me the truth-I need to know if you're being swayed by anything other than what you think will be best for the country and for CI."
Soraya knew this was coming and was prepared. "I thought Martin had laid that office scuttlebutt to rest. There's absolutely no truth to it. We became friends when I was chief of station in Odessa. That was a long time ago; he doesn't remember. When he came back last year to rescue Martin he had no idea who I was."
"Last year you were in the field with him again."
"We work well together. That's all," Soraya said firmly.
Hart was still clandestinely watching the NSA agents. "Even if I thought what you were proposing would work, he'd never consent. From everything I've read and heard since coming to CI, he hates the organization."
"True enough," Soraya said. "But once he understands the nature of the threat I think I can convince him to sign on one more time."
Hart shook her head. "I don't know. Even talking to him is a damn huge gamble, one I'm not sure I'm willing to take."
"Director, if you don't seize this opportunity, you'll never be able to. It'll be too late."
Still, Hart was unsure which direction to take: the tried and true or the unorthodox. No, she thought, not unorthodox, insane.
"I think this place has outlived its usefulness," she said abruptly. She signaled the waiter. "Soraya, I believe you have to powder your nose. And while you're there, please call the Metro DC Police. Use the pay phone; it's in working order, I checked. Tell Metro that there are two armed men at this restaurant. Then come right back to the table and be ready to move quickly."
Soraya gave her a small conspiratorial smile, then rose, threading her way back to the ladies' room. The waiter approached the table, frowning.
"Is there something wrong with the brook trout, ma'am?"
"It's fine," Hart said.
As the waiter gathered up the plates Hart took out five twenty-dollar bills, slipped them in his pocket. "You see that man over there, the one with the wide face and football player's shoulders?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"How about you trip when you get to his table."
"If I do that," the waiter said, "I'm liable to dump these brook trouts in his lap."
"Precisely," Hart said with a winning smile.
"But it could mean my job."
"Don't worry." Hart took out her ID, showed it to him. "I'll square things with your boss."
The waiter nodded, turned away. Soraya reappeared, made her way to the table. Hart threw some bills onto their table but didn't stand up until the waiter bumped into a busboy. He staggered, the plates tipped. As the NSA shadow leapt up, Hart rose. Together she and Soraya walked to the door. The NSA shadow was berating the waiter, who was brushing him down with several napkins; everyone was looking, gesticulating. A couple of people closest to the accident were shouting their versions of what happened. Amid the escalating chaos, the second NSA shadow had gotten up to come to his compatriot's aid, but when he saw his target heading toward him he changed his mind.
Hart and Soraya had reached the door, were stepping out into the street. The second NSA shadow began to follow them, but a pair of burly Metro cops burst into the restaurant detaining him. "Hey! What about them!" he shouted at the two women.
Two more patrol cars screeched to a halt, cops raced out. Hart and Soraya already had their IDs out. The cops checked them.
"We're late for a meeting," Hart said briskly and authoritatively. "National security."
The phrase was like open sesame. The cops waved them on.
"Sweet," Soraya said, impressed.
Hart nodded her head in acknowledgment, but her expression was grim. Winning such a small skirmish meant nothing to her, save a bit of immediate gratification. It was the war she had her gaze set on.
When they were several blocks away and had determined that they were clean of LaValle's tags, Soraya said, "At least let me set up a meet with Bourne so we can pick his brain."
"I very much doubt this will work."
"Jason trusts me. He'll do the right thing," Soraya said with absolute conviction. "He always does."
Hart considered for some time. Scylla and Charybdis still loomed large in her thought process. Death by water or fire, which was it to be? But even now she didn't regret taking the director's position. If there was anything she was up for at this stage in her life it was a challenge. She