Such beauty was the last thing Maines or any other resident of supermax would have seen before they were locked inside for life, and she wondered if the Department of Justice hadn’t chosen this site for that reason, just to add a final bit of punishment onto their sentences.
Kyra pulled the smartphone from her pocket, called up the number she needed from the contacts list, and dialed. “It’s me,” she said. “He’s inside.”
“Ah, supermax… our landfill for human garbage. You didn’t go in with him?” Clark Barron asked. The CIA director did not sound surprised.
“I’m done with him.”
“I wish we could forget about our traitors. They’ll be teaching classes about him for the next fifty years. Speaking of which, the Kent School wants you to give a lecture on Maines in the Bubble.”
“Any chance we can get Jon and Kathy to come back in? Guest speakers?” Kyra asked.
“We have to unveil Kathy’s portrait in the Directors Gallery soon. I’m sure the Burkes wouldn’t mind spending a few minutes onstage talking. Well, Kathy will be happy to do it. Jon, not so much,” Barron offered. “Do you want an extra day out there? You’ve got the leave hours.”
“Depends,” she replied without thought. “You don’t need me for anything?”
“We do have a report that some advanced body armor showed up in Libya,” Barron admitted. “Nothing that’s going to change the big picture over there, but not something we like to see. But I think we can handle it without you.”
“I was thinking about driving back. I’ve never seen the battlefields at Shiloh or Chickamauga. I thought I might take the opportunity.”
“Avoid Kansas,” Barron advised. “Swing south through Texas and Louisiana. Barbecue and gumbo country.”
“Noted. I’ll call you from the road.”
“Take your time.” Barron hung up and Kyra replaced her smartphone in her pocket.
She stared at the Rockies again. The winter snows hadn’t melted off the peaks yet. They were tall enough that she wondered if the powder ever melted, even in the summertime. It was a sight fit for a painting, grays and blues everywhere she looked. But it wasn’t home. The greens hills of Virginia were more beautiful still, to her eyes anyway.
The chief of the Red Cell turned away from the prison and walked back toward her rental car. She could be home in three days if she wanted to drive hard. Virginia was two thousand miles east, but she was in no hurry. The world was quiet, for once.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My first acknowledgement, as always, must go to my dear wife, Janna, without whom it would be impossible to write the first page, much less an entire book. I love you.
Jason Yarn and Ken Freimann, my agents who keep things moving in a productive direction. Not all of my ideas are good ones, and these are the gentlemen who must occasionally prune the tree of my imagination so the good fruit can flourish.
Lauren Spiegel, Miya Kumangai, and Shida Carr, my editors and publicist at Simon & Schuster who are forever professional and encouraging. My work is always better for their having read, edited, and promoted it.
Steve S. for help with Russian language and culture and years of friendship and mentoring. The world is both a safer and more interesting place thanks to him.
My friends and family and those readers who are forever encouraging. I write for you as much as for myself.
The Agency managers and Publication Review Board members who have to read my manuscripts and call out the bits that need to be changed or redacted. Their unfailing politeness makes the review process far easier than it otherwise could be. Their persistent professionalism strongly suggests to me that ex-Agency authors who complain about “censorship” are trying to publish details they know darned well that they shouldn’t and are either just mad that they’re getting blocked, trying to gin up publicity and therefore sales, or both.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mark Henshaw is a graduate of Brigham Young University and a decorated CIA analyst with more than sixteen years of service. In 2007, Henshaw was awarded the Director of National Intelligence Galileo Award for innovation in intelligence analysis. A former member of the Red Cell think tank, Henshaw is the author of Red Cell and Cold Shot. He lives with his family in Leesburg, Virginia.
Visit him at
MARKHENSHAW.COM