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Kay crosses her arms. It’s her day off and she’s wearing black sweatpants and a gray Washington Nationals sweatshirt, sleeves pulled up on her arms.
“Out of the goodness of your CIA heart?”
“No,” Noa says. “For a quid pro quo. We supply you with information, on background with no names attached, and you let us know what you’ve learned. And you also agree not to publish until we say it’s safe to do so.”
Kay shakes her head. “Why isn’t Liam here, making this offer?”
“He’s otherwise engaged,” Noa says, feeling like she’s starting a delicate dance with this woman, trying to gently get her to see what must be seen.
“Really?” Kay says. “You dating him?”
“No,” she says. “Not my type.”
Kay leans back in her kitchen chair. “This sounds too weird to be true. Maybe a setup.”
“What kind of setup? To get you in legal trouble? Or embarrass you and thePost?”
“It’s a thought,” Kay says.
“It’s neither,” Noa says. “I’ve been sent here as a representative of CIA Director Hannah Abrams. I have the authority to reveal highly classified information to you.”
“In exchange for what, again?”
“That you tell us what you know, and that you will cooperate in the timing of the story’s release.”
Kay says. “Not convinced. Tell me what you’ve got, and I’ll consider it.”
Noa says, “I need better than that. Sorry. This story is going to be worth it. I can promise you that. What Liam told you was true. I can tell you much more, with the blessing of the director.”
The kitchen is quiet, smells of old coffee and microwaved popcorn. The apartment block is in the Westchester section of the district.
Kay says, “Okay. It’s a deal. Truth is, I’ve been running incircles on this damn story. It would be nice to have some facts to play with.”
Noa nods. “All right,” she says. “The facts are, Liam and I have been in charge of CIA teams, appointed by the president, to operate illegally here in the States and abroad, without congressional notification, to capture and kill those deemed enemies of the United States.”
Kay slowly reaches over to a pile of papers on the kitchen table, pulls out a notebook and pen.
“Can I have more details than that?”
“You can,” Noa says. “But now I need something from you.”
“I’ll try,” Kay says.
“Do better than that,” she says. “We know you’ve been receiving information from Donna Otterson, a finance resource officer with the Agency. We want to know what she was passing on to you.”
Kay smirks. “Why not ask her yourself?”
“I can’t.”
“Why? She lawyer up?”
“No,” Noa says. “Because she’s dead.”
CHAPTER 95
NOA SENSES A chink in Kay’s hard journalist armor, and says, “It’s up to you now, Kay. With Donna’s death, whatever she was passing on to you only rests with you.”
Her voice is quiet. “And you want me to tell you.”