White House, Washington, DC
As he hustled up to the staff entrance at the White House, Don Riley put his hand in his bag for his ID, but the pocket where he normally kept the badge was empty. Don cursed to himself, then placed the bag on the dewy pavement to perform a more methodical search.
He checked his watch and let out a hiss of frustration. If he’d left his credentials at home, there was no way he could retrieve them in time to make the meeting. And one did not show up to a meeting with the director of national intelligence wearing a temporary badge. His fingers touched a thin plastic card between his laptop and his iPad.
“Don?”
Brendan McHugh stood over him, a half smile on his face. “Lose something?”
Don held up his ID triumphantly. “Not anymore.” He scrambled to his feet and hugged his friend. “What are you doing here?”
“Briefing. You?”
“Same.” Their eyes met, and Don knew his friend was thinking the same thing he was. Ever since Liz had picked up the trail of Rafiq Roshed, Don had been dreaming about getting some payback on that bastard. Maybe this was it. “Liz going to be here?”
Brendan shook his head and passed through the metal detector. “Not that I know of.”
Maybe he was wrong after all. It was hard for Don to believe that Liz would be excluded from a Roshed manhunt. She had as much history as either of them. He passed through the metal detector and picked up his bag off the belt. “How’re the kids? Got a recent picture?”
Brendan thumbed his phone on and swiped through the camera roll. He held the phone out to Don. Liz’s face had thinned with motherhood, but she had the same stocky, muscular physique he’d always known. Her dark hair was longer now and held by a silver clasp at her nape. She was swinging a raven-haired girl up in the air.
Don handed the phone back. “Your wife is more beautiful than ever. You, on the other hand…” He laughed as he spoke, but it was true. His friend’s dark hair was shot with gray and permanent lines had settled into his face. Shadows filled the hollows under his eyes.
Brendan gave Don a tired smile. “Yeah, I know, you don’t have to say it: I look good, too.”
He was interrupted by an approaching staffer, who said, “The director is ready for you. If you’ll follow me, please.”
Director of National Intelligence Judith Hellman was seated alone at the table in the secure conference room. She rose and shook their hands, adding a perfunctory nod at two folders on the table. “Before we begin this morning, we’ll need each of you to sign a special NDA.”
Don flipped open the cover to find a multipage nondisclosure agreement with the label Operation Parable Cleaver. He chuckled to himself at the computer-generated name. The program was designed to ensure that no trace of the actual mission was inadvertently signaled in the name of the operation, but it often resulted in some ludicrous word combinations. He scanned the document, noting the extreme penalties for disclosure, and signed his name at the bottom.
The door opened and a tall black man in civilian clothes walked in. He nodded at the DNI. “Sorry I’m late, ma’am. Accident on the Beltway.”
The DNI gave him a frosty nod and turned to Don and Brendan. “I believe you both know Rick? He’s running point on Parable Cleaver. Now that you’ve signed, I’ll get right to business. We’re confident that Rafiq Roshed is in North Korea. We want him captured or killed. Either way is fine with the administration.”
Baxter took over and played a video clip of his interview with a North Korean defector. Brendan and Don exchanged looks when the man claimed Roshed was responsible for the attack on the US power grid. That accounted for the new focus.
“We did some checking on old video footage suggested by the defector,” Baxter said. “We came up with this.” He pushed an 8 × 10 black-and-white picture across the table.
It was a shot of a man from the waist up, taken from a distance and through a wrought-iron fence. He was the right height and build for Roshed, but the jawline and profile seemed off.
“Cosmetic surgery?” Don asked.
Baxter nodded. “That’s likely. It’s also interesting to note that at the same time as this photograph was taken, one of the principal negotiators for the multiparty talks on the North Korean nuclear deal died in a car accident while on holiday. He was having an affair and had a known drinking problem, so the death was ruled accidental.” His lips tightened. “We’re working with the assumption that Roshed was brought in to silence a very vocal critic of the Supreme Leader.”
The DNI broke in as if impatient for Baxter to get to the point. “Based on the defector’s testimony, we believe Roshed comes and goes from North Korea at the bidding of Kim Jong-un—for special assignments. Parable Cleaver authorizes us to nail him if he pokes his nose outside of the DPRK. You both have a unique understanding of Roshed, and Rick feels it is in our best interest to read you into this special access program. It’s very possible that our first hint of Roshed will come from a lateral source, something that you might come across during the course of your normal duties.”
Brendan cleared his throat. “If I may, ma’am. The connection between Roshed and the North Korean regime was initially uncovered by an FBI agent. I’m wondering why the FBI is not being read into this SAP?”
Don tensed. Hellman’s desire to keep the entire operation under her purview without FBI involvement was understandable, but it smacked of politics and Brendan knew it.
The DNI’s red lips tightened. Baxter tried to intervene, but she waved him off. “And you know this how, Mr. McHugh?”
“The FBI agent was my wife. She uses her maiden name professionally. Soroush.”
“I see.”
“She has a personal stake in getting this guy, ma’am. He almost killed her. Twice.”
Don flinched. A flush of color rose up the DNI’s throat. “May I remind you, Mr. McHugh—”
“Captain.”
“Pardon?” The interruption seemed to break her train of thought.
“I’m a captain in the navy. An O-6.”
“Very well, Captain McHugh. This is not a personal decision. There are very good reasons, operational reasons, for not involving the FBI. And since you’ve already signed on to the SAP, you will abide by my decision.”
Brendan sat back in his chair. “Yes, ma’am.” His jaw was set in a rigid line.
The DNI rose. “I’ll let Mr. Baxter finish the briefing. I have another meeting.” She did not offer to shake hands on the way out of the room.
An hour later, Brendan and Don stood on the sidewalk outside the White House.
“Well,” Brendan said, “now we know why Liz wasn’t invited this morning.” He sighed. “I can’t believe Hellman. Liz found Roshed again for God’s sake. If it wasn’t for her, we’d still be chasing our tails.”
Don squinted up at the watery sunshine. He couldn’t imagine the relationship dynamic between Liz and Brendan now that Brendan was assigned to the SAP and was forbidden to even mention it to his spouse. He knew his friend would follow orders. “Yeah. Now we know.”
“Do you think it’s really him?”
“It’s him,” Don said. “It all fits: North Korea, special assignments. He’s a psychopath with a need to destroy those who took his family away from him. He’s willing to let the world burn and North Korea is the only place crazy enough to take him.”
Brendan nodded. “Too many people—good people—have died by this man’s hand. It’s time we stop him once and for all.”
Don watched a blood vessel throb in Brendan’s temple, the only outward sign of his friend’s rage at this monster. Twice before, Roshed had eluded them. In his wake, he’d left a trail of bodies and destruction that had sown grief into the lives of Don, Liz, and Brendan. Rafiq Roshed needed to end and they were the people to do it.
Brendan shook Don’s hand and then strode away, his broad back blending into the pedestrian traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue.
The rational part of Don’s brain knew that what the DNI said was correct: The hunt for Rafiq Roshed was not personal.
Except it was.