Elisa, the nurse who had been looking after him ever since he'd admitted himself to Walter Reed Army Medical Center, appeared unfazed. Marks lay in bed, his wounded leg bandaged and hurting like poison. He had refused all painkillers, which was his prerogative, but much to his annoyance his stoicism hadn't endeared him to Elisa. This was a pity, Marks thought, because she was a looker as well as being whip-smart.
"I think you might want to make an exception for this one."
"Unless it's Shakira or Keira Knightley I'm not interested."
"Just because you're privileged enough to wind up here doesn't give you the right to act like a petulant child."
Marks cocked his head. "Yeah, why don't you come over here and see what it's like from my point of view?"
"Only if you promise not to molest me," she said with a sly smile.
Marks laughed. "Okay, so who is it?" She had a gift of excavating him out of even his darkest mood.
She came over and plumped up his pillow before elevating the top half of the bed. "I want you to sit up for me."
"Shall I beg, too?"
"Now, that would be nice." Her smile deepened. "Just make sure you don't drool on me."
"I have so few pleasures here, don't take that away from me." He grimaced as he pushed himself farther up the bed. "Christ, my ass is sore."
She made a show of biting her lip. "You make it so easy for me I can't bring myself to humiliate you even more." She came over and, taking a brush from a side table, neatened his hair.
"Who is it, for Christ's sake?" Marks said. "The fucking president?"
"Close." Elisa went to the door. "It's the defense secretary."
Good God, Marks thought. What can Bud Halliday want with me?
But it was Chris Hendricks who walked through the door. Marks fairly goggled. "Where's Halliday?"
"Good morning to you, too, Mr. Marks." Hendricks shook his hand, pulled over a chair, and without taking off his overcoat sat down beside the bed.
"Sorry, sir, good morning," Marks stammered. "I don't... Congratulations are in order."
"That's the spirit." Hendricks smiled. "So, how are you feeling?"
"I'll be up and about in no time," Marks said. "I'm getting the best of care."
"I have no doubt." Hendricks placed one hand over the other in his lap. "Mr. Marks, time is short so I'll cut right to the point. While you were overseas Bud Halliday tendered his resignation. Oliver Liss is incarcerated and, frankly, I don't see him getting out anytime soon. Your immediate boss, Frederick Willard, is dead."
"Dead? My God, how?"
"A topic for another day. Suffice it to say that with all this sudden upheaval, a power vacuum has formed at the top of the pyramid, or one of them, anyway." Hendricks cleared his throat. "Like nature, the clandestine services abhor a vacuum. I have been following the systematic dismantling of CI, your old bailiwick, with something of a jaundiced eye. I like what your colleague did with Typhon. In this day and age, a black-ops organization manned by Muslims focused on the extremist Muslim world seems a rather elegant solution to our most pressing ongoing problem.
"Unfortunately, Typhon belongs to CI. God alone knows how long it will take to right that ship and I don't want to waste time." He hunched forward. "Therefore, I'd like you to head up a revitalized Treadstone, which will take up Typhon's mission. You will report directly to me and to the president."
Marks frowned deeply.
"Is something the matter, Mr. Marks?"
"Everything's the matter. First off, how on earth did you hear about Treadstone? And second, if you're as enamored of Typhon as you claim, why haven't you contacted Soraya Moore, Typhon's former director?"
"Who said I haven't?"
"Did she turn you down?"
"The relevant question," Hendricks said, "is whether you're interested."
"Of course I'm interested, but I want to know about Soraya."
"Mr. Marks, I trust you're as impatient to get out of here as you are with your questions." Hendricks rose, crossed to the door, and opened it. He nodded, and in walked Soraya.
"Mr. Marks," Secretary Hendricks said, "it's my pleasure to introduce you to your co-director." As Soraya approached the bed, he added, "I'm quite certain the two of you have many matters, organizational and otherwise, to discuss, so if you'll excuse me."
Neither Marks nor Soraya paid him the least bit of attention as he stepped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Well, look who the wind blew in!" Deron stepped out of his doorway as Bourne came in. As