“Where do you want to eat?” Kara asked, rising from the couch.
“I don’t know,” Hail said, finding his sandals next to the coffee table and stabbing his feet into them.
“How about something breakfasty?” Hail suggested.
Having successfully attached footwear to his feet, Hail looked up at Kara, who was now standing next to the door.
She was wearing tight jeans and a white scoop neck blouse. Her red hair was done up in a neat ponytail, but she had left her bangs loose. She was wearing just a hint of makeup, but Hail felt that she really didn’t need it. It was like touching up the famous painting by Marcel Dyf called Claudine a l'Estampe. Matter a fact, Kara Ramey looked remarkably similar to the woman in the French seventeenth century painting, ponytail and all.
“They serve a good breakfast in the American restaurant,” Kara said.
Hail walked toward the door and Kara opened it and walked into the hallway, holding it open for Hail.
Neither of them spoke as they made their way toward the restaurant.
The breakfast bar was still open and a half-dozen tables were occupied. Marshall and Kara helped themselves to an assortment of breakfast items and then found a table with a degree of separation from the others.
Before Kara began eating she said, “I wanted to apologize if I… if I… agitated you yesterday.” She chose the word agitated carefully, as it didn’t imply that she was either wrong, responsible or out of line in any manner. It was up to Hail how he chose to perceive her words, which would be negatively or possibly constructively.
Hail looked away and stuck a fork full of scrambled eggs into his mouth.
Kara took a sip of her apple juice and waited for Hail to respond. When he didn’t, she told him, “I think the main bone of contention we have right now is Kornev. If you can tell me any other issues we have, and I’m assuming you can’t, then we just need to come to an understanding about Kornev and we should be good. Right?”
Hail said nothing. He took a bite of bacon and looked at her passively.
“So this is my suggestion,” She said. “For now, you shelve your thoughts of whacking Kornev during this mission and give me time to see if I can get the information I need out of him. If you do that, then I promise I will deliver Kornev to you, all tied up in a pretty ribbon and then you can do whatever you want to do with him.”
Kara looked expectantly at Hail.
“Deal?” she asked, offering out her hand.
Hail reached out his hand, but instead of grasping Kara’s, at the last second he moved it to the right and picked up his glass of orange juice.
He took a sip and smiled at her. It was the first expression, other than somnolence that she had seen on his face all morning.
“Now you’re smiling?” Kara said, reeling back in her hand. She wanted to call him an asshole, but held her tongue.
She said, “I don’t think you get it, Marshall. This means a lot to me. Believe it or not, I’m not colored red, white and blue. I do not work for the CIA because I love my country or I want to make a difference or any of that bullshit. I’m doing what I do in order to find out who killed my parents and Kornev is the only link I have to that information. Do you understand?”
Hail finally spoke.
“I understand, but do you realize how crazy that sounds?”
“Oh,” Kara huffed, “And a billionaire making it his life mission to exterminate everyone on the FBI’s terrorist list isn’t crazy?”
Hail considered her counter and said “Well, maybe you have a point.”
“Marshall, let’s face it. We’re both fucked up individuals. I’ve got a demented program in my brain that just keeps running and so do you. There are plenty of other assholes in the world you can kill, so all I am asking is that you refrain from killing my special asshole and I promise I will help you kill more of yours.”
Kara held out her hand again and this time Hail shook it.
“Great, now that we have that out of the way, we have about ten minutes to finish eating before Gage’s mission planning meeting starts,” Kara said.
Hail responded by sticking a piece of toast into his mouth.
Washington, D.C. ― The White House Oval Office
The President of the United States, Joanna Weston, was sitting in one of two chairs at the end of the coffee table. The FBI Director, Trevor Rogers and General Quentin Ford were both sitting on the couch to her right. On the couch to her left sat the CIA Director, Jarret Pepper, and Eric Spearman, the Director of the National Intelligence agency.
Since Pepper had called for the meeting, he was the first to speak.
“I wanted to provide everyone an update on operation Hail Storm,”
“Hail Storm,” the President repeated, as if she were trying the words on for size. “I like that. Did you come up with that name, Jarret?”
“Yes I did,” Pepper lied.
Pepper smiled at the group and continued.
“My operative, Kara Ramey, was successful in tracking the shipment to a warehouse in Wonsan, North Korea.”
Pepper looked the group over and they looked impressed.
Continuing, Pepper said, “She called in and reported that ninety-nine percent of the missile parts had arrived at the warehouse. She also sent me the exact coordinates of the warehouse itself.”
The President interrupted and asked, “Just a little clarification. Ms. Ramey is working with Marshall Hail on this operation. So what part of this is Ms. Ramey and what part of this is Marshall Hail?”
Pepper considered the question and responded, “She is currently on board one of Hail’s cargo ships, the Nucleus. Hail has had every opportunity to keep her out of the operation’s specifics, but Kara has used her CIA training to obtain direct access to their mission center. She is providing us timely updates as to the progress of the mission as well as Hail’s internal capabilities.”
“And what is the latest update?” General Ford asked.
“It’s Ramey’s understanding that Hail is preparing to make a strike on the warehouse.”
“How and when?” the General asked.
Pepper answered, “Kara reported that those mission elements have not been decided at this time.”
“Not been decided?” the General repeated for effect. “There is no telling how long those parts will be in that warehouse. They could move them again at any time and we may never find them again until…”
The General hesitated and then finished with, “Until it’s too late.”
The President looked concerned.
“Is this something we should prepare for?” President Weston asked her staff.
“I vote yes,” General Ford said.
“I agree,” Eric Spearman said. “I mean; we don’t know if Hail can pull this off. And if he can’t and we have actionable intelligence, then we just can’t ignore it.”
“What do you think?” the President asked the FBI Director.
Trevor Rogers made a concerted effort to remove his personal feelings and friendship from the situation.
“I think having a reasonable drop-dead date and time would be prudent,” Rogers suggested.
Joanna Weston thought about the consequences of launching an attack on the North Korean warehouse. If it was quick and surgical and they could get in and out without detection, then it was something to consider. And even if they were caught red-handed, how in the world could North Korea spin it so anyone gave a shit. Would North Korea complain to the International community that the bad Americans destroyed all the new ICBMs that North Korea intended to launch at them? It was best that Hail succeeded in the task, but her advisors were right. They had to have a Plan B in case Hail failed.