Christine O’Connor entered her spacious seventh-floor office after her return trip from the White House, still contemplating the information revealed in the Situation Room. She hadn’t let on during the meeting, but she’d been embarrassed, caught flat-footed by the revelation the ambassador’s assassin was Lonnie Mixell. The director of the CIA, head of an organization with a vast intelligence collection apparatus, had been unaware of that key fact during her first meeting with her contemporaries and before the president himself.
Upon reaching her desk, she activated the intercom to her secretary. “Are the DD and DDO in?”
“Yes, Miss O’Connor.”
“Have them meet me in my office.”
When the two men arrived, Christine motioned toward the round conference table, where Monroe Bryant, the agency’s deputy director, and Patrick Rolow, the deputy director for operations, took their seats. They must have sensed something in her demeanor, because the two men cast curious glances between them.
Christine joined them at the table, taking a few seconds to determine how best to proceed.
Finally, she said, “I just had an uncomfortable meeting at the White House.”
“In what way?” Bryant asked.
“Do you know who assassinated the ambassador?”
“We do now.”
“I was blindsided during the White House meeting. I’m the director of the CIA and I didn’t even know that the man responsible was someone I went to school with.”
Bryant replied, “When it comes to domestic issues, the FBI has access to more data and analysis resources. They’re going to discover information faster than we can.”
“I don’t want to hear excuses,” she said firmly. “Just don’t let it happen again.”
Neither man replied, and as they waited for further direction, Christine evaluated the two men seated before her.
In his late fifties, Monroe Bryant was your quintessential bureaucrat, one Christine found easy to read. In Bryant’s mind, Christine and the other CIA directors who rolled through Langley learned just enough to be dangerous, making well-intentioned but often damaging decisions. His self-ordained job was to manage the issues that rose to her attention, ensuring she did no harm.
On the other hand, Patrick Rolow, who went by PJ, was unreadable. The deputy director for operations was a man of average height, weight, and dress, blending into the background of almost any setting. That anonymity was more than a result of his unremarkable appearance. He had spent fifteen years in the field before rising quickly through the management layers in the Directorate of Operations, and in his late forties was one of the youngest DDOs ever.
As both men waited for Christine to continue, she regretted her harsh words—admonishing them for not informing her of Mixell’s role before the White House meeting. That the ambassador’s assassin was Mixell had hit too close to home.
She hadn’t revealed it during the Situation Room meeting, but Mixell was more than just someone she knew. He was the best friend of her former fiancé, Jake Harrison, and for most of high school, the three of them had been inseparable. There had been a fourth wheel during most of that time, as Mixell cycled through various girlfriends, but the three of them had done just about everything together. That Mixell had assassinated the UN ambassador—that he was capable of such evil—was difficult to digest, and she was taking it out on her DD and DDO.
Christine took a deep breath, then addressed both men. “I apologize for being abrupt with you.” She went on to explain the details regarding her relationship with Mixell. Additionally, she expounded on Jake Harrison’s role in Mixell’s downfall.
“Harrison and Mixell were best friends. They joined the Navy together and both became SEALs. They had a falling-out at some point. I don’t know what happened, but Harrison was the one who turned Mixell in for killing captured terrorists. He was also the main witness during Mixell’s court-martial.”
Bryant replied, “We’ll track down Harrison. See what he knows.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Christine replied. “He just retired from the Navy, and I’m sure he’s looking for a job. Offer him one.”
“We’ll run the requisite background checks and—”
“He’s fine,” Christine interrupted sharply.
Her tone wasn’t lost on the deputy director, and his jaw muscles worked slightly as he prepared to respond.
Rolow interjected, “I’m sure there won’t be an issue. We’ll find a good fit for Harrison within the agency, giving him the opportunity to help track Mixell down.”