"I'll get started on it right away, sir."

"And Freidman," snarled the President.

"I want him to either start playing by the rules he agreed to, or we will terminate our arrangement and he can kiss his ass goodbye."

Kennedy nodded and told herself now was not the time to disagree with the President. The entire relationship with Freidman was fraught with potential disaster. The President could call up the Israeli prime minister and demand that Freidman be removed from his position as director general of Mossad, but even with the evidence they had, it might not work. Ben Freidman had files on everybody. She had a sneaking suspicion that if Freidman was ever really backed into a corner he would use those files to take down anyone and everyone. There wasn't a thing that he wouldn't rationalize if it was done to help preserve either himself or his country.

In a confident voice, Kennedy told her boss, "We'll find out what really happened over there, sir."

"Good." Only slightly satisfied, the President turned to Rapp.

"And, Mitch, I want you to take a very personal interest in this thing.

You know a side of Freidman that no one else at Langley does. I want to know why he's lying to us, and I want to know what you think we should do about it."

"Yes, sir." Rapp had a few ideas, but they would take some looking into. In the meantime he was betting on his initial suspicion. Ben Freidman had only one master, his country, and no matter how closely they held his feet to the fire, he would never betray Israel.

FORTY EIGHT.

The National Security Council was one of those Washington terms that encompassed many things. In its truest sense the Council was made up of the President and a handful of very senior advisors. In a broader sense it represented an entire staff that coordinated the flow of intelligence between various agencies and departments under the executive branch and the White House. One such group within that staff was the Counterterrorism Support Group. As their name indicated they were charged with handling all issues involving terrorism, such as the kidnapping of the Anderson family by Abu Sayyaf.

Due to the leaks that occurred at the State Department during the initial hostage rescue, the Counterterrorism Support Group had been left out of the loop during the second and successful hostage rescue.

This intentional breach of procedure was missed by no one. In a town where being in the know was the ultimate sign of power, there were a lot of bruised egos. The rumors had been fast and furious as to why, and through a few well-designed leaks, all were led to believe that their exclusion was due to a power play by none other than Mitch Rapp.

These leaks, and his reputation in general, were the cause of the icy reception that awaited Mitch Rapp when he entered the National Security Council conference room on the fourth floor of the Old Executive Office Building across the street from the West Wing. The attendees, over a dozen of them, all stopped what they were doing and looked up at the unannounced visitor. The Department of Defense, the FBI, the CIA, the State Department and Homeland Security were all represented. These were people just two rungs from the top. They carried great responsibility, they worked tirelessly and they received very little public recognition. Of the people in the room, only Jake Turbes from the CIA knew Rapp.

They all knew of him, to be sure, but not a one of them had ever said more than hello to him. Some of them respected him, a few despised him, mostly due to the embarrassment they were now forced to endure, but to a one, they all feared him. Here in their midst was a cold-blooded killer, who had dealt with the national security issues they wrestled with every day, in a much more real and final way.

He was a man who came to meetings unannounced and rarely spoke. He was a man who had the President's ear, respect and gratitude.

He was a man who each feared could end any of their careers if he so chose. So when he entered the long narrow room all of the attendees squirmed a bit, and to make matters worse, instead of taking a seat at the table, he remained standing.

Rapp positioned himself in such a way that he could observe Assistant Secretary of State Amanda Petty. Of all the attendees only two, besides Rapp, had any idea what was in store. Jake Turbes of the CIA and Don Keane of the FBI were both in the know. Rapp kept himself from making eye contact with them and instead looked to Patty Hadley, the deputy national security advisor. He nodded for her to continue with the meeting.

She smiled a bit awkwardly and said, "Well, you're just the man we were looking for." Her comment was followed by some uncomfortable laughter.

Rapp allowed a wry smile to form on his lips. His problem was not with Hadley.

"Fire away."

"We're all trying to figure out why we were kept in the dark on this one."

Rapp directed his response to Hadley.

"A decision was made to keep this operation as close to the vest as possible."

She listened to the answer and then after a moment asked, "Why?"

"Let's just say that our previous rescue attempt didn't go over so well."

After a long moment of silence, Steve Gordon, the coordinator for counterterrorism at the State Department, was the first to speak. His pride had been damaged enough that he felt he had to speak for the group.

"I hardly think the people in this room were responsible for the failure of the first rescue attempt."

"Really?" asked Rapp, his tone a bit menacing.

Gordon was slightly taken aback. He mustered up a bit more courage and reiterated his point.

"Yes."

"I wouldn't be so sure," said Rapp as he leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest, a red file shoved under his left arm.

"Any other questions?" This time he looked directly at Amanda Petty.

He knew her type. Her righteous indignation would never allow his accusation to go unchallenged.

She looked back at him, barely able to conceal her contempt, and completely oblivious to the role she'd played in the disaster of a week ago. The false belief that the rest of the group supported her gave her the confidence to say, "Mr. Rapp, you may not think very highly of us, but you should at least respect the fact that we care about this country every bit as much as you do, and we work very hard at our jobs."

Rapp was simmering for the moment. He would blow later. This was a role he relished. It was an opportunity to remind everybody just how high the stakes were. What unfolded in this room in the next five minutes would be spread all over Washington by week's end. It would be whispered about around the coffeepots and water coolers, and it would grow and become more sensational with each retelling, and in the end people would be reminded that national security was something to be taken very seriously.

"To respond to your first point, I doubt very much that you care about this country as much as I do, and as far as your second point is concerned, I have no doubt that you all work very hard, but that by itself doesn't cut it. You people aren't on the board of some corporation.

You are entrusted to help protect the national security of this country, and to be brutally honest with you, working hard isn't enough." Rapp's eyes never left Petry's.

Her nostrils flared just a bit and unable to contain herself, she said, "The State Department plays a very important role in this country's national security, Mr. Rapp, whether you like it or not. And for us to do our job, we need to be kept abreast of what is going on."

"Kept abreast," Rapp repeated her words and slowly bobbed his head as if he were taking them very seriously.

"Tell me, Ms. Petty, can you think of a single reason why the rescue operation was launched without consulting this committee?"