you like suspects. Criminals are cuffed and frog-walked to jail.”
The room flew into a barely controlled and sustained rage at the comment. Beth Morris was the most vocal of the group. Albright conferred with Madeline Crossman softly, but Ethan could hear him ask her Beth Morris’s name. Unsurprisingly to Ethan, Crossman gave it with a little sneer. She was the office hall monitor, after all.
Albright said, “Mrs. Morris. Forgive me for saying so, but you certainly have a lot of concerns about this polygraph. Would you like to talk to me in private after the meeting breaks up?”
Beth glared at both Albright and Crossman. Finally she said, “I have no problem taking another poly. We all hold security clearance, and that goes with the territory. I do take issue with the fact we’re sitting here with the FBI. NSC has its own security protocols.”
Albright just smiled at Beth Morris, then he addressed the room. “Don’t mind me, folks. I’ll be poking around a bit for the next few days, but you won’t even know I’m here. You will have your polys, then everyone can get back to work.” He added, “Almost everyone, that is. The person responsible for the data breach will have some questions to answer.”
The meeting broke up soon after this, and Ethan returned to his office, passing his curious secretary with neither a glance nor a word. He immediately pulled up the CIA report on the India attack on his computer, and spent several minutes reading it over and over and over.
Twenty minutes later he passed through his secretary’s office again, this time on his way out the door. He wore his overcoat and his car keys were dangling from his hand, even though he had a ten-minute walk back to his car.
He noticed Angie looking at him with surprise. It was only ten-thirty, after all, early for lunch, even in Washington.
“Running out for my ten-thirty meeting. Coffee with a consular official up in Dupont. Hold my calls.”
6
D OMINIC C ARUSO arrived at Kochi’s Cochin International Airport in the back of an ambulance. It was the middle of the night, and traffic was light both on the highway to the airport and on the grounds itself, which worked to the advantage of both the Indian government and the people who sent the plane to pick him up.
Dom spent the ride prone with his wrist handcuffed to the arm of his gurney. He assumed he had Detective Constable Naidu to thank for his jewelry. It was a last show of displeasure and passive aggression from the law enforcement officer who’d been ordered by government superiors to send his one witness to a terrorist act on his way without any semblance of a proper interrogation.
Dom didn’t think much of Naidu personally, he was, at least, an asshole, and it seemed to Dom that he was an anti-Semite as well. But Dom did have to allow for the fact that he understood the Indian policeman’s frustration with losing his witness. Dom had been an FBI agent, was still officially in the FBI—on paper, anyway—and he knew had he been in Naidu’s shoes, working a crucial case and with an eyewitness in his hands, and then received a call from some shadowy and powerful superior telling him to ship said key witness out of the country immediately, it would piss him off to no end. And Dominic also knew he was not above a little payback, perhaps in a manner similar to how Naidu treated him.
Dom rattled his handcuff a little, but then let his hand drop back down to the gurney.
The ambulance stopped and Dom was wheeled out and pushed along a hot tarmac glowing and buzzing with electric lighting. He could hear the whine of finely tuned jet engines, and he thought that he knew exactly the make and model aircraft here to take him home, though he could not be certain.
Soon he heard voices, but from his vantage point he couldn’t see who was talking, nor could he hear what was being said. A police officer uncuffed his wrist; then he saw another figure approach from behind.
An attractive
The room flew into a barely controlled and sustained rage at the comment. Beth Morris was the most vocal of the group. Albright conferred with Madeline Crossman softly, but Ethan could hear him ask her Beth Morris’s name. Unsurprisingly to Ethan, Crossman gave it with a little sneer. She was the office hall monitor, after all.
Albright said, “Mrs. Morris. Forgive me for saying so, but you certainly have a lot of concerns about this polygraph. Would you like to talk to me in private after the meeting breaks up?”
Beth glared at both Albright and Crossman. Finally she said, “I have no problem taking another poly. We all hold security clearance, and that goes with the territory. I do take issue with the fact we’re sitting here with the FBI. NSC has its own security protocols.”
Albright just smiled at Beth Morris, then he addressed the room. “Don’t mind me, folks. I’ll be poking around a bit for the next few days, but you won’t even know I’m here. You will have your polys, then everyone can get back to work.” He added, “Almost everyone, that is. The person responsible for the data breach will have some questions to answer.”
The meeting broke up soon after this, and Ethan returned to his office, passing his curious secretary with neither a glance nor a word. He immediately pulled up the CIA report on the India attack on his computer, and spent several minutes reading it over and over and over.
Twenty minutes later he passed through his secretary’s office again, this time on his way out the door. He wore his overcoat and his car keys were dangling from his hand, even though he had a ten-minute walk back to his car.
He noticed Angie looking at him with surprise. It was only ten-thirty, after all, early for lunch, even in Washington.
“Running out for my ten-thirty meeting. Coffee with a consular official up in Dupont. Hold my calls.”
6
D OMINIC C ARUSO arrived at Kochi’s Cochin International Airport in the back of an ambulance. It was the middle of the night, and traffic was light both on the highway to the airport and on the grounds itself, which worked to the advantage of both the Indian government and the people who sent the plane to pick him up.
Dom spent the ride prone with his wrist handcuffed to the arm of his gurney. He assumed he had Detective Constable Naidu to thank for his jewelry. It was a last show of displeasure and passive aggression from the law enforcement officer who’d been ordered by government superiors to send his one witness to a terrorist act on his way without any semblance of a proper interrogation.
Dom didn’t think much of Naidu personally, he was, at least, an asshole, and it seemed to Dom that he was an anti-Semite as well. But Dom did have to allow for the fact that he understood the Indian policeman’s frustration with losing his witness. Dom had been an FBI agent, was still officially in the FBI—on paper, anyway—and he knew had he been in Naidu’s shoes, working a crucial case and with an eyewitness in his hands, and then received a call from some shadowy and powerful superior telling him to ship said key witness out of the country immediately, it would piss him off to no end. And Dominic also knew he was not above a little payback, perhaps in a manner similar to how Naidu treated him.
Dom rattled his handcuff a little, but then let his hand drop back down to the gurney.
The ambulance stopped and Dom was wheeled out and pushed along a hot tarmac glowing and buzzing with electric lighting. He could hear the whine of finely tuned jet engines, and he thought that he knew exactly the make and model aircraft here to take him home, though he could not be certain.
Soon he heard voices, but from his vantage point he couldn’t see who was talking, nor could he hear what was being said. A police officer uncuffed his wrist; then he saw another figure approach from behind.
An attractive
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