thinking about something." Rapp leaned forward and brought his hands together, and then, deflecting Kennedy, asked, "So where are we with this idiot from the FBI?"
"You'll be interested to know that Scott saw him take a little ride with our old friend Senator Ferris last night."
"Do we have audio?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Do I need to worry about this guy?"
Kennedy shook her head. "He has a meeting this morning with Director Miller. We've already discussed the matter and Miller assures me Agent Wilson will no longer be a problem."
"Good," Rapp said, and then, changing gears, asked, "And the transcript? I heard Rick threw them a curveball or two."
Stofer opened a black leather briefing folder. "That's right. He tossed out a few names . . . the names of people who as far as I know do not work for us."
"Who?" Kennedy asked.
Stofer adjusted his reading glasses and said, "Aleksei Garin, SVR Directorate S." He whistled. "That's going to be a tough one to swallow."
"I'm not sure anyone over there has the balls to confront Aleksei. He's not afraid to put bullets in people's heads."
Everyone agreed and then Stofer said, "Shahram Jafari, head of Iran's Atomic Energy Organization. Another tough one to swallow, but they're so damn paranoid they might make Jafari's life miserable - at least for a while. They'll be turning themselves inside out trying to find out if Jafari is a traitor. The last one isn't so clean. He identified Nadeem Ashan with the ISI. He doesn't work for us per se, but we consider him a valuable ally."
"Why would Rick throw Ashan's name in the mix?" Rapp asked.
O'Brien poured himself a cup of coffee and said, "It could have been the first name that popped into his head. Anything to stop the pain. You know how it goes."
Rapp did, but Rickman was smarter than that. He would have had a prearranged list in his head. "We should look into Rick's relationship with Ashan. See if there's anything there."
"We're already on it," Stofer said.
The main door to the office opened and Stan Hurley entered. "Sorry I'm late. What did I miss?"
Rapp looked at his mentor as he moved across the large office with his smooth amble. For a seventy-plus-year-old with terminal cancer he sure didn't act like it. Hurley's gait was the only thing about him that was smooth. He was a hard man, with hard edges, a hard personality, and a craggy disposition. This was the first time Rapp had seen him since learning he had cancer. For a split second he was about to stand to greet Hurley, maybe even give him a hug, but the reaction lost steam as quickly as it had come on. Hurley wasn't a hugger. He didn't like people touching him. He called it an institutional hazard. So instead Rapp gave him a short nod of recognition.
Kennedy and Stofer quickly filled Hurley in on what he'd missed. When they were done, O'Brien filled the dead air by saying, "Irene, Betty wants me to say some things to the press. A few comments about Rick and Hub and their sacrifice."
Kennedy nodded slowly. "That'd be nice. Thank you."
No one spoke for a long moment and eventually all eyes turned to Rapp, who was clutching and unclutching his hands as if he were doing some new-age stress reduction exercise. Stofer spoke first, "Mitch, what's wrong?"
Rapp wasn't sure this was the time, but he knew it was better to speak his mind now. "I'm sorry to spoil the party here, but something's not right."
"What's not right?" Kennedy asked.
"We're all breathing a big sigh of relief when I can't shake the feeling that we're being set up."
"I'm not sure I follow," O'Brien said. "Rick's dead."
Rapp wasn't prepared to refute that point, but neither was he convinced that Rickman was no longer of this world. "I was at the safe house," Rapp said, remembering the four dead bodyguards. "It was an extremely precise takedown. The kind of op we'd be proud of," he said, looking at Hurley. "A state-of-the-art security system taken offline without our watchers at Langley having any idea, four bullets, four dead bodyguards, and not a shot more . . . all suppressed. The safe is opened, not cracked, and Rick's laptop, files, cash, and God only knows what else goes missing. And not a witness to any of it."
"I'm not sure I follow, either," Stofer said earnestly.
Kennedy rubbed her forehead. She had known Mitch wasn't going to be able to accept this. Nothing could ever