very real chance that they would all spend the better part of the next year testifying in front of all these committees and quite possibly a special prosecutor and a grand jury as well.

Safford gaveled the hearing to order, and the next five minutes were taken up by motions and a variety of procedural issues that had very little to do with any of the people who were called on to testify. It was simply the nature of the Senate. When all of that was sorted out, Safford took a final look at his notes and then flipped his reading glasses up onto his forehead, which was his habit when the cameras weren't around.

"Director Kennedy, I would like to say that I am deeply disturbed by the accusations that have been leveled against one of your employees." Safford's deep-set eyes floated over to Rapp.

Rapp raised his hand in case anyone had any doubt as to which employee the senator was referring to. Nash cringed. He could tell Rapp was in one of his insolent "I don't give a shit" moods.

Safford's lips curled into a sneer, but he didn't engage Rapp. That would come later. Addressing Kennedy, he said, "There has been a great deal of maneuvering in the Senate today. There are several chairpersons who feel that this issue of Mr. Rapp's potentially illegal and definitely unprofessional behavior would be better handled in their committees in a more open manner. Senator Whaley and I have managed to persuade them that for now this issue should be handled by this committee."

"I would like the record to show," Senator Lonsdale said forcefully, "that as chairperson of the Judiciary Committee I strongly disagree with your decision and plan on holding open hearings as soon as tomorrow to get to the bottom of this."

"I'm sure you will," was Safford's tired response.

"And I would also like the record to show" - this time it was Senator Russell Sheldon - "that as a former air force officer and prosecutor and current member of the Armed Services Committee I am deeply disturbed by what looks to be an attempt at a cover-up by the CIA and certain sympathizers at the Pentagon. I am shocked at the lack of professionalism exhibited by Mr. Rapp and expect to see him prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

With hunched shoulders Safford looked from one end of the curved table to the other and said, "Is everybody done, or are we going to have an open mike this afternoon?"

There were a few snickers from the older senators who were proud that one of their fellow bull elephants had put the young ones in their place.

"Because," Safford continued, "I'm not going to put up with this. Everybody knows the rules. Each member will get fifteen minutes to question the panel. Make your complaints verbally... file them in writing... I don't care. Just wait your turn. Are we all clear?"

A smattering of senators nodded, but most simply ignored the chairman.

"Now, Director Kennedy, is there anything you would like to say before we get started?"

Kennedy leaned forward and in a respectful but distant voice said, "No, Mr. Chairman."

Safford looked to his right and gave the okay to begin questioning.

CHAPTER 42

BRUNSWICK, GEORGIA.

HAKIM clenched his jaw and looked down at the body with a seething anger. The bullet hole was clearly visible in the back of the head. A neat little pucker mark no bigger than a nickel. Thank Allah the man had been dumped facedown, because Hakim did not want to see what the heavy-caliber bullet had done to his face. So much matter had exploded from the other side that Hakim imagined a gaping hole encompassing what used to be the mouth and nose.

"What a waste," he told himself.

They had traveled nearly five hundred miles in just under eight hours, from the southern tip of Florida all the way up and out of the state. That had been Hakim's goal and they had achieved it, and this was their reward. He looked down at the body again and didn't know if he should cry or laugh. Cry for the boy whose only crime was that he had helped them, or laugh because he didn't want to cry. He called into question for perhaps the first time the heart of his friend. It had been Karim, of course. Something had changed in the man.

Hakim thought back on the day. How it had started with the magnificent destruction of the Coast Guard helicopter and the mad dash to shore. The exhilaration of cutting through the sea and the wind at a hundred miles an hour, knowing every second might count. Karim had been happy then. Hakim had looked over and saw him smiling like he hadn't seen him smile in years. Unfortunately it didn't last. His mood instantly soured when they landed the boats in the tall grass at Long Key State Park. The men from the drug cartel were waiting with their four-wheelers to off-load the drugs and Karim was livid. He'd had it in his mind that they would simply leave the boats and not be seen by anyone. He was ranting and raving about operational security and a bunch of other things that Hakim guessed he had read in one of his U.S. military manuals that he was always studying. The man couldn't get it through his head that American Special Forces had near unlimited assets to get them from point A to point B. Billion-dollar aircraft carriers, billion-dollar submarines, stealth planes, and the best helicopters and pilots in the world. They, on the other hand, this little offshoot of al-Qaeda, had nothing but themselves, and Karim was delusional if he thought they could so closely mirror the American model - just the nine of them.

They had almost come to blows over it, and if it weren't for the fact that the Puerto Ricans were so well armed, Hakim had no doubt that Karim would have executed all of them on the spot. Hakim took charge and ordered the men to help off-load the cocaine bricks. Karim tried to countermand the order until Hakim snapped at him and asked him how he expected to pay for everything that they were about to do. And then in a much quieter voice, he asked him how he expected to get out of the country when they were done wreaking havoc.

Karim was on unsure ground here, and Hakim pressed his slight advantage by telling him that it was going to be very expensive to buy safe passage out of the country. As if on cue, one of the Puerto Ricans handed over a duffel bag filled with a million dollars in cash and Karim was silenced. The rest of the money, some eight million dollars, would be transferred to a bank account in Dubai. The men from the drug cartel were well schooled in the drill. The first eight bricks of cocaine were taken off the boat and put into the saddlebags of two motorcycles, which immediately left. This way the cartel covered its costs should the rest of the drugs be seized.

In just under ten minutes the drugs were unloaded, and then came the next big surprise for Karim. They completed the hundred-meter hike through the tall grass to a waiting passenger van. Hakim introduced Karim to Mohammad, a Libyan grad student at the University of Miami who he had recruited months earlier. This sent Karim into an apoplectic rage. He was furious that someone had been brought in to help without his approval. If it weren't for the fact that they heard a helicopter drawing closer it might have happened right there, which really would have been stupid.

This, Hakim thought to himself now as he looked down at the body, Hakim thought to himself now as he looked down at the body, was just a waste. An utter waste of talent and human life... and for what? was just a waste. An utter waste of talent and human life... and for what?

All ten of them piled into the fifteen-passenger van and headed north on U.S. Highway 1. The windows in back were heavily tinted, so it was easy for the men to change. Each man had a duffel bag that Hakim and Mohammad had filled with T-shirts, socks, sweat suits, and baseball hats. Everything except the socks were a combination of blue, white, and red and sported the eagle logo of American University in Washington, D.C. All of it had been purchased online and in person at the school's bookstore. The van also had District of Columbia license plates and school bumper stickers. If they were stopped by the police, their story was that they were returning to school from a track meet at Florida International University.

They made it through Miami just as the morning traffic was starting to pick up. Interstate 95 was crowded but the cars moved along all the way to the Palm Beach exits and then things thinned out. They kept the radio tuned to an all-news AM station and stayed five miles over the posted speed. Karim had questioned this, but they pointed out that most of the cars were going ten to fifteen miles over the speed limit. Otherwise, Karim didn't speak and the mood in the van was tense. The van had two twenty-five-gallon tanks, and they stopped for gas only once, south of Jacksonville. The only person who got out of the vehicle was Mohammad. That was when Karim leaned forward and hissed his admonishment in Hakim's ear.

Back on the road Karim asked for a map, and an hour and a half later he told Mohammad to pull over at the next exit. It was time for the men to stretch their legs. They exited I-95 at Hickory Bluff and entered Blythe Island State Park. The towering pines at the entrance gave way to mangrove trees and Spanish moss as they neared the water. Hakim had an uneasy feeling as they went deeper and deeper into the park, but he didn't say anything. They came upon a rutted dirt road that appeared to simply disappear into the dense woods. Poor Mohammad was the one who saw it and asked if he should take it. Karim told him yes.

A few hundred meters later they stopped. The men all piled out of the van. Karim gave them a series of subtle hand signals and without a word they began to spread out. Two of them headed back down the road to keep an eye out in case someone stumbled upon them. Two more headed farther down the road and the other three spread out around the van. Karim casually joined the young grad student and Hakim at the front of the van. After only a few seconds he pointed over Mohammad's shoulder into the woods and said, "What is that?"

Hakim saw it all happen in slow motion. Karim drew his .45-caliber Glock from his waistband. A stubby four-inch suppressor had been screwed onto the end. Karim placed the tip of the suppressor no more than a few inches from the back of the young man's head and squeezed the trigger. The heavy round left the gun with a clank and then a pink mist of flesh, blood, and bone exploded from the other side of Mohammad's head. In a strange way Hakim thought it looked as if Mohammad had vomited off his own face.

With the gun still extended, and the lifeless body tumbling to the ground, Karim asked, "What were you thinking?"

The words seemed distant, like someone was talking to him from the other side of a heavy fabric. Hakim slowly lifted his head and looked at his childhood friend. For the first in his life, he felt like he didn't know the man he considered a brother. Slowly he turned away from the contorted body and addressed his friend with near disgust, "What is wrong with you?" Hakim asked.

Karim ignored the question and said, "You should have never recruited him."

"How would you know? You never asked him a single question."

"It doesn't matter. He is an outsider. We cannot trust him."

"You think he's working for the FBI?" Hakim pointed at his own head.

"You never know. That is the problem."

"The problem is that you have become a paranoid, angry zealot."

"Do not speak to me in such a manner."

"Or what? Are you going to shoot me like you shot him? Like you shot Zachariah?"

"I just might."

Hakim scoffed at him. "Think about this! You were always the better student. If he was working for the FBI don't you think they would be swooping down out of the sky right now?"

"They might want to see where we are going first."

"Look at you... you don't even believe yourself. You think they would let four dark-skinned men shoot down one of their helicopters and then begin driving north toward Washington and New York?"

"That is not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

"No one can be trusted." Karim matched his volume. "I have told you this from the very beginning. Only the people we have fought alongside in Afghanistan can be trusted."

"And how many of those people are here in America?"

"That is my point!" Karim yelled. "I gave you specific orders. You are the advance element. Your job was to go in first and pave the way for us."

"And what in Allah's name do you think I've done?"

"You have compromised our entire operation by recruiting a student." Karim looked down at the dead body with disgust. "If you were not my friend I don't know what I would do."

"And if you weren't like my brother, I would beat your brains out." Hakim balled his fists in anger.

"I will not warn you again. Do not speak to me in such a tone."

Hakim brought his nose to within inches of Karim's and in an angry whisper said, "I think you are the one who should be warned. I think you believe a little too much in your destiny. I think it has gone to your head."

Karim shoved his friend. "I am ordering you to get in the van... right now."

Hakim didn't move. "No one has been more loyal to you. No one has more faith in you than me and this is how you repay me." Hakim pointed at the lifeless body.

"You are a fool."

"Careful what you say, Karim. I am not one of your robots who you have brainwashed for the last six months in the jungle."

"These men are elite warriors."

"They might be, but they have proven nothing yet. It has been my skill and ingenuity that have gotten you this far, and the help of a twenty-two-year-old student."

"We do not need your help."

"Hah!" Hakim scoffed at his friend's outrageous statement. "Then why did you send me here?"

Karim refused to answer the question, instead saying, "It is time to leave." He looked at one of his men and flashed a hand signal.

Hakim grabbed him by the front of his sweatshirt and yelled, "You sent me here because you couldn't do it yourself, and you hate to admit it, because you think so highly of yourself. I am not one of your soldiers, Karim, I am your equal."

Karim jabbed his gun into the belly of his friend, "I will kill you right here and now if you do not let go of me."

Hakim's eyes searched Karim's for a sign that he was bluffing but he saw none. Hakim let go and stepped away. "Fine, have it your way, but when we get to Washington, I am done. Since you and your men are so talented, I'm sure you will have no problem completing your mission without me."

Hakim started for the driver's door and under his breath added, "Good luck finding your way back to Pakistan."

CHAPTER 43

CAPITOL HILL.

NASH sat in silence and watched as one senator after another peppered his bosses with questions. Rapp was taking most of the heat, followed by Kennedy, and they were holding their own against the considerable combined intellect of the committee's members. Normally loath to pay the group of windbags any compliment, Nash had to admit that this was no collection of dummies. They had their faults, to be sure, but not when it came to verbal combat.

For the better part of two hours he had watched them maneuver and attempt to punch holes in Rapp's and Kennedy's stories. Kennedy's narrative was fairly easy to stick to. As part of Rapp's arrangement, the only thing she had to do was deny any knowledge of the operation. This would seem easy enough, if it weren't for the fact that she was in charge. Thirteen of the nineteen members had law degrees, and two of them had been prosecutors. Without a gallery of reporters to play to, they were quick and to the point. Nash also thought he noticed them treading more lightly than normal.

The first group of senators focused on getting Rapp and Kennedy to make statements under oath, and then as their version of events became record, the senators who followed looked to point out inconsistencies and try to get them to contradict themselves. Again, for Kennedy, this was not difficult, although several senators tried to make Rapp's history of insubordination an issue. They hammered Kennedy for her lack of leadership and accountability. One senator went so far as to actually say that he had been warning Kennedy for several years that she needed to keep Rapp on a shorter leash.

It was the only time that Kennedy bristled at her questioners. In a tone that bordered on rebellious she admonished the committee for referring to her most decorated clandestine operative in such a demeaning way. "Regardless of your personal feelings," she told them, "you should respect the sacrifice this man has made to defend this country."

Most of the senators took Kennedy's words in a sober manner, but a few couldn't help snickering and whispering derisive remarks to each other. The day dragged on, and the dinner hour approached. With nearly a third of the members still having to get their time, the chairman suggested they take a quick fifteen-minute break and then push through. The five of them went into one of the smaller secure briefing rooms and gathered themselves together, while the two CIA lawyers went off to try and get a word in with the chairman. Kennedy's mood was as usual unreadable, while O'Brien and Ridley looked like tired old warriors who knew they were in the middle of a battle that was already lost. Rapp, on the other hand, was upbeat, bouncing around the room clapping his hands and rubbing them together like he couldn't wait to get back out there.

He must have noticed the dire expression on Nash's face, because he grabbed him by the shoulder and said, "Cheer up. The fun's about to start."

"It doesn't look real fun out there."

Rapp laughed. "I haven't had such a good time since I drowned that little prick down in..."

"Mitch!" Kennedy screamed from across the room, stopping him from providing any more details to a murder that only the two of them knew about.

"Relax," Rapp said as he looked around the room. "You guys are way too uptight."

Kennedy picked up a phone and dialed the office. Ridley joined Rapp and Nash and said, "Seriously, Mitch, what in the hell do you think is going on out there? We're getting our asses kicked."

"No," Rapp replied, "I'm getting my ass kicked."

"You don't think this is going to affect the rest of us?" Ridley said.

"I never said that."

"Well, it is going to affect us, and it is quite possibly going to affect our ability to do our jobs."

"By jobs, do you mean running up here five times a week to hold their hands and fill out all your forms in triplicate, or do you mean going out there and busting up these terrorist cells before they hit us?"

"You know what I mean."