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Steve Harcourt sat in Russell’s chair and George Cromwell sat opposite. Harcourt was typing on the computer keyboard, but paused when he saw Wendel.

“We’ve been preparing to speak to you, Ms. Wendel,” Cromwell said. Wendel’s already sick stomach gave a wrench that made her want to bend over in pain. Instead she took a deep breath and stood straighter.

“Why is that, sir?”

Cromwell gave her a grave look. “Someone’s accessing the CIA database from the outside. They’re using Russell’s passcode. We’re not sure how much damage was done as yet. Luckily her computer is offline, and the IT specialist says that unless it’s open there are only a few areas that can be accessed from outside, even with the passcode. We’re monitoring the threat. Letting him use the code for the moment. Trying to trace the hacker back to the source.”

Wendel’s mouth was dry. She managed a nod but didn’t trust herself to speak. Harcourt stood, and she looked across the desktop at him.

“We just called the hospital and were told that she was gone. The night nurses described the woman who was with her and the sign-in sheet. Your name was on the sign-in sheet. Then we had hospital security check the security camera feed. You were seen smoking outside when Russell’s asset, Jon Smith, appeared and spoke to you, and later you were found on the parking lot security tape with Russell.”

Wendel swallowed, which was of little use to her parched throat. Her hands were shaking, but she clasped them in front of her to control them.

“I understood from Ms. Russell that Smith was assisting in this investigation.”

Harcourt nodded. “She suggested that he be involved in the investigation early on and agreed to manage him. Why were you at the hospital?”

“I was with Ms. Russell.”

Cromwell pointed to an empty chair. “Perhaps you should tell us everything you know. In particular, we want to hear everything you know about Smith. He’s been implicated in one shooting at an office building in New York and another at an empty construction site where a body was found.”

Wendel had no trouble looking shocked at this statement. She knew so little about Smith, but watching him hang from the wall of the hotel during the attack and then his instant grasp of the technology breach along with his access to a man with Marty’s talents left her with little doubt that he was capable of protecting himself. One only had to speak to the man for a few minutes to tell that his survival skills far surpassed those of most civilians. Whether or not he was truly on the right side of things was something that Wendel couldn’t know. All she had to rely on were her instincts and Russell’s confidence in him.

“I’m sure he had nothing to do with that, sir.”

“Just tell us what he said to you,” Harcourt’s voice was harsh.

Wendel sank into the empty chair. Her mind raced with possible explanations for her conversation with Smith, but she decided to stick as close to the truth as possible. Russell had already coached her on what to say if Marty’s activities were discovered. She was to be forthcoming and lay it all on Russell.

“Ms. Russell asked that I speak with him. She had concerns about the CIA.”

Cromwell leaned forward. “What type of concerns?”

Both men stared at her. Wendel hesitated. Even with Russell’s insistence on taking the blame, fingering Russell felt as though Wendel were throwing her under the bus. She swallowed again and then plunged on.

“She thought there was a mole. On the inside. Feeding information to the outside.” Harcourt and Cromwell exchanged glances.

“Did she say who?” Cromwell said.

Wendel shook her head.

Harcourt snorted. “Well, it’s her passcode that’s compromised. I’d say she’s the mole. And I don’t like that Smith is receiving information from her. He’s supposed to be an asset, not a confidant. What is she thinking?”

Cromwell nodded. “So much for bringing in field officers. Clearly she’s gone rogue and he’s assisting her.” He stood. “We need to bring them both in.”

“I suggest that we use the FBI for this one. Send out a bulletin. The New York City police are already looking to speak with him about the Landon Investments killing, but Russell managed to back them down.”

Cromwell looked surprised. “She did? How?”

Harcourt frowned. “I’m sorry to say that she asked me to call one of my contacts on the force and get him to sit on the Smith connection for a little while. Refocus their attention away from him. She said she needed Smith’s expertise to assist in the search for Dattar and the coolers.” Harcourt held out his hands, palms up, and a contrite look passed over his face. “I thought it was a good idea at the time.”

Cromwell waved him off. “You acted appropriately. Nothing wrong with assisting another officer and Smith was her asset to manage. Call the FBI. Get them on it now. I want Russell found, and I want Smith dragged off the street.”

“Unharmed?”

Cromwell got a pensive look on his face. “Her, absolutely. Him? I’d like to bring him here and get some answers, but they should know that he’s armed and dangerous and if he puts up a fight then they should use their own judgment. If he responds with deadly force, they shouldn’t hesitate to do the same.” Wendel did her best not to gasp out loud. Harcourt reached over and shut off Russell’s computer.

“I’ll be sure to have this office sealed and let the IT department track the hacker for a little longer before inactivating her passcode.” Cromwell walked to the open door.

“Ms. Wendel, come with us. I’d like you to prepare a formal statement for inclusion in the file.” Cromwell stood at the door and indicated that she should precede him out. She gave one glance to the darkened computer and left.

36

Manhar watched Dattar’s limousine pull into the gated drive of a house in Long Island. True to their word, Howell and Beckmann had let him go, and he had spent the first few hours holed up next to Khalil’s base camp. He’d been unable to decide what to do. To return home without having accomplished his goal meant death; that was certain. To admit failure to Khalil meant death by slow torture. He had huddled in a dark corner watching the half-finished building for any signs of his boss, and it was then that he saw Khalil’s limo pull up. He’d seen them push the woman into the construction site and later watched Smith stroll down the street and disappear inside. It was to his great dismay that he saw Khalil run away. He’d hoped that Smith would kill him.

He’d kept his ear to the ground during the entire mission and had heard a rumor that Dattar was flying into the States to stay at the home of a Pakistani nationalist who lived in Long Island. To the neighbors, this man was a Turkish import-export entrepreneur, but he was actually an arms trader. The rumor was that Dattar was renting the house for his own use.

Now Manhar stepped out of the bushes and ran behind the car in an awkward, limping motion due to his injured knee, and slid into the compound before the gates closed completely. The driveway was not long, perhaps fifty feet. He walked slowly toward the house, trying to stay calm as Dattar’s bodyguards climbed out from inside the limousine. Dattar himself stepped out next. Both he and the three bodyguards pulled weapons and trained them on him. He put his hands in the air.