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“Yeah . . . well, I’m freaking out too. Joe Rickman is missing, and if we don’t get him back the bodies are going to start piling up from here to Islamabad and Tehran and God only knows where else. Good people who have put their asses on the line for us are going to die, and on top of that I just found out the man who trained me, who I’ve spent the last twenty-plus years working with, has terminal cancer. So excuse me if I’m not exactly in the mood to deal with these people and their petty turf wars.”
“That’s fine. I’m not looking forward to it either, but we need to work with these people. You said it yourself . . . Rick’s files are gone. These people are our only hope. We need what they have. We need to know who Rick’s been meeting with. Somebody got on the inside and helped pull this thing off.”
Rapp slowly nodded. “I know we need their shit, but that doesn’t mean we have to kiss their asses.”
“Yes, it does. At least to start with.”
Rapp mumbled something to himself and then walked away. Nash followed a few steps behind, wondering if perhaps Hurley’s diagnosis had affected Rapp more harshly than he would have guessed. True, they’d worked closely together for a long time, but both men had an emotional side that was about as soft as granite. Nash followed Rapp into the conference room, closing the door behind him. Standing to his left, in the far corner, were Sickles, Arianna Vinter, and a man who he assumed was the DOD’s military attaché. Nash had skimmed his jacket on the flight over. He couldn’t remember his name offhand, but recalled that he was a West Pointer. The room was standard government decorating. The carpet was a dark mix of gray and black that would serve to hide any stains, and a large brown table with a fake wood grain top dominated the room. In the center of the table was a tray with a coffeepot, cream, sweetener, sugar, some straws, a half dozen mugs and as many bottles of water. There were ten black swivel chairs arranged four on each side and one on each end.
Vinter held up her hand in a gesture to silence Sickles, then smiled at the two men who had just entered the room. “Good morning. I assume you are Mr. Rapp and Mr. Nash.”
Rapp didn’t speak, so Nash answered for them. “That’s right. And I assume you are Arianna Vinter.”
“Yes, please have a seat.”
Nash noted that she was much prettier than in the photograph on her government-issue ID. He looked at the man to Vinter’s left and noted the eagle on the patch in the center of his chest and the name on the right side of his chest. Reaching across the table, Nash extended his hand and said, “Mike Nash, Colonel. Nice to meet you.”
Poole took his hand. “Counterterrorism, right?”
“That’s correct.”
Poole looked at Rapp and stuck out his hand. “Colonel Poole, military attaché. Mr. Rapp?”
Nodding, Rapp took the man’s hand but didn’t say anything. After a firm handshake, Rapp sat down.
“May I offer either of you anything to drink?” Vinter asked.
Rapp kept his mouth shut and offered only a slight shake of his head. Nash said, “Coffee would be great.”
Vinter grabbed the carafe and poured a cup. “You strike me as the kind of man who takes it black.”
“That’s right.” Nash smiled. “Thank you.” He took the mug and set it in front of him.
Vinter told Poole and Sickles to sit and then she grabbed a seat across from Rapp and Nash. Sickles was on her right and Poole on her left. She directed her gaze at Rapp and in a sweet voice said, “Mr. Rapp, we’ve never met before. What exactly is it that you do for the CIA?”
“I’m in the Clandestine Service.”
“
Do you have a title?”
Rapp shook his head. “I report directly to DCI Kennedy.”
“I see,” Vinter said, placing her hands flat on the table. She examined her fingers for a long moment and then in a casual voice asked, “Do you think I’m stupid, Mr. Rapp?”
Rapp didn’t take the bait. He instead turned to Nash and gave him a look that said, This is your show . . . feel free to jump in.
Nash cleared his throat. “Arianna, I’m not sure we understand the question.”
Her expression flared briefly as she turned her attention to Nash. “I wasn’t addressing you. I was speaking to your colleague Mr. Rapp. Now, Mr. Rapp, I asked you a straightforward question. Do you think I’m stupid?”
“I don’t know you.”
“You don’t know me. That’s all you have to say.”
“I’ve never met you before and I haven’t heard anything about you until this morning, so I’m not really in a position to answer your question. You could be a genius or an imbecile. As of right now I can’t answer that question, but keep talking and I should be able to give you an answer in a few minutes.”
Vinter took in a long breath. “Do you think the president is a smart man?”