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Back Vortex Save as PDF
Chapters (61)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. Epilogue
  57. Epilogue
  58. Acknowledgments
  59. About the Author
  60. Also by Catherine Coulter
  61. About the Publisher

Whistler had nothing more to do now but wait and hope Harper died nice and easy in Bellevue. Then his agent would deposit the rest of his money, minus his own 20 percent, and he could go home.

But why was a fricking FBI agent surveilling Harper?

The door crashed inward, and a man shouted, “Down, now! On your belly, hands behind your head. Now!”

He dove for his gun on the table beside the bed, but a bullet caught him behind his left knee, and his leg gave way. They were all over him before he could crawl to the table.

He heard a woman say, “Hey. And what have we here?”

Whistler raised pain-filled eyes to a red-haired woman holding his burner cell phone.

50

Olivia and Savich

CIA Director’s Office

Langley, Virginia

Friday

The CIA headquarters at Langley wasn’t in the middle of Washington like the Hoover Building. It sat near the Potomac off the George Washington Memorial Highway, a huge campus that housed Fort Peary and the Farm, surrounded with acres thick with oaks and maples and parking lots. Savich had visited the CIA headquarters before, but never the seat of power.

Director Marlan Hendricks rose to stand at the head of the conference table in his large corner office when Savich, Mike, and Olivia walked in. It wasn’t unlike the FBI director’s, a large square corner office with a large mahogany desk, a seating arrangement in dark burgundy leather, and a cabinet holding awards, photos with the great and famous, souvenirs from his operational days. Hendricks shook their hands, stepped back, and smiled. “Thank you for coming, agents, and Agent Savich. Ah, here are Mr. Lodner and Mr. Grace. Gentlemen, please sit down.” Rose Jefferson Lee, a tough, grizzled thirty-year veteran, walked in behind them carrying a fresh pot of coffee. She set it down, raised a gray eyebrow at the director. “Everyone can serve himself, Rose. Thank you.”

Olivia hadn’t said a word. Savich saw her face was set and pale, Mike’s hand on her shoulder.

Director of Intelligence Fulton Lodner stared at Savich. “What is the FBI doing here? Agent Savich only came into this situation on Tuesday. I thought this was an operational meeting.”

Hendricks said, “Calm yourself, Fulton. All will be revealed. Have a cup of coffee.”

Agent Carlton Grace smiled at Mike and Olivia, nodded toward Savich. “Fulton and I have already heard about the French nationals attacking Olivia in the High Point Mall parking lot. Is it true we have the flash drive?”

Director Hendricks laughed, said to Savich, “I’m sure the halls of the Hoover are ringing with that story as well.”

Savich nodded. “Anything happens at the Hoover and the taco people in the cafeteria know about it before ten a.m.”