“Red Rover’s original target: Seiran el-Habib, a very big fish in the terrorism world. Cutler told me that NSA had lost track of el-Habib, that he was no longer at the villa in Western Pakistan we were sent to. Turns out Cutler lied. El-Habib is exactly where he was.”

“Why would Cutler lie?”

“Because the NSA, who pays all our salaries, told him to.”

Whitman could see that he had piqued her interest.

“Which means what?”

“That we’ve been caught between the cogs of a government machine that doesn’t know what it wants. NSA is like a child with ADHD. Every other minute there’s a potential disaster that needs attending to, so the one before is dropped by the wayside. No matter the crisis du jour, the danger posed by Seiran el-Habib is still acute, maybe more so now that time has passed. Since NSA is running around like a chicken with its head cut off I figure it’s up to us to make the decision.”

“Without anyone knowing. Without sanction. What will Cutler say?”

“Fuck Cutler. He’s become another cog in the great machine. He’s lost his sense of purpose.”

“There must be another way.”

“If you think of it between now and the time we land,” Whitman said, “let me know.”

*   *   *

Hemingway came out of his inner office as soon as Julie reported for work the next morning, an open file in his hands. “Lock the outer door.”

When she had done so, he lifted an arm. “Sit.”

Again, she complied silently. Like a dog in front of its master, she thought.

“Report, please,” Hemingway said, standing over her like a university professor.

“Sydny is a dead end,” she said.

Hemingway closed the file. “Nothing’s a dead end until I say it is.”

“Here’s what Sydny knows.”

“You mean Louise Kapok.”

“By whatever name you wish to call her,” she said. “She thinks Whitman’s name is Adam. He told her he’s a skip tracer. That’s all she wrote.”

Hemingway glared at her as if this dead end was her fault. She instinctively felt cowed, but then she remembered what Whitman had told her. She refused to be intimidated. Instead, she employed the sleight of hand he had suggested. She gave Hemingway her most seductive smile.

“Anything else on your mind, sir?”

Immediately, he recoiled. “That will be all,” he said in a tone she had never heard before, and scuttled back into his office.

The sound of his door slamming behind him brought her an immense measure of satisfaction.

*   *   *