Chapter Twenty-five

Wednesday, September 26

Cam pulled up a chair and regarded the three women seated around the dining-room table that now served as their conference area. Savard, she noted, looked tired, but not haunted. There was a clarity in her blue eyes that had been missing ten days ago. Some of the improvement, Cam surmised, was due to the fact that Stark showed no evidence of anthrax. Neither did Blair, and Cam knew just how much that meant in terms of her own peace of mind and ability to concentrate. She wouldn't feel completely comfortable until the sixty-day incubation period had passed, but Blair was taking the medication prescribed by Captain Andrews, and at this point she was perfectly healthy.

"Good to see you back, Savard. Are you up to speed yet?"

"Getting there, Commander. And thank you. It's good to be back." She and Stark had taken a night flight and then rented a car, arriving just after dawn. Paula had gone immediately to the main house, and she had sought out Felicia, who briefed her quickly over doughnuts and coffee. Just before the seven a.m. briefing, Valerie had come in through the back door. They hadn't had time to do more than nod to one another.

"We've got our full complement of people back now," Cam said. "So let's hear where we are." She looked first at Valerie. "What do we have on the worldwide situation? Anything to tie in to our four UNSUBs?"

"Nothing specific. Everything points to bin Laden as the mastermind of the WTC attack, although it looks like the terrorists responsible were assembled from an assortment of cells—some from Germany, some from the Middle East, and some who had been living here for at least several years. There's nothing that points to a direct American connection."

"On the other hand," Savard interjected, "there is plenty of evidence to suggest that terrorist groups throughout Europe, the Middle East, and elsewhere have begun to collaborate with one another, putting aside their philosophical differences in favor of combined strength. It's not much of a stretch to imagine that something like that could've happened here."

"It works in theory, I agree," Cam said flatly, "but we need facts. What have we turned up on the domestic front?"

Felicia passed out file folders.

Cam opened the top one, as did everyone else at the table. A computer image of a clean-shaven, white, middle-aged male with a buzz cut was on top. His face was square-jawed, with broad cheekbones and a short, relatively shapeless nose—an average face that reflected the melting-pot characteristics of many Americans of far-distant European descent. She looked up, waiting.

"This is August Kreis," Felicia said, "the Webmaster of the neo-Nazi Sheriff's Posse Comitatus group based in Ulysses, Pennsylvania. On September 11, while the World Trade Center towers stood burning, he posted a message praising the 'Islamic freedom fighters' and calling the attacks 'the first shots in a racial holy war that will topple the US government.'"

"Crazy bastard," Savard muttered.

Cam nodded. "I know who he is. He and his 'brothers' routinely get a mention in our internal security reports. So far, I gather he's come up clean for anything related to the attacks?"

"He's been on the FBI watch list for years," Savard said. "There's nothing to connect him to the WTC, other than the timing of his statement. As far as that goes, he either made a very good guess as to who was behind the attacks or he actually knew something. Unfortunately, no one can prove prior knowledge. But if his group knew, other patriot groups did too."

"What we've got," Felicia picked up the thread, "is a loose association of neo-Nazis, skinheads, white separatists, Christian Patriots, neo-Confederates—and the list goes on and on—who have slowly formed a coalition of paramilitary organizations in this country. They share intelligence and feed each other's fanaticism. And they don't give each other up. Code of silence and all that."

"We're looking into all of these organizations for something that connects to these four men," Savard said. "The problem is, our intelligence on these groups is scattered among all the various agencies. We're literally reduced to combing through internal memos from FBI field offices and interagency communiques trying to put the picture together."

"Have you put Foster into the mix as well?" Cam asked.

The agents nodded.

"And?" Cam leaned forward, still believing the answer would be found with him.

"Foster is a cipher," Felicia said, reading from another file folder. "Twenty-nine years old—six years of government service. Nothing exemplary or problematic about his career. His passport, which is reviewed routinely by our agency, showed three trips to Europe other than for assignment-related travel. Each time to Paris, all three trips in the last five months."

Cam narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "Girlfriend over there? Boyfriend?"

"No sign of any serious romantic relationship here or abroad. And he appears to be heterosexual."

"Savard, pull up the postings of Egret's travel schedule for the last twelve months." It was common practice for the White House press department to post the first family's schedule on the White House Web site as well as in briefings to the press corps, sometimes months in advance. It made the Secret Service's job more difficult, because it provided advance information to anyone who might be a threat, but it was part of the open communication policy that was at least paid lip service on Capitol Hill.

"Got it," Savard said after a minute of clicking through files on her laptop.

"How far in advance was her trip to Paris posted?"

Savard scrolled through data, then raised her eyes from the screen, a look of consternation creasing her face. "Just under six months ago— right before Foster's trips started."

"I'll see what our field agents have to say about the temperature in Paris," Valerie said quietly as everyone at the table grew still. "It's not normally a hot area for terrorist cells, but now? Who knows."

"Nothing happened in Paris last month," Felicia pointed out, referring to Blair's recent goodwill visit to the French capital.

"No," Cam said, her tone hard-edged. "Nothing that we know about." She stood abruptly and crossed the room to the windows overlooking the dune path. She balled her fists and shoved them into her pants pockets, because she wanted to break something. Foster could have been coordinating the attack on Blair for months, probably had been, right under her nose. She'd worked with the man, trusted Blair's life to him every day, and the entire time he had been plotting to assassinate her. If she had him in front of her now, she would kill him all over again. She turned back to the team, her expression carefully neutral, and sat down again.

"Pull his vouchers from last month. Maybe he got sloppy and included something that wasn't job-related in Paris. A cab ride, phone calls, anything at all. Track it all down."

Felicia nodded and made a note. "We've pretty much exhausted the deep background check on him, Commander. He's the first of two children, both boys. His father, now deceased, was a Navy fighter pilot in Vietnam. Mother a housewife. Raised in North Carolina, educated in the South as well. No criminal record, no reprimands in his file, no red flags anywhere." With a grimace, she closed the slim file. "Like I said, the all-American boy."

"You're missing something," Cam said quietly, with no hint of criticism. "Because he's not the all-American boy. All-American boys may be the privileged class, and they may sometimes be racists and homophobes, but they still don't associate with terrorists. And they don't try to assassinate the president's daughter." She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She thought about Foster, the perfect Secret Service agent. Smart, well-bred, a patriot. And somehow twisted and misguided. What was it that turned a man into something like that. "How old was he when his father died?"

"Uh..." Felicia scrambled with the paperwork.

Savard spoke first. "Almost nine."

"Start there."

"Commander?" Felicia asked uncertainly.

Cam opened her eyes and sat forward. "Find out what, or who; made Foster the man he became." She stood. "Keep looking at the patriot groups. Look back through Egret's files—maybe one of these guys, or one of these groups, sent her a threatening message in the past. Hell, maybe she turned one of these guys down for a date. Get me something."

"Yes, ma'am," Felicia said smartly, echoed by Savard.

When Cam left the room, Savard turned to Valerie. "I'd like you to work on the Paris end of things. Your people have a far deeper reach internationally than we do."

"Certainly."

Savard hesitated, then said, "I'm glad you're working with us, despite the bad blood between your agency and mine. You just need to understand that for us"—she indicated Felicia with a sweep of her hand—"this is personal."

"I understand perfectly, Agent Savard," Valerie replied. "It's very personal for me too."

"Good," Savard said, resuming command with the feeling that her world had settled into place. "Then let's get to work."

Stark shot to her feet when Cam walked into the kitchen. She'd been waiting for her, knowing that Cam had gone to brief the investigative team. Her coffee sat growing cold in front of her. She'd been rehearsing her speech and had forgotten to drink it.

"Commander, when you have time, I'd like to discuss the transition—"

"You've got Hara and Wozinski...and me, of course." Cam walked to the stove and put her palm on the coffeepot. It was warm. As she grabbed a ceramic mug from a stack on the dish drainer and poured herself a cup, she said, "Plus six of Whitley's private forces. All ex-military police, all very good." She turned and rested her back against the counter, sipping her coffee. "Good to have you back, Stark."

"Thank you, Commander. Is there anything in particular I should know?"

"Business as usual. Except no one is given this location. Not FBI, not Secret Service, not the White House security chief. They have one number. Mine. And that's the way it's going to stay. Anyone needs transportation on or off the island, come to me. I'll arrange it."

"Yes, ma'am."

"It's not about not trusting you, Stark. It's about limiting any access to her."

"I understand that." Stark weighed her words carefully. "The team needs to know that only one person will be giving the orders, Commander."

A moment passed. Cam lifted a shoulder. "And that would be you."

"Thank you."

"Just know that if she's ever in danger, it will be me standing in front of her."

Stark shook her head. "Only if I'm down. You owe it to her not to be the one. Respectfully, ma'am."

Again Cam was silent, her gaze distant. Then she refocused on Stark. "All right, Chief. From now on, I'd like you to sit in on the investigative briefings."

"I'll be there."

"Diane is here, in case you haven't seen her yet. She and Blair have stayed pretty close to the house, and so far it's not been a problem. The beach is secure, but they need to be accompanied. Blair doesn't like it, but—"

From the kitchen doorway, Blair finished, "She doesn't have anything to say about it. Per usual." In a baggy faded blue FBI T-shirt and red-checked boxers that came to mid-thigh, she padded barefoot across the kitchen, paused to squeeze Stark's arm in way of greeting, and made for the coffeepot. She put her palm in the center of Cam's chest and leaned into her for a quick kiss. "Good morning, darling."

Cam grinned. "Hi."

"Please feel free to keep talking about me," Blair said after pouring her coffee. "I'm used to it."

Cam slung an arm around Blair's shoulders, "I think we're probably done with that now."

"Uh-huh." Blair smiled at Stark. "You have a sunburn. Did you have fun?"

"Uh..."

"You are allowed to have fun, Paula," Blair said. "Yon were on vacation."

"It was good. It was great."

"How's Renee?"

Stark glanced at Cam. "She's good. She's fine."

"I think everyone's getting their legs back under them," Cam said mildly. She kissed Blair's temple. "I've got some calls to make. Can I interest you in a walk after that?"

"Sure. I won't be long." Blair waited until Cam had left the room. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable asking about Renee in front of Cam."

Stark shook her head. "No, it's okay. I'm just getting used to the commander.. .well, not exactly being the commander."

Blair laughed. "Paula. Cam will always be Cam, no matter what you call her."

"Yeah, I know."

"Is that a big problem for you?"

"No, not really. It would be silly of me not to take advantage of everything she knows."

"That's a very mature view," Blair said with a grin.

Stark grinned back. "Yeah, I thought so too. But you know, wherever you're going to be, she's going to be. And, well...she's always going to have a say in how we protect you."

"Well," Blair set her mug down on the counter behind her, "I'm glad it's you that took her place."

"Thank you very much. I'm honored."

"I know. I don't understand it, I never have, and I never will. But I believe you." Blair sighed. "Is Renee really doing okay?"

"I think so. She's not having nightmares, at least she hasn't the last few nights,"

"How about you?"

Stark looked puzzled. "Me?"

"I was kind of thinking of the anthrax thing," Blair said mildly.

"Oh. That." Stark took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't think about it."

Blair grinned. "Me neither. But I feel okay. You?"

"Fine. Have you heard anything more about Fazio?"

"He's still hospitalized, but responding to therapy. He's going to be okay."

"Man, that's good," Stark said.

"Mac is doing well too. In fact, Cam spoke with him this morning, and he told her they're releasing him in two days."

Starks face lit up. "Yeah? It won't be long before we have the whole team togeth..." She fell silent, thinking about Cynthia. And Foster. She met Blair's gaze. "Nothing will ever be the same again, will it?"

"No," Blair said quietly. "But things never are. We'll all be okay." On her way out of the kitchen, she patted Stark's shoulder. "I'll be going for a walk on the beach with my lover in approximately half an hour, Chief. If you'd like to follow me."

Stark hid her smile. "Yes, ma'am."

Chapter Twenty-Six

Thursday, September 27

I can't believe you held on to the ace of trump until now," Blair said, tossing down her cards in disgust. "Honestly, Paula, do you think I'm a mind reader?"

"Uh...I thought I was supposed to wait until I could take more points." Stark's face was a study in consternation.

"Not from me. Not when I'm your partner." Blair stood abruptly, her chair nearly tipping over as she pushed it back. Everyone at the table flinched. "What exactly do you all do at that training facility of yours when you have spare time? Because God knows, every last one of you is a lousy card player."

"Well," Stark replied with a completely straight face, "we spend a lot of time cleaning our guns."

Blair's eyes narrowed as Diane and Hara tried desperately not to laugh. "You just might become the security chief with the shortest tenure ever."

"Maybe we could work out hand signals or something—"

"Never mind," Blair said through her teeth. "I'm going for a walk."

"Blair, honey," Diane pointed out, "it's midnight. And it's raining."

"I know it's raining. It's been raining for four days. I'm going for a walk." Blair turned on her heel and stalked from the living room.

With a sigh, Diane stood and said to Stark, "I'm going with her."

"Us too," Stark said with equanimity as she and Hara rose.

Diane caught up with Blair on the path to the beach and huddled close to her in the whipping wind and rain. She held the umbrella ineffectually above their heads, where it did little to keep the pelting water from their faces. "God, this is awful."

"Go back, then." Blair shook water from her eyes. "Damned rain."

"What has got you so cranky?"

"I'm not cranky."

"Oh yes, you are, and you're taking it out on poor Stark. One of the sweetest spookies you've ever had. And I've seen them all."

"I'm not—" She broke off as the umbrella turned itself inside out and nearly set sail. She grabbed it from Diane's hand. "Give me that, before it gets away and kills one of them back there."

"You must be horny."

Blair forced the umbrella closed and shoved it under her arm. "Diane. You're my best friend. But if you don't shut up, I'm going to drown you."

Diane pushed water off her face with both hands. "Then you'd better hurry."

"In case you haven't noticed, Cam has been holed up in the guesthouse for almost three days straight." Blair stomped down to the water's edge, her sneakers filling with ice-cold water. The sky was a solid inky black, storm clouds obscuring the stars. She hugged herself, and when she felt Diane's arms close around her waist from behind, she welcomed her warmth. "When she works like this, she doesn't sleep, and she doesn't eat, and she subsists on coffee. She gets headaches that she thinks I don't know about. She's pissing me off."

"Now I get it. You act the same whether you're worried or homy, and the solution is the same too. You just need Cam in bed."

Blair laughed. "That would be a good place to start." She turned her back to the water and the punishing wind and threaded an arm around Diane's waist. "How about you? Are you suffering from lack of company as well? I don't see you spending much time in your own bed at night."

"Valerie usually calls me when they're wrapping up and I... visit."

"Then you're doing better than me. By the time Cam gets home, she usually falls facedown into bed and gets up again three hours later."

"Well, I haven't had a chance to get used to Valerie yet, so I'm not letting her get a lot of sleep."

"I have a feeling that action's probably mutual." Blair steered a path across the darkened beach, noting the shadowy outlines of her two security agents backlit by the lights of the house. She raised her voice to be heard over the sounds of surf and rain. "Go back inside. We're on our way up."

"I'm going to leave you here," Diane said as she reached the point where the path branched to the guesthouse. "I think tonight, I'll surprise her."

"See if you can send mine home before dawn," Blair grumbled as she continued toward the main house.

"I hope you don't mind," Diane said quietly as Valerie slipped into the darkened room. "I let myself in through the back."

Valerie crossed to the bed, her eyes gradually adjusting to the absence of light. She leaned over, tracing the ghostly shape beneath the white sheets with her hand, moving from soft cotton to even softer skin. She combed her fingers through silken strands, her thumb brushing Diane's cheek. She found her mouth effortlessly, as if drawn to her by an invisible force. Soft lips, impossibly warm, enticingly yielding. Her fingers trembled as Diane kissed them. "Oh no. I don't mind at all."

Diane sat up in bed, smoothing her palms over Valerie's shoulders, down her chest, softly outlining her breasts before settling onto the buttons of her blouse. "Let me help you."

Valerie unzipped her slacks and pushed them off as Diane freed her from the rest of her clothing. She slid under the sheets and stretched out facing Diane, supporting her head in her open hand. Lightly, she traced the faint ridge of Diane's collarbone to the hollow at the base of her throat. She placed a soft kiss there. "I'm so glad you're here."

"You've been working terribly hard. All of you."

"There's so much to do, and every day that passes feels like just so much opportunity lost." She sighed as Diane slipped one leg between hers, drawing their bodies closer together. She kissed her, smoothing her palm down the center of Diane's back to cup her buttocks. "Mmm, I love the way you feel. Your skin is so soft." She parted her lips and gently nipped at Diane's nipple, teasing it with tongue and teeth. "And I love that little mole you have on your breast. So sexy."

Diana arched her back, enjoying the pull of Valerie's mouth on her flesh. She laughed as Valerie traced her tongue around the small birthmark. "I hated that when I was young, I can remember trying to talk Blair and Tanner into getting matching tattoos, so I could cover it up."

"That would have been a shame," Valerie murmured, edging down on the bed. She sucked lightly on the now-turgid thimble of tissue before continuing lower, rubbing her cheek over Diane's stomach.

"I love your mouth. God, what you do to me." Diane gathered Valerie's hair in her hand, tugging gently as Valerie teased at her navel. Dreamily, she recounted, "The two of them were always the daring ones...mmm, that's so nice..." She shifted her legs restlessly as Valerie worked lower. "But they...chickened out."

"I'm glad." Valerie danced her fingers over Diane's thighs and flicked her tongue through the silky curls that lay between them. "I can't quite see you with a heart... or a butterfly... tattooed on your breast."

"Oh, we weren't going to do anything as...mundane as that. We were...thinking of the school mascot...a mountain li—" Diane was brought back from her sensuous haze as Valerie abruptly sat up. "Darling? What is it? What's wrong?"

"What? Oh...nothing." Valerie found Diane's hand and brought it to her lips. She kissed her knuckles. "I'm sorry. Forgive me. I need to get up."

Diane pushed herself up in bed, leaning on her elbows. "Now?"

"Something I have to check." Even as she spoke, Valerie was slipping into her slacks. "I'm sorry. God. I'm sorry."

"Tell me that you're at least suffering a little bit. Because if I'm the only one that's wet and—"

"No. God, no." Valerie sat on the edge of the bed again and curved a hand behind Diane's head, pulling the other woman roughly against her. She covered her mouth with hers, her tongue seeking entrance, and when welcomed, swirling demandingly inside. "Believe me, I'm dying. I've been wanting you all night."

"Good. Then go, and do whatever it is that you need to do. Because when you make love to me, I'm not sharing you with anything." Diane gently pushed her away. "Do you mind if I stay here?"

"I might be a while." Valerie kissed her again. "But I'd like it if you waited. It might be nothing."

"Then I'll be waiting."

"I'll come back as soon as I can." Valerie framed her face and kissed her forehead.

"Careful, I just might hold you to that."

"You do that."

Then Valerie was gone, and Diane curled into the warm space her body had just occupied. She closed her eyes, contenting herself with the scent of her hair on the pillow.

Blair awakened to the insistent ringing of the cell phone. She sat up in bed and leaned across her sleeping lover, fumbling on the bedside table amidst the beeper, the gun, and the radio for the phone.

"God damn it," she cursed, finally finding the small object at the same time as Cam roused.

"I'm awake," Cam muttered groggily, extending her hand.

"No, you're not. And whatever it is," Blair said irritably as she flipped open the phone, "it can wait until morning. They can just call back then." She snapped it closed and dropped it onto the floor on her side of the bed.

"Blair, who was that?" Cam asked quietly, alert now.

Blair circled Cam's shoulders and pulled her down against her body. "No one. Go back to sleep."

"You do realize that was my phone."

"Be quiet, Cameron, and go to sleep."

"It might've been Lucinda, or the president."

"I don't care if it was the pope. You need some sleep."

Cam kissed Blair's cheek, then heaved herself up and over her body. She stretched an arm down and felt around on the floor until she found her phone, then rolled back into bed. She opened it and pushed recall.

"You just won't quit, will you," Blair said.

"Roberts," Cam said when the phone was answered. "No, I accidentally disconnected it. What's up?"

"Disconnected it, my ass," Blair muttered. "I'll disconnect it."

Cam instinctively curled her body around the phone, fearing that Blair would snatch it from her grasp and toss it across the room. "I'm sorry- Repeat that?" As she listened, Cam swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She walked to the chair where she'd left her clothes and grabbed her pants in one hand, awkwardly stepping into them as she held the phone between her ear and shoulder. "I'll be right there."

Blair sprang from the bed, naked, and stalked over to Cam. "It's four thirty in the morning. You didn't come in until two. What's so important?"

"Valerie has a lead." Cam kissed her quickly. "Do you think you could find me a clean shirt while I wash up?"

"How's your headache?"

"What?"

"The headache, Cam."

"It's fine."

Blair found a clean shirt in the top dresser drawer, pulled off the protective plastic, and shook it out as she walked into the bathroom. She held it out to Cam with one hand and opened the medicine cabinet with the other. She extracted the aspirin bottle. "Take two of these before you go back over there. And promise me that you'll catch some sleep later on today."

Cam shrugged into her shirt, dry swallowed the aspirins, and kissed Blair again. "Promise. I love you."

"Yeah, yeah." Blair snatched her robe from the bathroom door and walked with her through the house, knowing she wasn't going to be able to sleep. She contemplated waking Diane for company, and then realized that she was at the guesthouse too. Feeling abandoned and out of sorts, she contemplated another walk. It was pitch black and still storming. She contented herself with making coffee, and as she watched the pot brew, heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw Stark in the doorway. "Do you have the night shift or can't you sleep either?"

"Night shift."

"Good. Go get the cards. I'm going to teach you how to play pinochle."

Cam walked into the dining room, which was lit by three desk lights and the computer monitors. The overhead chandelier had been turned down to a soft glow. Felicia and Valerie each sat at a keyboard. "What's up?"

Valerie pointed to the printer, where a page was just sliding out. "Grab that, Cameron. See what you think."

"Where's Savard?" Cam asked as she extracted the page.

"Asleep at the main house. I thought we could call her if this turns out to be anything," Felicia said. "I just thought..."

"No, you're right. Somebody might as will get some sleep." Cam frowned at the image from the color laser printer. It looked like a patch from a military uniform, but she didn't recognize the insignia. The resolution was poor and some of the markings indistinct. But what was very clear were the two crossed rifles above the American flag in the upper portion of the shield-shaped design. "What is this?"

"It's a shoulder patch," Valerie said. "We copied it from a web site image and blew it up. That's the tattoo those four guys had on their arms, don't you think?"

"Certainly looks like it." Cam pulled a chair out and sat down, placing the paper carefully on the table next to her. "Where is it from?"

Valerie slid a foot away from the computer monitor and pointed to the screen. "NCMA—North Carolina Military Academy. David Foster was a student there from the age of nine until he graduated at the age of seventeen."

"What's that site?"

Felicia answered, "It's the home page for the school. The commandant is in full uniform, and we pulled the patch off the picture of him."

Cam was quiet for several moments, then she stood and walked closer to the computer, squinting at the images. "We need to know everything there is to know about that place. How long has that guy been the commandant?"

"Checking," Felicia muttered. "Twenty-seven years."

"Then we need to know everything on him too. Starting with his name."

"General Thomas Matheson."

"A real general?" Cam asked. "Because sometimes these guys bestow their own ranks that don't come from any recognized branch of the Armed Forces."

"We don't know that yet," Valerie said. "We're about to start running him through databases now."

"You'd better wake Savard. That's her area," Cam said. "I'll make some coffee. The next thing you need to do is get the student records from the years that Foster was there. Let's see if we can pull some faces that match our dead guys."

"We'll have to...extract...that information from their internal computer systems," Felicia said carefully.

"Fine. Hack into them, Davis. Just don't let them know."

"Yes, ma'am," Felicia said smartly, a small smile of anticipation softening her elegantly remote features.

As Felicia turned to the keyboard, her fingers already flying, Cam signaled for Valerie to accompany her to the kitchen. "Nice job with that. How'd you tip to it?"

Valerie recalled the sensation of Diane's skin beneath her lips, the scent of her, and her heart raced. "Just luck. Someone mentioned getting a tattoo of a school mascot, which made me think of school crests." She opened the cabinet door and passed the coffee canister to Cam. She crossed her arms over her chest, belatedly realizing that she'd forgotten her underwear in her haste to dress earlier.

Cam followed her motion and hastily averted her gaze. "It's the first lead we've had, and it's solid."

"You're thinking that Foster met these men, or at least one of them, at school and then later reconnected with them?"

"Seems like a good possibility."

"God," Valerie murmured. "Why?"

"That's something we may never understand. I'll be happy just to know how."

"If this really turns out to be true," Valerie said, "it's going to be a media nightmare. We can't let this get out."

"I imagine that's why you're here, isn't it?" Cam spoke without rancor, watching Valerie's face. "To control the flow of information?"

"Even the CIA can't do that, Cameron. You know that."

"But the CIA is very good at making embarrassing situations disappear, when it's necessary."

Valerie said nothing. She couldn't refute what they both knew to be true.

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 774