The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,171
that opportunity?
Yes.
Adam felt Harper rage in protest inside him, but he pushed the DNI’s fury down and started the car. ‘Where are we going?’ Bianca asked.
He smiled. ‘A hardware store.’
She was surprised. ‘Why?’
The smile widened. ‘To solve Levon’s puzzle.’
‘Sir,’ said one of the Secret Service agents, listening to a message through his earpiece. ‘A Mr Baxter just arrived. He says you asked to see him.’
‘Let him in,’ Harper ordered. He irritably waved away another agent still fussing about him. The cut on his forehead had been bandaged and he had been given some painkillers, but refused to take them, wanting to keep his mind sharp.
Gray knew everything he did. That meant Gray also knew how to expose him. Even though he had done what he did solely to protect America’s interests, he knew that the snivelling left-wing parasites infesting Washington would not accept that as justification. If they learned about it, they would twist it in the media to bring him down in a howling witch-hunt of a kind not seen since the trial of Oliver North. He would be accused of treason; every past decision second-guessed, every black operation under his watch dragged into the light. A disaster for American intelligence – no, a disaster for America.
As a patriot, he would do whatever it took to stop that from happening.
At the back of his mind for the past ten months had been the concern that something might emerge that could destroy him. The risk was minimal – he had taken every possible precaution, from the deletion of incriminating files at the small end of the scale all the way up to Gray’s mind-wipe and the elimination of his CIA contact in Islamabad. But there were some things that even the Director of National Intelligence could not simply erase from the record.
One of those was foremost in his thoughts right now – which meant, he was sure, that it was also foremost in Gray’s. It would not be easy for the rogue agent to obtain. He had seen the facility for himself; security through obscurity was backed up by security through physical barriers – and beyond them, physical force. But if anyone could do it . . .
‘Admiral!’ A familiar voice caught his attention. He looked round, seeing Baxter hurrying into the kitchen. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Harper replied with irritation. He addressed the Secret Service agents. ‘All right! The situation’s under control. Go back to your duties.’
‘Are you sure, sir?’ the first agent asked. ‘If there’s been a security breach, we should—’
‘You’ve got your orders, agent,’ he snapped. ‘Is my car here yet?’ After summoning Baxter, he had called back his chauffeur.
‘Yes, sir. It just got here.’
‘Good. Take its driver to wherever he needs to be. Mr Baxter will handle everything from now on.’
The agents were clearly unhappy about surrendering authority, but had little choice except to follow his orders. They filed out.
Baxter regarded the PERSONA equipment with grim dismay. ‘Did Gray use the machine on you?’
‘I don’t know – I don’t remember,’ Harper replied. ‘Which means I have to assume that he did, and then wiped my memory.’
‘Son of a bitch,’ the former Marine muttered. He went to the table, staring at the gear upon it . . . then with a snarl threw the PERSONA device to the hard floor. The screen broke loose and skittered across the tiles. He was about to do the same to the recorder unit – then his eyes widened as he saw what was inside. ‘Sir – Gray’s disk! It’s still in the recorder.’ He pulled out the memory module and held it up.
‘Why would he leave it behind?’ Harper wondered, before the answer came to him. Of course – as soon as Gray had been imprinted with his memories, he knew that the secondary alarm hadn’t been deactivated and had to make a hurried departure before the Secret Service arrived. So he had been forced to abandon something vital . . . ‘Destroy it.’ Baxter gave him a look of puzzlement. ‘Smash it! Now!’
Baxter dropped the disk to the floor and stamped on it, grinding it under his heel. The plastic shell cracked and split, exposing densely packed microcircuitry. Another blow and it broke in half, silicon splinters scattering.
Harper regarded the destruction, satisfied. ‘There are only two pieces of evidence against me, and that was one of them. As for the other one . . . come on. We need to get to Suitland.’