"How's Tommy?" asked Rapp of Kennedy's six-year-old son.

"He's fine. Still growing like a weed. He asked about you the other day. You should come by and see him."

"I know." Rapp grimaced. "Things have just been a little difficult lately. The last thing I'd want would be for some of my problems to become his."

Kennedy appreciated his thoughtfulness and told him so. They would get around to discussing their mutual problem later. "How is Anna?"

"She's great."

"Have you talked to her about the job offer?"

"Yes."

"And ... what does she think?"

"Well, anything is better than what I'm doing right now, but I'm not so sure she thinks it's such a good idea for the long run."

"Working for the CIA?" Kennedy asked.

"Yeah, I suppose. You know she's a reporter. She'd never admit it to me, but they think we're a bunch of fascists."

Kennedy nodded knowingly, tucked a stray lock of her shoulder length brown hair behind her ear and with a smile said, "And they're all a bunch of communists."

"Pretty much, except now they prefer to think of themselves as socialists since the whole communism thing didn't turn out too well." Rapp laughed at his little cheap shot and Kennedy joined in.

Privately, Kennedy wondered how Mitch and Anna would deal with the difficulties of two careers that were so diametrically opposed. Kennedy could see Anna's friends poking fun at her boyfriend who worked for the CIA. She had repeatedly envisioned a horrible scene where some smart-ass reporter, who'd had one too many glasses of Chardonnay, decided to prove his intellectual superiority by making light of Mitch's career. The dream always turned out the same way. The smarmy man ended up on the floor in a pool of blood with his nose no longer in the center of his face.

Kennedy pushed the picture from her mind and got back to the subject at hand. "Look, I'm not going to hold you to what you told Thomas before he passed away. I don't think it was fair of him to pressure you at that time. I know you have some reservations about coming to work here at Langley, but I want you to know that you would be invaluable to the Counterterrorism Center." Looking down for a second she added, "And, Mitch, I could really use your help."

It was the last part that got to him. Rapp had an overwhelming sense of loyalty when it came to Kennedy. He knew he couldn't say no to her when she made it personal, but he had to at least try. "I've been doing some thinking. Hear me out for a second." He shifted and crossed his legs. "I've worked outside the Agency for years and have been very effective. I'm not so sure it wouldn't be better for me to remain out of sight and continue to help in a more subtle way."

Kennedy had thought of this and so had Stansfield. Neither of them liked the idea because of the logistical issues it created. Kennedy and Rapp needed an official cover so they could converse in the privacy of her office on a moment's notice. "We haven't filled you in on all of your new job requirements. You'd be far more than just an analyst in the CTC." Kennedy paused. "I want you to run the Orion Team for me."

Rapp looked surprised. "Really." What he hadn't come out and said, what he was slightly embarrassed to admit, was that his reluctance to come in from the cold was grounded in a fear of being trapped in an office environment five days a week. He'd never done it before and he wasn't so sure he wanted to start now. Rapp knew himself better than anyone with the exception of maybe Kennedy. He was a lone wolf, used to operating with minimal interference from the outside. He was not a team player, but the chance to run the Orion Team was extremely appealing.

"I would need you very close to me," Kennedy said. "As you know from your own experience, most of our decisions must be made on very short notice."

"I would love to run the Orion Team, but I'm not so sure I like the idea of working in the CTC."

"Why?" Rapp shrugged. "I'm just not all that excited about punching the clock. I know enough about this place to know that I'd end up ..." He struggled to find the right phrase. "I'd be stuck in meetings all day. It would drive me crazy. I'd end up telling some desk jockey to shove it up his ass."

Kennedy smiled at the delicious thought. They could' probably use a little of that around here, but she knew it wouldn't go over real well. "I'm not worried about that. Yes, you might have to keep your temper in check and watch what you say, but Mitchell, you're used to doing that. When you were undercover you couldn't just speak your mind. You had to practice restraint."

"Oh, so I should act like I'm being inserted behind enemy lines." Rapp cracked a smile. "Do you have any idea how stressful it is when I do that? I can't let my guard down for a second."

"My point is that you are surely capable of practicing a little restraint."

"I'm fully capable, but my point," Rapp stabbed himself in the chest with his forefinger, "is that I'm not so sure I want to." Turning away, he looked out the window at the gray morning sky. "I'm not sure what I want to do, period."

Kennedy studied him for a long moment and then asked in a knowing tone, "Mitch, what else are you going to do with your life?"

"I don't know." Almost as an afterthought he hearkened back to his conversation with Anna. "Maybe I'll stay at home and raise the kids."

"What kids?" asked an amused Kennedy.

"The kids I plan on having someday."

"Isn't there something else you have to take care of first?"

"Like what?"

Grinning, Kennedy answered, "Like getting married."

"Oh, yeah. I'm working on that." Rapp smiled at the thought of his plan to get engaged.

Kennedy couldn't hide her joy. Mitch deserved some happiness. "Any details you'd like to share with me?" With a smirk, he replied, "I have to share them with someone else first."

"Of course." Kennedy held the thought for a while and then, changing back to the original subject said, "Don't worry about the mundane stuff that goes on around here. I can protect you from most of it. And what I can't ... well you know how to handle yourself. I'm sure I'll have to smooth some things over from time to time, but that's to be expected." Kennedy changed gears and went ahead with the assumption that Rapp had nowhere else to go. At least nowhere else that would provide the same challenges. "I'll start you out with an annual salary of sixty thousand, and you'll get another hundred and fifty for running the Orion Team. Tax free, of course, and deposited into your offshore account."

Rapp nodded. Money wasn't the overriding issue, but it was at least nice to know he'd be taken care of. "What would my official position be?"

"I'm working on that. We could easily put you in the CTC as an analyst, but I'd like to give you something with a little more clout. Possibly special assistant to the DCI on Middle Eastern affairs."

"I still need to think about it. When would you want me to start?"

"Today," Kennedy said with a straight face.

"That's not going to work. I need some time to take care of a few things, and Anna and I are going to Italy for seven days."

This was not good news to Kennedy. She stood and walked over to her desk. Grabbing a videotape, she returned to the sitting area and put it into the VCR. With the remote control in hand she stepped away from the TV and pressed play.

On the screen a woman stepped from an elevator and started down the hallway. Rapp had already watched the tape a dozen times. The woman looked innocent enough, shoulder length blond hair, a little taller than average, her figure concealed by a roomy sundress. Bangs and large tinted glasses obscured her face, and she was careful to keep it directed away from the security camera. She was a pro. Halfway down the hall the woman stopped and knocked on an office door. The building was Funger Hall, located on the campus of George Washington University. The door was opened. You couldn't see who she was visiting, but both Rapp and Kennedy knew it was Peter Cameron, the man who had tried to have Rapp killed in Germany.