Director Morrison’s Office, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
“D
ylan is already on his way to Spain, unsanctioned, of course. He’s still on personal leave.”
Director Leif Morrison, National Clandestine Service Chief for the CIA, sat behind his desk as Leroux briefed him. His frown contradicted his words. “I don’t care what he does on his personal time, as long as he doesn’t go shooting up the place in our name. You know him.”
Leroux chuckled. “What about my team?”
“Go ahead and work it. We’ve got extremely important Americans dead, so we’d have somebody on this anyway. It might as well be your team.”
“But we can’t sanction Dylan?”
Morrison grunted. “It’s one thing to be tapping security feeds and analyzing intel, it’s another thing to have an armed agent running around the Spanish countryside.”
“Understood.”
“We’ll activate him if we need to. I’m still hoping this is a terrorist attack by a known group, and our professors are just patsies.”
“You don’t believe they’re guilty either?”
Morrison shook his head. “Not for a second. Anybody who knows those two knows this is bullshit.”
“Maybe someone should tell the Europeans.”
“I have no doubt they’ll be informed, but right now, the Spanish are out for blood. They can’t risk it looking like they’re not taking action. Not when this footage showing two people leaving moments before with a priceless artifact is out there. We need to find them and bring them in safely, and find out what the hell is actually going on. If we don’t, more innocent people are going to die.”
