Angels of Wrath by Jim DeFelice, Larry Bond Read Free Book Online Page A

clung to the second as Yeklid backed out into the main street, barely missing a truck.
     
    “I called the Egyptians, but I think it’s better if we lay low for an hour,” Yeklid told Ferguson when they collected themselves several blocks away. “I’m going to call one of the senior people I know. This may end up being a real pain.”
     
    “You’re good with understatement,” said Ferguson. “I like that.”
     
    ~ * ~

     
     
    ~ * ~
     

1
     
    CIA BUILDING 24-442, VIRGINIA
     
    Corrine Alston stood as patiently as possible in the small booth in the basement of CIA Building 24-442, waiting as the equipment behind the stainless-steel walls scanned her for high-tech bugs. Security here was so meticulous that no one—not Corrine, not CIA Director Thomas Parnelles, not even the president himself—could bypass the bug scan, let alone the weapons and identity checks. But the ritual only heightened her anger.
     
    The small green light in the center of the ceiling lit. Corrine stared at the door, willing it to open. When it did, she walked down the hall to an elevator that opened as she approached. She didn’t have to press any buttons once inside, which was fortunate; she would have broken either the panel or her fingers with the jabs.
     
    The elevator opened a few seconds later fifty feet below the level where she had started. Corrine walked to a stairwell at the far end, ignoring the two plainclothes CIA officers flanking the entrance. Downstairs, her heels echoed loudly on the cement floor as she strode to the small conference room next to the secure communications suite used to support First Team operations. The door to the conference room was ajar. Corrine pushed it open and found Jack Corrigan sitting alone at the far end of the conference table.
     
    “Why wasn’t I told?” she demanded.
     
    “I did tell you.”
     
    “You waited three hours. I heard about it from the State Department first, for cryin’ out loud.”
     
    “I know, uh, that was a mistake. My mistake. I called your office and Teri said you were with the president. So I waited.”
     
    “You should have used the personal phone. That’s why I have it.”
     
    Corrigan tried not to act intimidated, but Corrine Alston’s fury was not easily withstood. Though only twenty-six, she was one of the most powerful women in the administration, serving as the president’s counsel and his personal representative to the First Team, in effect, Corrigan’s boss.
     
    Complicating matters was the fact that she was pretty good looking, too: touch up her nose, add a little makeup, maybe hire a hairstylist, and she could pass as a model or at least a B actress.
     
    “The Egyptian reaction was better than expected,” offered Corrigan, trying to salvage what he could of the situation. “The tailor turned out to be Ahmed Abu Saahlid. They wanted him for terrorist activities, so—”
     
    “Why was Ferguson in Cairo in the first place? He didn’t clear that with me. He exceeded his authority. He was told to proceed with caution on the entire operation.”
     
    “I think getting Bob Ferguson to proceed with caution, Ms. Alston, would be well beyond even your considerable abilities,” said CIA Director Thomas Parnelles, striding into the room behind her. “And I think you would be doing the country a great disservice besides.”
     
    Corrigan’s military training kicked in, and he jumped to his feet. “Mr. Parnelles.”
     
    Corrine felt her face burn. “Special Demands will not be a rogue organization,” she told Parnelles.
     
    “I quite agree,” said the CIA director softly. He pulled a chair out and sat down.
     
    Corrine took a moment to gather herself, putting on what she thought of as her lawyer face: neutral, reserved, calm. She wasn’t exactly sure where she stood with Parnelles. The president had appointed him CIA director partly based on her recommendation; she had known Parnelles from her work as counsel to the Intelligence