Black Harvest

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Harker had been to the White House many times, but it never failed to impress her. She waited in an anteroom outside the Oval Office. Two Secret Service agents stood nearby. The dark suits and earpieces they wore were as much a part of the White House culture as the flag flying over the building.

The building carried a tangible aura of power. Everyone who came here felt it. Everyone serious about politics wanted to be here. The White House was more than a pretty building or a symbol. It was the beating heart of the most powerful nation on earth. The man in the next room was the most important politician in the world.

There had been good presidents and bad ones. There were a few great ones. Elizabeth thought James Rice was one of the great ones. Like all powerful leaders, he was surrounded by people who tried to please and mislead him. They tended to tell him what he wanted to hear and conceal their agendas. That was especially true of the intelligence community, the big agencies.

Rice had created the Project to make sure he knew the things no one else would tell him. The Project alerted him to problems before they became more serious threats. More, it gave him a way to eliminate those problems without the interference of self-serving politicians. Elizabeth's unit operated under a budget blacker than the far side of Pluto.

What she was going to tell him was political dynamite. Worse. DCI Lodge had helped clean up a conspiracy that would have torn the country apart. It was Harker's team that had broken it up. They'd left a mess and questions that couldn't be asked in public. Lodge had been Acting Director at that time and he'd been useful. The Director's spot at Langley was his reward. Rice had to do what was best for the country, even if he didn't trust Lodge or like him. The President wasn't going to enjoy what she told him today.

An aide stepped through a curved door in the wall.

"You can go in, Director. He's ready for you."

"Thank you." She stood and smoothed the black linen pants suit she'd chosen for this meeting.

Rice rose from behind Teddy Roosevelt's desk and came out to greet her.

"Elizabeth. Thanks for coming."

That was Rice's style. She'd requested the meeting but he was making her feel as if she were doing him a favor. The Secret Service agent standing by the wall displayed no expression.

Rice was just short of six feet tall. He wore a dark blue suit and red tie. He still had a muscular look that hinted at when he'd been a young Marine officer in Vietnam. He wasn't particularly handsome, but it didn't matter. You got the feeling in his presence that you were the most important thing in his life at that exact moment. He had charisma, in spades. He was also a very intelligent man.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. President."

"I can give you ten minutes, Director." He walked over to the couch and gestured. They sat down.

"It's not good news, is it?"

"No sir. We have a situation. It might be best if we were alone."

"That bad?" Rice turned to the agent. "Eddie, please wait outside."

"Sir…?

"I know, you're supposed to stay. Wait outside. Director Harker is not going to attack me."

"Yes, Mr. President."

The door closed behind him.

Elizabeth had reviewed the autopsy on Wilkinson. At her insistence, the coroner had taken a second look. That had turned up a tiny puncture mark and faint signs consistent with being held down on a soft surface. No one would have noticed unless they were looking. Someone had shot him up with air. When the bubble reached his heart it hit him like a bomb. Wilkinson had been murdered.

She gave Rice a no frills summation of what she'd learned, the video, Wilkinson, the talk of Russia. Campbell's comments about the Pentagon. Her certainty that the deaths of the three research scientists were related.

"You believe this video is genuine."

"Yes, sir. I am certain it is."

"Director, you are telling me the Director of the CIA is a traitor, or at best a murderer."

"Yes, sir, that is my conclusion."

"You can't prove it."

"No, sir. Not so a court would convict him."

Rice stood. She rose with him. He walked over to the windows facing out on the Rose Garden.

"Things are touchy with Russia right now. I'm trying to keep things calm about our missiles in Eastern Europe. The opposition is gearing up for the nomination and waiting for me to show any sign of weakness. If Lodge is promoting some cowboy adventure…"

He left the thought unfinished. He turned back to face her.

"What is your advice?"

"Sir, we can't go after him yet. I've alerted my team. I'm seeking more intel. It's all I can do until there's something more specific."

"I can't just remove him," Rice said. "He knows where all the bodies are buried. The son of a bitch is worse than Hoover ever was and it's an election year. He'd find a way to make trouble. Do you think you can handle this for me?"

Elizabeth thought there were many levels to that statement, but she didn't say so.

"I'll do my best, sir. It's what you pay me for."

"Very well." Rice went to the desk, pressed a button. A door opened. An aide entered. She started from the room.

"Director."

"Sir?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mr. President."

Welcome to another crisis in the works, she thought. She was glad she wasn't the one sitting in that office.