The Jefferson Key (Cotton Malone 7)
“Don’t bother him again,” Daniels ordered. “Ms. Carbonell, are you in communication with the Commonwealth?”
She shook her head. “My contact to them was found dead last evening in Central Park, as was another of my agents in a nearby hotel. Two more were seriously injured. They were apparently shot by a Commonwealth operative they were attempting to apprehend.”
“You have four people down?” CIA asked her.
“I agree. It’s tragic. We contained the situation quickly and kept a lid on it. We’re searching for that Commonwealth operative now. He will be found.”
“Why did CIA and NSA want to speak to Wyatt?” Daniels asked.
“We, too,” CIA said, “were curious as to Wyatt’s involvement with what happened in New York.”
“Why?”
The president’s curt inquiry triggered more silence.
“It’s simply a question,” Daniels said. “How did you know Wyatt was even in New York?”
More silence.
Then, from NSA, “We’ve been watching NIA and Ms. Carbonell.”
“Why?”
“He’s screwing with them,” Davis said. “He does that to me all the time. Just one why after another, forcing you down a path that he’s already walked. He’s just waiting for you to catch up.”
“She’s interfering with our prosecution of the Commonwealth,” NSA said. “That group is well known to us all and is a danger to our national security. The decision was made to eliminate it. NIA and Ms. Carbonell disagree with that decision. We wondered why. Too much loyalty there under the circumstances. We knew she’d employed Wyatt, we just didn’t know all that was about to happen. If we had, we would taken preventive measures.”
“That’s comforting to know,” Daniels said, his sarcasm clear.
“When we learned Malone was the man in the video,” CIA said, “we realized something strange was up.”
“Okay, let me see if I have this straight,” Daniels said. “Somebody, identity unknown, tries to blow me up. A contract player, Jonathan Wyatt, is involved. At least three intelligence agencies knew that Wyatt was in New York doing something. Two of you were already investigating NIA and its director. What Wyatt was doing in New York, none of you is willing to admit. But two of you are curious enough to take Wyatt into custody, yet he escapes. And most important, four agents are down.”
No one said a word.
“You folks are about as useful as tits on a boar hog. How about this, which one of you sent men into the Garver Institute last night and murdered one of its employees?”
No reply.
“No one going to claim that one? I wouldn’t think so.”
“Carbonell probably did it herself,” Cassiopeia said.
Davis nodded. “Makes the most sense.”
“I want each of you to know that we’re investigating this, independent of you. If Wyatt lured Malone to New York, that meant he knew what was about to happen. If he knew, others knew. Hence, a plot.”
“We need to find Wyatt,” one of the men said.
“FBI director,” Davis noted. “The only one around that table we can actually trust. A straight shooter.”
“I’d say that should be tops on your list,” Daniels said. “What about those two automated weapons from the hotel rooms? What have you learned?”
“Sophisticated engineering,” the FBI director said. “Well made. Malone disabled the one with shots from the other that shorted out its electronics. They were both radio-controlled. No way, though, to ascertain from where, though a radius of about three miles was the receiver’s range.”
“That’s a lot of real estate in New York City,” Daniels said. “What, about 30,000 hotel rooms to choose from?”
“Something like that.”
“Since Wyatt seems the only one at the moment who knew anything in advance,” Daniels said, “he’s the best lead. At least he sent Malone in there. That’s better than the rest of you can claim.”
“Is Cotton Malone conducting your inquiry?” NSA asked.
“Does it matter?”
“No, sir. I was simply curious.”
“Like I said. None of you bother Malone. That’s a direct order. He’s working for me. The people who murdered Dr. Gary Voccio last night also tried to kill Malone and, interestingly, Wyatt, too. That means Wyatt may not be my enemy. I intend to find out who ordered that strike.”
No one spoke.
“Also, Stephanie Nelle has been missing for several days.”
“Missing where?” CIA asked.
“I don’t know. She’s just gone.”
“Do you plan to release any of this to the public?” someone asked.
“I’m not going to do anything.” Daniels stood. “Not until you folks do what you’re supposed to do and provide me with some meaningful information.”
Daniels came back into the camera’s view as he marched toward the door.
The people around the table rose for his exit.
“Mr. President.”
NSA director.
Daniels stopped at the door.
“Your assessment of our effectiveness is wrong,” NSA said. “For my agency, we intercept nearly two billion emails, phone calls, and other international communications each day. Someone must listen to those. It’s how threats directed toward us are communicated. It’s how we became suspicious of Ms. Carbonell and her ties to the Commonwealth. We provide a vital service.”
“And who sorts though those two billion communications you intercept each day?” Daniels asked.
NSA started to speak, but Daniels held up a hand. “Don’t bother. I know the answer. No one. You sort a mere fraction. And every once in a while you luck onto something, like with NIA, then spout off about your importance. Interesting how, despite all of your money, people, and equipment a group of goat-herding terrorists from the wilds of Afghanistan managed to plow two planes into the World Trade Center and another into the Pentagon. If not for the bravery of some ordinary Americans another plane would have destroyed the White House. You didn’t know a damn thing about any of that coming.”
“With all due respect, sir, I resent your insults.”
“With all due respect, I resent tossing $75 billion dollars a year-that we know of-away on your foolishness. I resent the fact that those planes made it as far as they did. I resent your arrogance. We deserve an intelligence community that works together as a team in every sense of the word. Hell, if World War II had been run this way we would have lost. I wasn’t planning on doing this but, before I leave office, I’m going to shake this rotting tree down to its roots. So get ready, people. Anybody else having something to say?”
No one spoke.
“Find Stephanie Nelle,” Daniels said.
“Before the assassins?” one of them asked.
“Find one and I believe you’ll find the other.”
The president left.
The others lingered a few seconds, then they, too, began to leave.
“Okay,” Davis said. “Our turn.”
FIFTY-FIVE
BATH, NORTH CAROLINA
KNOX READIED HIMSELF TO BE SHOT. THE WEAPON WAS OF modest caliber, and the bullet would surely pass straight through him.
But it was still going to hurt.
Apparently, the traitor had sold him out.
Hale lowered the gun. “Don’t you give me any more trouble, either. You should not have interfered in that challenge.”
He exhaled. “Killing Captain Bolton was not the answer to the problem.”
Hale laid the gun on the table and grabbed his empty glass, refilling it with whiskey. “The answer to our problem came a little while ago. The director of NIA called me.”
He told himself to listen carefully. Carbonell was maneuvering again. But so was Hale.
“NIA has solved the cipher. They know where that no-good scoundrel Andrew Jackson hid the two missing pages. She told me the location.”
“And you believe her?”
“Why not?”