“You can’t go back in there,” said Danny as they walked. “You’ll be a target.”

“No more than anyone else.”

“I can’t let you. It doesn’t serve any purpose.”

“It does serve a purpose.” She felt she owed Bloom, who had helped her, and now would be a target. But at the same time, Melissa also thought that being there might allow her to get Li Han—he might come right to her. But she hesitated telling Danny all of this—her emotions and her sense of duty were all confused. “I can gather intelligence. I can find out what’s really going on.”

“We can drop bugs in there. There’s no need to risk your life.”

“Eavesdropping gear just tells you what people say. It can’t steer conversations. It can’t tease information out.”

“You want to go in to help these people,” said Danny.

“I’ll help them because it will help me. But that’s not why I’m going in. Li Han may come to them. I’ll be able to get him.”

“That’s not going to happen,” said Danny.

“Whatever. I’m not going to argue. You may be in charge of Whiplash, but you’re not in charge of me.”

“You need sleep,” he told her, staring at her face. “You’re tired.”

He had strong eyes. He was a strong, powerfully built man. Yet there was care and concern in his voice. Softness.

“I want to get Bloom out,” she told him. “She helped me. She was an MI6 agent. Now she’ll be in danger.”

“She’s a spy?”

“No. She was. She got out and became a nurse. But she helped me find the house. With what’s going on, she’ll be targeted.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Honestly, Colonel, there is nothing you can do.”

Danny stared at her for a few moments more. Melissa suddenly felt weak—it must be fatigue, she thought, or perhaps hunger: it had been a while since she’d eaten.

Danny clamped his lips tight together.

“I can’t stop you,” he said finally.

“No, you can’t.”

“First sign of trouble, you get the hell out of there.”

“No shit,” she said.

Chapter 4

CIA Headquarters

Jonathon Reid stepped into the elevator in the lobby of the CIA headquarters building and pressed the button to go up to his office. He hadn’t had much sleep—after returning from the White House he’d lain in bed, eyes open, for hours.

A parade of past problems marched across the ceiling. Reid had participated in a number of operations and projects during his career that could be questioned on any number of grounds. He could think of two that were frankly illegal. In both cases he was operating under the explicit orders of the director of covert operations. And in both cases he felt that what he did was completely justified by the circumstances, that not only America but the world benefited by what he did.

But not everyone might agree. He imagined that if he were the case officer here, if he were on the ground in Africa, or even further up in the chain of command, he would feel completely justified by the goal. Li Han was a clear danger to America. He was not a “mere” sociopath or killer. He possessed technical skills difficult for terrorists to obtain, and he was willing to share that skill with them for what in real terms was a ridiculously cheap price. He was, in a military sense, a force multiplier, someone who could influence the outcome of a battle and even a war.

The U.S. and the world were in a war, a seemingly endless conflict against evil. Li Han clearly deserved to die.

Given that, was the process leading to that end result important?

Under most circumstances he would have answered no. As far as he was concerned, dotting a few legal i’s and crossing the bureaucratic t’s was just bs, busy work for lawyers and administrators who justified their federal sinecures by pontificating and procrastinating while the real work and risks were going on thousands of miles away.

But Raven required a more nuanced view. Li Han deserved to die, but should the Agency be the one making that judgment?

And should they alone decide what to risk in carrying out that judgment?

Raven wasn’t a simple weapon, like a new sniper rifle or even a spy plane. It was more along the lines of the atomic bomb: once perfected, it was a game changer with implications far, far beyond its use to take down a single target.

It was Lee Harvey Oswald all over again.

Of course, he was assuming the President didn’t know. Perhaps she did know. Perhaps she had played him for a fool.

Or simply felt that he didn’t need to know.

Maybe his problem was simply jealousy. Maybe the real story was this: Jonathon Reid couldn’t stand being out of the loop. Even now, far removed from his days as a cowboy field officer, he went off half cocked and red-assed, laying waste to all before him.

He knew it wasn’t true. And yet some might see it that way.

Inside his office, Reid sat down and looked at Danny Freah’s most recent updates on the Whiplash operation. The involvement of the Russian agent alarmed him. He quickly brought himself up to date on the Russians and their various operations in Africa. It wasn’t clear whether they were trying to make a new push onto the continent, perhaps to be part of future mineral extraction operations, or were simply on the lookout for new clients for their weapons. Either theory made sense, and in any event neither changed the situation.

It was inconceivable that they had caught wind of Raven and knew it would be tested there.

Or was it?

Even though it appeared that Whiplash had things under control at the moment, Edmund had to be informed about the Russian. Reid took a quick run through the overnight briefing, making sure there wasn’t anything major he had to be aware of, then called up to the director’s office.

“Mr. Reid, the director is out of communication at the moment,” said his secretary. “I’ll put you through to Mr. Conklin.”

Out of communication? That was a new one on Reid.

Conklin came on the line. He was Edmund’s chief of staff, an assistant. Reid rarely if ever dealt with him.

So it begins, he thought.

“Jonathon, what can we do for you?” asked Conklin.

“I need to speak to Herman.”

“I’m afraid that’s going to be difficult to arrange for a while.”

“This is critical.”

“I’m sure. But—”

“Why would it be difficult to arrange? Is Herman all right?”

“The director is fine.”

“It has to do with Raven,” said Reid, unsure whether Conklin would even know what that was.

Apparently he did. “You should talk to Reg on that.”

Reginald Harker: Special Deputy for Covert Operations, head of the Raven project, probably the idiot behind the whole screwed-up situation in the first place.

Not the person Reid wanted to speak to.

“This is really a matter for Herman,” he said. “It’s critically important.”

“Reg is the person to speak to,” said Conklin.

“I’ll do that. But inform Herman as well.”

“I will pass a note to Mr. Edmund at my earliest opportunity.”

Reid hung up. He started to dial Edmund’s private phone, then stopped.

How paranoid should he be? The system would record the fact that he had made the call; the internal lines could also be monitored.

Should he worry about that?

What if it wasn’t a coincidence that the Russians were there? What if someone inside had tipped them off?

But who?

Reid debated with himself, but in the end decided that paranoia had its uses. He left his office, left the campus, and drove to a mall a few miles away. After making sure he wasn’t being followed, he took a lap through the building, found a drugstore and bought a prepaid phone. Then he walked through a large sporting goods store to the far entrance to a parking lot. He went outside and after once again making sure he wasn’t being followed, used the phone to call Edmund’s private phone.