«Should we let someone else take a crack at it?»

Dumond was offended by Rapp's question. «Listen, if I can't find out where that money came from, no one is going to.»

«I'm just asking.»

«His body was still warm when you arrived.» Kennedy looked at Rapp and Coleman. «Did you see anyone leaving the building?»

Coleman thought about it and said, «There was one woman entering the staircase when we got off the elevator.» He shrugged. «Didn't get much of a look at her.»

«Mitch?»

Rapp thought of the woman he'd seen. The more he replayed the scene, the more he believed it was Donatella Rahn. The way she moved and the way Peter Cameron had been killed both pointed to the Italian beauty. Rapp knew he couldn't tell Kennedy of his suspicions, at least not in front of the others. He owed too much to Donatella. He would have to arrange a trip to Italy and talk to her alone. No bosses, no official intelligence business, just two old lovers who owed each other their lives.

Rapp shook his head and looked at Kennedy. «I didn't see anything unusual.»

«Well, I've sent someone over to grab the security tapes. We'll have to sit down tomorrow and go over them.»

«Good thinking.» One of the reasons Rapp liked working for Kennedy was that she was so thorough. Cameron's sudden disappearance would eventually garner the attention of the police, and through some very simple detective work, they would discover that he had entered Funger Hall on the last day anyone had ever seen him but had never left. Not only was the killer probably on that tape, but so were Rapp and Coleman. They had been wearing hats and knew how to tilt their heads in such a way as to prevent the camera from getting a good shot of their faces, but still, they would prefer it if the authorities never had the chance to get that far.

«So where do we go from here?» asked Coleman.

«We all go home and get some sleep, and then we plow ahead in the morning.» Kennedy looked at Dumond, remembering there was one more thing she was supposed to take care of. «Marcus, Director Stansfield was wondering if you could create an offshore account in the name of Congressman Rudin and transfer the money from Cameron's account into it?»

Dumond rolled his eyes at the request. «Yeah, I can do it. No problem.» It was obvious that Dumond was less than enthused about the idea.

«What's wrong?»

«We've put in a lot of hours on this.» Dumond waved his arms around the table to include everyone. «I was hoping we could get a little bonus out of the deal.»

Kennedy thought about it for a second. «I'll check with the director and see what he thinks. But you don't think it will be a problem to create the account and move the money?»

«No. I can have it done within an hour.»

Kennedy had aroused Rapp's curiosity. «How does Congressman Rudin fit into this?»

«We're not sure. The director and the president are going to have a chat with him in the morning, but it never hurts to overdetermine your outcome.»

44

It was Friday morning, and the West Wing of the White House was bustling with activity. Word had quickly swept through the halls that the president was on the warpath.

This didn't happen often with President Hayes, but when it did, the members of his administration usually knew enough to stay away. Today, he had been complicated by two additional pieces of information. The first was that upon entering the Oval Office at 7:54, the president had called his chief of staff, Valerie Jones, and demanded that Secretary of State Midleton be tracked down and told, not asked, to get to the White House immediately. The second was that a very frail-looking Thomas Stansfield had arrived and was now in the Oval Office with the president. The president's surly mood, his rather forceful request for the secretary of state, and the appearance of the director of the CIA had created an uneasy mood in the West Wing.

White House staffers prided themselves on being in the know, but on this particular Friday morning, they found themselves in the unnerving position of not knowing a thing about what was afoot. As the word spread that something big was going down, the phones began to buzz. Valerie Jones, the president's chief of staff, was being bombarded with questions from other important members of the administration. She also received a call from an old mend at the State Department, who wanted to know what was up. Jones answered honestly that she was out of the loop on this one, but she suggested to her friend that he make sure Secretary Midleton didn't keep the president waiting. Jones received her first call from a reporter before Midleton had even arrived. The word was out.

Inside the Oval Office, the president. had calmed a touch. Seeing Stansfield in such obvious pain made him forget about his troubles for the moment. Hayes, like almost all of his predecessors, understood the importance of good theater. There were far more subtle ways to confront this problem, but that was not what Hayes wanted. He wanted to send a message. He wanted to make an example of the pompous Charles Midleton and put him in his place. Hayes knew full well that by the end of the day, anyone who mattered in Washington would know that the president of the United States had handed the secretary of state his ass, and it would be done without a single word being printed.

Stansfield hadn't been so sure about the president's plan. There were many ways to handle such a meeting without anyone being the wiser. Both Stansfield and Senator Clark had entered the West Wing the night before without anyone other than the Secret Service knowing they were there. President Hayes explained to Stansfield that Midleton had already been warned to mind his own shop. His unusual cooperation with the German ambassador after the Hagenmiller assassination was bad enough, but his meddling in the nomination of the next DCI was indefensible.

There was also a second meeting planned for this morning. The wheels for that gathering had been set in motion the night before. The president had called on two old and very close friends to make it happen. It would be held in private with far less fanfare than the first. The attendees were already downstairs waiting in the Situation Room.

SECRETARY OF STATE Midleton was not a stupid man. He had tried to make several calls to find out what was going on, but since everyone else was in the dark, he got nowhere. He had managed to learn one thing from Michael Haik, the president's national security advisor, and that was that the president was in as bad a mood as he'd seen him in for some time. Armed with this limited amount of information, Midleton decided to make the trip to the White House without the accompaniment of any of his aides. Midleton entered the Oval Office by himself, his chin held high, trying to exude an air of confidence.

President Hayes wasn't about to stand to greet his guest, and Director Stansfield didn't have the strength or desire to do so.

«Mr. President, I came as soon as I could. What is wrong?»

«Sit» was the single biting word that left the president's mouth.

The president and Stansfield were sitting in separate chairs in front of the fireplace. Midleton crossed the room and sat on a couch that was closer to Stansfield. «What's wrong, Robert?»

Hayes let the tension grow for a moment before speaking. Staring at Midleton with a look that would be impossible to mistake for anything other than disdain, Hayes said, «I think I should be the one asking you what's wrong.»

Midleton had racked his brain on the way over trying to figure out what he could have done to so anger the president, and he had only come up with one answer. It must have been his meeting with Congressman Rudin and Senator Clark. Until he knew for sure, though, he would keep his mouth shut. There was no sense in taking the heat for two wrongs. Using a more formal tone, Midleton said, «Sir, I honestly don't know what you are talking about.»