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Back 3 a.m.
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  67. 3:46 a.m.

“Look at you, doing your homework. No, sadly Abdul didn’t make the transfer.”

“Dead.”

He nods.

“But ten of his friends are there. And the intel they supplied helped us infiltrate three Al-Qaeda training camps and put a stop to a possible bombing in downtown Minneapolis.”

“Is the Vatican underground, like this one?”

He looks around. Pulls the gun from his hip. I wonder if he’s going to tell me before or after he pulls the trigger.

“Sure is.”

He wants to tell me. Wants to tell someone.

“Here in Virginia?”

He shakes his head. “Nope, our friends to the west.”

“West Virginia?” I say loudly.

He nods.

I expect them to come crashing through the door. They don’t. They need more specifics.

I rack my brain. Underground. West Virginia.

“Let me guess, an abandoned coal mine?”

He smiles.

“Walton, West Virginia. Bought the mine outright. Transfer the prisoners in the back of a covered beat-up truck. No one even bats an eye. And if they did, we could just set off a couple sticks of dynamite and blow the thing to bits.”

I let out an exhale.

“Okay, you guys can come in now,” I yell.

He looks confused.

“What are you talking about?”

I nod at a corner of the bunker, the tiny video camera in the faint shadows of the flashlight’s outer beam. The one I saw while I was being waterboarded.

“You’re on TV, you fucking idiot.”

Three seconds later, there is a clamoring of footsteps.

I don’t need to see the group rushing forward to know that one of them is the President. And another is Ingrid.

The room fills with bright light.

“Drop the gun! Hands up!” someone yells.

LeHigh does both.

“Henry, oh my God.” Ingrid pulls my wrists from the manacles and I crumple to the ground. “I wanted to come in sooner, but they wouldn’t let me,” she pleads. Tears are streaming down her cheeks in floods. “They wouldn’t go until he gave up the second site.”

Someone helps me to my feet. It’s the President. “I’m so sorry about this,” he says. “I never thought it would go this far. You did a great service to your country today. And I will never forget it.”

“What time it is?” I whisper.

“3:57 a.m.,” Ingrid says, rubbing my back.

I’m still dazed.

I look over my shoulder. Three men in black camouflage have their guns trained on Director LeHigh. I nod at them. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”

I’m delirious.

The President turns to LeHigh. “When I appointed you Director of the CIA, I told you there would be zero tolerance for any of this off-the-books bullshit, and then I find out that you have a black site up and running in my own backyard.”