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Chapters (88)
  1. Titles by Mark Greaney
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. CONTENTS
  7. Epigraph
  8. CHARACTERS
  9. PROLOGUE
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. 5
  15. 6
  16. 7
  17. 8
  18. 9
  19. 10
  20. 11
  21. 12
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. 18
  28. 19
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. 23
  33. 24
  34. 25
  35. 26
  36. 27
  37. 28
  38. 29
  39. 30
  40. 31
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. 49
  59. 50
  60. 51
  61. 52
  62. 53
  63. 54
  64. 55
  65. 56
  66. 57
  67. 58
  68. 59
  69. 60
  70. 61
  71. 62
  72. 63
  73. 64
  74. 65
  75. 66
  76. 67
  77. 68
  78. 69
  79. 70
  80. 71
  81. 72
  82. 73
  83. 74
  84. 75
  85. 76
  86. 77
  87. 78
  88. EPILOGUE

After a few seconds, she slowly put the pen back down. “I see.”

Mayes broke the silence. “After 9/11 Violator was folded into a rendition and direct action task force in Ground Branch.”

Brewer said, “I’m cleared for SAD ops. Will you tell me the task force’s name?”

Carmichael answered with a wave of his hand, as if it didn’t matter. “Golf Sierra. Run by Matthew Hanley.”

Brewer just muttered, “The Goon Squad.”

“So you’ve heard of them, too.”

“Well, like it is with Gentry, I only know the legend. They were supposedly the best we had.” Brewer glanced quickly around the room. It was evident to all she was wondering why on earth Gentry’s former superior was not present. Matthew Hanley was now the head of the Special Activities Division; surely he was cleared for anything said in this room.

As she was about to bring up this concern, something else occurred to her. “I guess the most important thing you can tell me is why we are after Gentry in the first place.”

She looked to Mayes, but Mayes only turned his head to Carmichael. Apparently Carmichael would determine if she was to be allowed to know this part of the story.

Before Carmichael could speak, a disembodied voice filled the room. “We have Director Aurbach ready on the satellite.”

Mayes told the commo technician to send the feed to the monitor.

The large blue screen on the wall came to life. Menachem Aurbach sat at a desk wearing an open-collared white button-down. The man was seventy-two years old, and he had a thick neck and a thicker gut, but he also was in possession of a ruddy complexion and a coiffed black mane that was only peppered with strands of silver. His visage was tired and sullen, but Carmichael expected nothing else, because as long as he’d known the Mossad man, Aurbach had always looked as if he’d just been awakened from a deep sleep and told that his dog had died.

Carmichael and Aurbach had first met in a bomb shelter in Beirut in 1985, both intelligence officers representing their countries during Lebanon’s insane seventeen-faction civil war. Denny was new at CIA at the time, but he’d already spent over a decade in military intelligence, so he and the rugged Mossad officer worked well together in those instances when CIA and Mossad found themselves in close operational relationships.

Carmichael and Aurbach had kept the relationship up in the nineties, and then after 9/11 they worked even more closely together. Carmichael became station chief in Hong Kong, then was promoted to head the CIA’s Special Activities Division, a hard-charging unit of paramilitary officers that was called on constantly during the War on Terror. After several years running SAD, he was promoted again, this time to run the entire National Clandestine Service.