“Okay.” Cross settled back in his chair expectantly.
Hood seemed to consider his words. “Do you remember anything taking place around that time that would give some of our best and most trusted agents, people that I’d see as FBI lifers, a reason to resign?”
The president remained silent, so Hood continued.
“Mr. President, with all due respect, I understand that there are certain”—there was a brief pause before he continued—“strategies that the government implements to deal with particularly troublesome issues. You were a member of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence at the time, so if any unusual steps were taken to protect the country with the FBI, I thought you might recall.”
The president was immediately engrossed by the conversation. He wondered if this could be connected with his indoctrination into the world of covert operations as a rookie on the committee.
“Sometimes, yes. We have to deal with problems that come up in creative ways,” he said, obviously pondering something other than his answer. “The country was still reeling from the attacks on September 11, and Washington took many steps, some more extreme than others, to ensure the safety of our fellow Americans.”
“Do you think Director Culder could have taken the liberty to develop a strategy of his own?” Hood asked.
The president considered the question and recalled a top-secret National Security Presidential Directive. It was an initiative for the FBI to eliminate terrorist threats inside the borders of the United States, and there were two things about the directive that immediately came to mind. The first was that it was rescinded by the president after only a few months, and the second was that the program had been one championed by Senator Maximillian Soller.
At the time several influential committee members had banded together and rallied around then-Senator Cross, who had finally won the reluctant ear of the president. Together, they created Island Industries. The security company would be a front for the committee’s and executive branch’s new weapon, and retired admiral John Simpson, who had just been forced out of the top spot at the CIA, would be the man in charge. Not only would the new setup provide an extra layer of insulation for deniability, it would also make the FBI hit squad they had reluctantly agreed to form redundant.
The behind-the-scenes move had been the beginning of the end of Senator Soller’s time on the committee. He had managed to get his man into the FBI by cashing in a political IOU, but his sphere of influence would merely serve to keep Culder in place. The rift between the players involved was formed, and the committee would rally around its rising star, Senator Cross, and trust that he could control his longtime friend.
Cross had been at odds with Soller on the subject of Culder for years, unable to oust the man due to the senator’s power. The recent two-year extension for the FBI director’s ten-year term had been a tough pill to swallow, but he was now seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.
“Please, Mr. President,” Hood said abruptly, interrupting his thoughts, “I wouldn’t be coming to you if I didn’t think my goddaughter’s life was in danger.”
Cross had to admit he appreciated the audacity of Hood to contact him. There was a level of desperation, but anyone with the guts to approach the President of the United States like this was okay in his book.
“We need to talk,” Cross said. “How soon can you get to the White House?”
Chapter 92
Cathy Moynihan watched with curious shock as the young woman on the other side of the room repeatedly tipped her chair over in between shouts. It almost hit the ground once, and with each call out to the guards she made, the FBI agent’s heart rate increased. She feared this would provoke a situation that none of them wanted. Cold, soaked, and afraid, she couldn’t handle going back to that room for more.
“Hello? Hello!” the young woman shouted and then finally said, “Can someone please take me to the bathroom?”
The heavy footsteps had reached the door. Their power and urgency left no doubt that they belonged to the soldiers. Moynihan was increasingly nervous but kept her emotions in check. When the door swung open, two men entered the room, and both wore scowls on their weathered faces.
“Hi,” the young woman across the room said. Her tone was apologetic. “I really need to go to the bathroom.”
She was able to fashion an expression that satisfied one of the soldiers, and he walked over and began to reach for her handcuffs. The FBI agent noticed the young lady quickly move to face the keyhole of the cuff attached to the metal railing toward him. It was obvious that he had originally planned to unlock the cuff around her wrist. He paused for a second, as though he was confused, and then freed the cuff from the railing.
Once the restraint was removed, the soldier stood and motioned her to follow him. Moynihan watched the girl hook her leg around the chair, just like she’d done several times before. As she began to stand, she knocked her chair over and it fell over toward the computer desk. Moynihan’s mind was reeling as she relived the punishment the soldiers had given her. She couldn’t breathe. There was no doubt in her mind that they were capable of much worse. The girl managed a flustered look that also conveyed fear.
Both men laughed.
“I’m sorry,” the young woman said apologetically. “I’ll pick it up.”
Moynihan studied the girl as she picked up the chair and placed it on the other side of the metal bracket securing the railing to the concrete, and headed out the door. The FBI agent would have smiled if she hadn’t been starved for air. Before she could process what had just happened, a timid voice interrupted her thoughts.
“You’re the woman from that house,” Melody Millar whispered. “What did they do to you?”
Moynihan looked over at the teenager with a feeling of guilt. “Melody, I’m sorry they took you in like that.”
Millar didn’t respond.
“Believe me when I say I was completely against how this was handled.”
She still didn’t answer.
“I don’t know who these men are, but listen to me.” Moynihan’s eyes narrowed. “If they ask you a question, just tell them the answer. They’ll manage to get it out of you anyway.”
Millar returned her words with a look of concern. “Okay,” she said softly.
Footsteps approached the room, and they stopped talking. The sound the footsteps made was quieter this time. She assumed it was the man with the computer coming back. A few seconds later he opened the door and went over to the desk. He picked up his iPod, put the headphones on and plugged the laptop into the wall jack.
His fingers stabbed at the keyboard for a couple minutes and then he closed the display. Footsteps could be heard outside, and by the time he had made it to the door, the girl had come into the room with the two Russians. The scent of cigarette smoke was overwhelming. The girl thanked the men for bringing her to the bathroom and cuffed herself to the metal railing. The soldiers left without speaking.
The young woman turned to the desk and looked upset. “Shit,” she whispered. “Where did that guy’s iPod go?”
Chapter 93
The flight from Ronald Reagan National Airport to Chicago was short, but there was still plenty of time for FBI Director Frank Culder to piss off his men. Jack Sanders and Rudy Pagano had flown south from Frederick to pick up their boss in a Gulfstream V jet. The bureau had purchased the plane for use in counterterrorism work, and for the director, it had worked well for shuttling around his covert HVT squad. The three men then headed northwest to the Windy City.