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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

Carmichael shook his head. “Nothing of the sort. I am just reminding you that I serve as a buffer between you and the elements out there that could be harmful to you.” He paused. “Politically. I am speaking in purely political terms. Don’t get dramatic.”

“Get out of my office.”

Denny stood and turned for the door. Then, just as Denny knew he would, the director blinked.

“Carmichael?”

Denny turned. “Sir?”

“Go back to your cave. Kill this man who’s causing so much trouble. I’ll give you a lot of latitude, just like you were going after some high-value target overseas. But I’m not giving you killer robots.”

“Very well, sir.”

He turned to leave again, but once more the director called out. “They tell me you have been sleeping in your office for the last week.”

“Well . . . I’ve been working.”

“I’ll abide a lot of your extreme actions, Denny, but not that one. Not even considering your situation. Sets a bad tone for the younger generation when we old folks don’t behave with the proper decorum. You’re a divisional director, for God’s sake. Start acting like one. This isn’t a boardinghouse.”

Carmichael blew out a hidden sigh of frustration. “Sir.”

—

Carmichael stuck his head in Suzanne Brewer’s TOC just five minutes later. Brewer had been leaning over one of her analysts while he checked a possible Gentry sighting in Foggy Bottom. It wasn’t Gentry, the two of them decided almost immediately, so Suzanne was just about to head back to her office when she looked up to find herself facing the director of her division.

“Sir?”

She’d grown accustomed to Denny’s clipped voice.

“I need a safe house, stat. You keep the TOC running here, but I need to get away from the Langley Campus to work without the director’s interference. I want to be linked to you with a dedicated umbilical, not out in the boonies, but close by.”

Brewer thought a moment. “Springfield Twelve has all the coms you’ll need.”

Carmichael shook his head. “Alexandria Eight has better security, I’ll go there.”

“We haven’t used Alexandria Eight in years.”

“It’s a fortress. I want a fortress.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get a team there stat to sweep and clean, and pull tech staff to get everything online. I’ll oversee it personally. Give me a little time to prep and we’ll schedule a movement to your new facility by the end of the day.”

“Good,” Denny said, then he disappeared from the doorway.

“Sir?” she called after him, and he returned. He looked annoyed. “Zack Hightower isn’t answering his phone.”

“Don’t worry about it. He’s doing something for Mayes. You might or might not get him back.”

“But—”

Carmichael interrupted. “Alexandria Eight, Suzanne.”

“Yes, sir.”

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