The Sniper and the Wolf

41

The phone rang on the nightstand beside the bed, and Tim Hagen stepped into the bedroom to answer it. “Hello?”

“Are you alone?” asked Ken Peterson.

Hagen glanced across the hotel suite at his two Mexican bodyguards, who sat watching a soccer game on television. “Hold on a second.” He went to close the door and then returned to the phone. “Okay, what is it?”

“The FBI busted Grieves’s informant inside the White House — we’re all burned. To make matters worse, Shannon got out of Sicily, and Pope’s been given Secret Service protection. I’m calling to warn you because we go back a long time, but I’m striking camp and bugging out.”

Hagen sat down on the bed, weak in the legs. “Bugging out to where?”

“Never mind that. You need to think about where you’re going.”

“But there’s no proof we’ve done anything.”

“There will be,” Peterson said. “The Frenchman is talking, so it’s only a matter of time before the good senator from New York is forced to give us up for accessing the CIA mainframe.”

“What mainframe?” Hagen knew Peterson was shrewd enough to have already turned state’s evidence and that the FBI might be listening in on the call.

Peterson chuckled sardonically. “Tim, don’t get paranoid. Nobody’s listening. I haven’t gone to the Feds. The writing’s been on the wall for a long time now, so believe me, I’ve prepared for this eventuality. With men like Pope and Webb running the CIA, the US is screwed. How long do you think it’ll be before those two clowns let another nuke into the country? I did what I did to try and save the agency, but I failed. So it’s time to fall on my sword or run like hell, and I’m not the type to fall on my sword.”

Hagen sat with his head in his hand, having hardly heard a word. “It should’ve been the simplest thing,” he muttered to himself, unable to believe that Shannon was still alive, with so many others dead. “He’s only one man, for God’s sake. There has to be a way to stop him!”

“Tim, did you hear what I just told you? Killing Shannon doesn’t solve our problems anymore. There’s going to be a federal investigation. We’re burned!”

“Stop saying that!” Hagen flared. “We can handle a goddamn investigation. The evidence against us is practically nonexistent. All we have to do is keep Grieves from opening his fat mouth!”

Peterson sighed at other the end of the line. “And how do you propose we accomplish that? You got photos of him shagging a hooker too?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m talking about something a hell of a lot more certain than blackmail. And with Grieves out of the way, the only one left to worry about is Shannon.”

“Christ Almighty. What is your obsession with that guy?”

Hagen stood up from the bed, his rage finally boiling over. “He’s Pope’s right-hand man, you pompous ass! And Pope destroyed everything I worked ten years to achieve! I was run out of the White House in disgrace because of him! That’s my fucking obsession, Ken!”

Peterson was incredulous. “So that’s what this was all about? You blew our entire operation over a personal vendetta? You stupid, stupid son of a bitch. No. I’m the stupid son of a bitch. I should’ve known you didn’t give a shit about protecting the country. You’ve never given a shit about anyone but yourself.”

Hagen smirked. “Like the country ever gave a shit about you? Wake up, Ken. It’s a zero-sum game. Whoever’s got the most at the end wins, and I don’t plan on walking away from the table anytime soon.”

“At the end of what, Tim?”

“Life!” Hagen slammed the phone down in the cradle. He had one card left up his sleeve, and it was time to play it.