"I don't want to talk in my office." Rudin whispered the words over his shoulder.

Like most law enforcement officers, active or retired, Steveken studied people. For better or worse he'd developed the habit of sizing them up in short order. Occasionally, though, he'd meet someone who really piqued his curiosity. As he and Rudin descended the stairs, he thought the congressman might be one of those people.

Steveken reclaimed his weapon from the Capitol Hill police and went outside to catch up. Rudin was already halfway up the block standing impatiently, gesturing for Steveken to hurry. Steveken started toward him and to his irritation, Rudin began to walk again. He quickened the pace and two blocks later he pulled up alongside the congressman from Connecticut. Steveken caught up and asked, "Where are we going?"

"Coffee. There's a little place up the street a ways." A half minute later Rudin said, "I don't like talking in my office."

"Yeah, you said that." Steveken had decided he was going to have to jerk Rudin's chain a bit.

"Its those bastards out at Langley. I don't trust them a bit."

Steveken couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew the CIA was capable of doing some pretty bizarre stuff, but there was no way they were stupid enough to bug a congressman's office. Steveken looked over both shoulders. "It must really freak you out to talk like this out in the open."

Rudin looked around. "Why?"

"Directional microphones. They can pick up everything we say, even whispers."

Rudin mumbled a few things and then pointed ahead saying, "The coffee place is up here. Just past Second Street. "They traveled the rest of the way in silence.

Rudin entered the shop first and approached the counter. A young white woman with dreadlocks and a pierced nose paid little attention to the congressman as he ordered an extra large cup of French Roast. In deference to his bladder Steveken ordered a small cup. Rudin's coffee arrived first. He grabbed his cup and went and sat at a table near the back. Steveken noted that he'd made no effort to pay for his coffee. Steveken gave the woman three dollars and told her to keep the change. He joined the congressman at the table and took off his trench coat.

He gave Rudin a chance to thank him and when he didn't, Steveken said, "You're welcome."

"Huh?"

"For the cup of coffee."

"Oh, yeah ... thanks." Rudin clutched the tall cup with his bony hands and took a sip. "Hank says you're very good at what you do." Steveken said nothing. He just stared at Rudin.

"We don't have much time," said the congressman. "Kennedy starts her confirmation hearing tomorrow."

"What is it that you're looking for?"

"Are you familiar with congressional oversight in terms of the intelligence community?"

"Somewhat."

"Well, Thomas Stansfield, thank God that bastard is finally dead, he didn't much believe in congressional oversight. He tried to keep us in the dark as much as possible, especially when it came to covert operations."

"And what does this have to do with Kennedy?"

"She's one and the same. She's the female version of Stansfield."

"I've heard she's pretty sharp." Steveken blew on his coffee.

"Oh God," grimaced Rudin. "Don't tell me you believe that."

"So what are you telling me? That she's stupid?"

"No, she's not stupid. She's far from stupid."

"So she's pretty sharp."

"I suppose, but that has nothing to do with this. The bottom line is that the CIA needs to be reined in, and the best chance we have of doing it is right now. Before she becomes entrenched."

"What proof do you have that she's broken the law?"

Rudin looked like he was about to jump out of his own skin. "I don't have any, you idiot. That's why I'm talking to you. You supposed to get me the proof."

One of the things Steveken liked most about working for himself was that he could be selective about who he took shit from. If a client was paying him a lot of money, he'd been known to let some stuff slide, but the smaller the fee the less crap he was willing to take. Rudin wasn't paying him a cent, and Steveken doubted the man would ever send a client his way. At least not any he'd want.

"How in the hell did you ever get elected?"

"What?" snarled Rudin, utterly confused by the question. "You and Broom Hilda, your receptionist, you're two of the most socially retarded persons I've ever met."

"What?" Rudin couldn't believe his ears. "I'm doing this as a favor to Senator Clark." Steveken pointed his thick index finger at Rudin. "You're not paying my tab. Hell, you won't even buy me a cup of coffee. I'm the one doing you a favor by meeting with you. You should be buying me the cup of coffee, not the other way around." Before Rudin could react Steveken changed gears. "But I'm not going to cry over a couple bucks, so let's get down to business. If you want me to help, you have to answer my questions. And while you're at it, it might be a good idea to avoid calling me an idiot." Steveken gave Rudin a patronizing smile and said, "So ... tell me how you think Kennedy has broken the law."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

Milan, Thursday evening

The flat was very nice. It was tastefully decorated with the perfect mix of antiques and modern amenities. The walls were covered with original paintings by artists that Rosenthal did not know. Nor did he care to know. It was all irrelevant shit to him. He'd been sitting in the dark now for over two hours waiting for the woman to return, and he was growing impatient. Sunberg was positioned across the room from him on the living room couch. Yanta was out on the street in the rental car following the target.

The file Rosenthal had received from Freidman said nothing about a security system, but Rosenthal had learned the hard way that the files were rarely as up-to-date as they should be. So instead of picking the lock and running the risk of getting caught in the hallway, and possibly setting off an alarm, Rosenthal went in search of the caretaker's flat in the basement. He asked the seventy-six-year-old man if there were any available units in the building. The old man told him that there weren't any at present, but he expected one to open up after the first of the year.

Rosenthal told the caretaker that he was in town from Rome, and would be moving to Milan in February. He then pulled out a wad of money and said he was willing to put down a cash deposit today if the unit was acceptable. The caretaker leapt at the opportunity to rent the flat after one showing, and the two men ascended to the top floor of the building.

While they were upstairs poking around, Jordan Sunberg picked his way into the caretaker's flat and found the file on Donatella Rahn. Fortunately there was no security system, and even more fortunately there were three copies of the key to her flat. Sunberg checked the other hooks. Some of the flats had four copies and others had only two. There appeared to be no system, but just to make sure, Sunberg found a drawer filled with spare keys and grabbed one. He then took one of the keys to Donatella's apartment and replaced it with the one from the drawer. After checking to make sure he didn't disturb anything that might be noticed, he left the caretakers flat and waited down the street for Rosenthal.

For his part, Rosenthal gave the old man the cash deposit and told him he would stop by the next morning to fill out the paperwork. He of course would not be returning, and he hoped if the police came around asking questions the old man would say nothing of his visit for fear of having to turn the cash over as evidence. Either way, he wasn't worried. Rosenthal and his team would be out of the country by midmorning, and he doubted any description given by the old caretaker would be detailed enough to give him real problems. In Rosenthal's opinion it was a gamble well worth taking.