“We do. It moves forward exactly as it has.”
“You don’t understand the scope,” said Reid. “Or the politics.”
“What politics?”
Reid stared at the glass divider that separated the hybrid-powered Town car’s passenger compartment from the driver. Many members of the Agency considered him an old school idealist, but he thought of himself as a realist. As much as he hated Agency and bureaucratic politics, as much as he isolated himself from them, he nonetheless realized they had to be taken into account at all times.
“You’re DoD,” he said, referring to the Department of Defense. “I’m Central Intelligence. Whiplash is split between those agencies. It starts there.”
“And we can end it there.”
“No. We can’t.”
“Do you want to be in charge?” Breanna asked. “Is that it?”
She felt her cheeks starting to flush. She was trying to control her anger, but it wasn’t easy. She liked Reid, but she felt he had ambushed her in an attempt to get an advantage in a ridiculous bureaucratic game. It seemed out of character, or at least out of sync with the way he had acted until now.
“Depending on where this goes, we may have hundreds of people in the field, and thousands behind them supporting them,” said Reid. “We don’t have the infrastructure to pull off a large operation. It’s simply a matter of size.”
“You have the infrastructure, at CIA, as deputy director. Is that the point?”
“I’m not deputy director.”
“He’d run it through you. So you take Whiplash out of the loop and run it on your own?”
“It’s possible that would happen,” admitted Reid. “But that wouldn’t be my recommendation. We would turn the entire matter over to Operations, and let them handle it the way they’ve handled missions like this in the past. Some of the people who worked on sabotaging the original Iranian program under the previous administration—”
“There’s a recommendation,” said Breanna bitterly.
“They’re experienced people. Some of the results were not that good. Some were. In any event, there’s a structure set up, institutional memory—”
“But that’s just the point, Jonathon. Everything we’ve done—Whiplash, MY-PID, the other gear—everything is an attempt to break out of the old mode.”
“Sometimes you don’t have to reinvent the wheel.”
“But we did. And now that we see it working, you want to go back to the horse and buggy.”
Reid put his hand on the blue briefing book on the seat next to him, sliding his fingers along the top edge. He realized she did have a point. They were pioneering new techniques for combining covert action and intelligence gathering, using high-tech tools with a streamlined command structure. They had gotten results.
“I will talk briefly about the unit, just enough to let those who aren’t aware of it understand its capabilities,” said Breanna, deciding to move on to what they’d planned to discuss. “You can talk about mission.”
“And when they ask for recommendations?”
“I’ll say we should continue. You can say whatever you want.”
AS SHE STEPPED FROM THE CAR TO HEAD INTO THE WEST Wing, Breanna’s personal cell phone rang. She reached into her pocketbook and took it out. Her daughter’s face was on the screen—Teri was calling from school.
Breanna felt her heart stop as she hit the Talk button.
“Honey, what’s up?”
“Mom—”
“She’s all right, Mrs. Stockard,” said a male voice in the background. “Tell her you’re all right.”
All Breanna could think of was that Teri had been kidnapped.
“I fell during gym, Mom.”
Oh, thank God, thought Breanna. “Are you okay, honey?”
“My leg hurts.”
“Is that the doctor behind you?” she asked, her relief receding. “Honey—is that the doctor?”
“Actually, Mrs. Stockard, I’m the nurse practitioner at Day School,” said the man. “Your daughter is okay. I don’t think she broke any bones, but with your permission I’d like to have her taken to the hospital just as a precaution. For X rays. I’ve seen dozens of these, ma’am. Usually this is just a little twist and bruise. They’re out running by the afternoon. But I would prefer to err on the side of caution. I hope you understand.”
“I appreciate that, Doctor—”
“Simon. Nurse Simon, or just Simon.”
“I’m sorry, Simon. Yes, please—she should go to the hospital right away.” Breanna looked up at Reid, who was staring at her with the most concerned expression she’d ever seen on his face. It’s okay, she mouthed.
“We’re going to need you or, uh, someone to meet her at the hospital,” said Simon.
Today, of all days, thought Breanna.
“Someone will be there,” she told him, barely remembering to ask which hospital before hanging up.
“Your daughter?” asked Reid.
“Just a silly sports injury,” she said.
“Do you want me to fill in?”
Breanna was torn between the impulse to run to her daughter’s side and the briefing she was supposed to give.
“Let me get Zen on the phone,” she said. She forced a smile. “I think he’s on hospital duty today.”
ZEN WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF A COMMITTEE HEARING when his legislative aide, Steph Delanie, tapped him on the shoulder.
“It’s your wife,” she whispered. “Urgent.”
Zen gripped his wheels—after all these years, he still preferred a nonpowered chair—and backed away from his spot at the table. He caught the eye of the committee chairman, who nodded, then turned and went out into the hall with Delanie. Another member of his staff, Jason Black, stood nearby with a cell phone.
“Probably forgot where I hid the peanut butter,” said Zen, trying to joke as he reached for the phone. “Hey, babe, what’s up?”
“Jeff, they’re taking Teri to the hospital. She hurt her leg. She’s OK, but they want X rays to make sure. Can you go over? I’m—I’m just on my way to see the President and the National Security Council. I’m right outside the door.”
“Where is Teri? Is she OK?”
“Yes, she’s OK. The school nurse called. They want to take her there as a precaution and I said fine. The nurse is a he, by the way.”
“Which hospital, Bree? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine.”
Zen could withstand any amount of pain without whimpering—he might complain, curse, and stomp things with his fist, but never whimper. If his daughter or wife had a cold, however, he suffered incredibly. There was simply no way he could be stoic when either of them was in pain.
“She’s at Dominion,” added Breanna, a little less emphatically. “In the emergency room.”
“I’m on my way. I’m there.”
“Jeff—”
“She’ll be fine Bree. I have it under control.”
Zen hung up. He told Delanie to have the rest of his day’s schedule canceled, then had Jason Black accompany him to the hospital.
Black was just out of college, low enough on the totem pole that a boring job like escorting the senator seemed exciting. Ordinarily, Zen might have regaled him with stories about how boring the hearing had been, or the New York congressman who was rumored to be sleeping with his campaign coordinator, but he was too focused on Teri to think about any of that. He drove himself—he could never have been patient enough to let someone else take the wheel.
Black, sitting in the passenger seat, fidgeted silently the entire way. He longed to ask Zen some questions about his days at Dreamland, but was afraid of offending him. The senator could often be heard complaining to Delanie and others about how boring and stale those stories had become.
A security guard tried to wave them away from the staff parking area as they pulled up.
“That’s for staff,” shouted the man, running over as Zen backed from the wheel and pushed the wheelchair into the lift next to the door. “You have to move!”
The door opened. The forklift-like elevator pulled Zen out of the van and began lowering him to the curb. The appearance of an obviously handicapped man gave the guard pause—but only for a second.