Kranemeyer absorbed the information without comment, turning back to Carter. “Where’s Shapiro?”
“We’ve sent a helo for him. The White House has authorized a pair of Apache gunships as escort.”
The DCS nodded. The AH-64 Apaches typically provided overflight for the presidential motorcade, and their release for the protection of Deputy Director (Intelligence) Michael Shapiro was an indication of just how seriously the administration was taking this. As well they should.
“Where was Shapiro, anyway?”
“Hadn’t left home.”
“That’s the Banker for you,” the DCS acknowledged with a derisive snort. Shapiro was the only one of the deputy directors with no background in the intelligence community, and it showed. Now, he was in charge and they were going to have to live with it. And his penchant for what Carter had once called a “negotiable nine and a punctual five.”
Kranemeyer took a deep breath, turning to look Harry in the eye. “I want your team in readiness. When we find the people that did this, we’re going to strike back. Send a message, loud and clear. Don’t mess with us.”
“My team is two men down,” Harry replied, clearing his throat. “Until we can find replacements for Sarami and Zakiri, I can hardly describe Alpha Team as mission-ready.”
“Are you saying you can’t do it?” the DCS demanded, a challenge in his eyes.
Harry stared the DCS in the face, his gaze unwavering. “That was an objective assessment of our readiness. You want heroics, you’d better find another guy.”
A moment passed, then a grim smile spread across Kranemeyer’s face. “Assessment accepted, Nichols. Thing is, we’re stretched thin at the moment. As you know, Nakamura and Bravo Team deployed to Tajikistan last week. So, you’re the designated hitter. Carter will coordinate with the Joint Terrorism Task Force on your behalf.”
Harry and Ron exchanged glances. They’d worked together many times through the years. But never under these circumstances. There had never been an attempt on the life of the DCIA.
Kranemeyer put both hands down on the table and levered himself to his feet. “Let’s roll, gentlemen.”
“Got any working theories?” Harry asked as the two men left the conference room and headed back toward the op center.
Carter glanced up as though startled from thought. “Yeah. I do.”
A moment of silence followed as they continued down the corridor. Harry cleared his throat. “Mind reading me in, or are we going to start this day off playing ‘Twenty Questions’?”
“Oh. Sorry,” Carter returned absently. “I’ve asked Michelle to pull footage from the VDOT cameras. I want to know who was in the area.”
The Virginia Department of Transportation had a lot of cameras, particularly in the sprawling suburbia immediately south of the Potomac, but their coverage couldn’t be described as comprehensive. “Looking for a face?”
“Sergei Korsakov.”
Harry stopped short, turning to face the analyst. “The ex-Spetsnaz hit man? Why?”
“He’s in the States,” Ron replied. He took a deep breath and continued, “You’ve not been cleared for this, Harry — you didn’t hear it from me — but Korsakov was picked up on surveillance footage in Philly two days ago. We’ve been on a frantic scramble ever since, trying to figure out how he got in and why he was here. This morning, I’m afraid we got the answer to the last half of that. The hit this morning is almost a mirror image of his assassination of the mayor of Chelyabinsk in 2002. It was one of Korsakov’s first mob hits.”
“Then you believe he’s dead.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“That or taken hostage. In which case we’ll start receiving fingers in the mail,” Carter retorted with characteristic bluntness. “That’s another Korsakov trademark. There’s just one thing I don’t understand.”
“And that would be?”
“What does the Russian mob here in this country have to gain by taking us on? They’ve always been about money, pure and simple.”
“Then somebody made it worth their while,” Harry observed. “Who did you have working on Korsakov? I’ll need to talk with them, see if they can make any connections we’re missing.”
Carter snorted. “Pretty near my whole team, the last couple days. Carol was heading it up, but they have her under lockdown security now, a protective detail down in one of the interrogation rooms. Pretty shook up, the way I heard it. I’ll have Lasker give you the codes to access her files.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
A car horn sounded somewhere to his rear and Thomas rubbed his forehead, the noise only adding to his headache. Traffic was snarling in the wake of the assassination attempt, as whole lanes of the interstate were shut down for emergency use.
He looked ahead at the long line of backed-up traffic and popped another Altoids mint into his mouth. With any luck, the smell of liquor would be gone from his breath by the time he got to Langley.
A moment later, he felt the buzz of the satphone in his pocket. For the second time in ten minutes. A glance at the screen of the TACSAT confirmed his suspicion.
“Thomas here,” he announced, flipping it open.
“Where are you?” a voice demanded. Nichols
He shook his head wearily, staring out the window. “I’ve made three miles in the last ten minutes, Harry. I’ll be there when I get there.”
“You got a late start this morning, didn’t you?”
He didn’t respond for a long moment, gazing out the window. His team leader went on without waiting for an answer. “The AA meeting was last night at church, Thomas. Did you go?”
“No.”
A long sigh came from the other end of the phone. “I’ve been covering for you, Thomas. But this has gotta be a two-way street. If you’re not willing to get your act together, I’ll have to talk with Kranemeyer.”
Not that. “No,” Thomas managed, fighting against the flash of anger that surged to the fore at his friend’s words. “Don’t do that. I’ve told you, Harry, I just need a little more time. You understand that, don’t you?”
“What I understand right now is we have a crisis on our hands and one of my best men is stewed. Now, I’ll see you here inside of thirty minutes, and you will be sober. Tex is flying in from New Mexico and I want us fully operational by the time he gets here. Am I coming through?”
“Loud and clear, boss.”
Harry put the phone back in his pocket and sighed wearily, glaring across the op-center at the blank wall.
He had never attempted to impose his own Christian faith on the members of his team. It just wasn’t him. The way he looked at it, what they did in their private lives was their own business, just so long as it didn’t affect the job. And now it was.
And he didn’t have time to deal with it. Not today. Not with all hell breaking loose. Reaching down, he pressed the button on the side of his workstation terminal, listening as the computer booted up.
It had been a few weeks since he had logged into the Agency system, what with Ellsworth’s investigation breaking into everyone’s work routine. It would take some time to get up to speed.
Unfortunately, that was time he no longer had. Because Lay was gone.
The screen came on, and Harry typed in his access codes, watching impatiently as the terminal sped through the authentication process. He and Lay had a long history, a working relationship that went back to Harry’s first days as an operator.