Transfer of Power

A SPECIALLY OUTFITTED U.S. Army Black Hawk helicopter ferried Kennedy, Stansfield, General Flood, and General Campbell from the Pentagon to Langley When they arrived in the control room on the seventh floor, they all stood in silence while they looked up at the wall of monitors. One of the watch officers had called Kennedy and warned her what was happening. In truth, it didn’t surprise her. If she hadn’t had so many other things on her mind, she probably would have predicted it.

Thomas Stansfield stood, impassive, looking at the large wall, taking in the tiny images. General Flood and General Campbell were a different matter, however. They were men who were used to giving an order and having it followed to the letter-and almost always without question. In this particular situation General Campbell couldn’t have been more specific.

He had told Rapp in very clear English that he was to stay put until further notice.

In addition to the monitor that showed the inside of the president’s bedroom and the one that showed It. Commander Harris’s makeshift command post, four more monitors now showed images. They said it all. Those screens didn’t come to life all on their own, and since Mitch Rapp was the only person capable of installing them, it was obvious that he had directly disobeyed General Campbell.

Kennedy looked at one of the watch officers sitting in the back row.

“Have you tried to raise him?”

“Repeatedly.”

“Any luck?” Kennedy knew the answer before the man started to shake his head. Director Stansfield walked toward the front of the room so he could more closely examine the monitors. He tried looking at the monitors both with and without his bifocals. Two of them covered staircases. The old director knew from memory which ones they were. The other two monitors covered the wide main hallways that cut east-west across the second and third floors. As Stansfield was watching, a fifth monitor came on-line. This one showed a staircase that he was not familiar with. The row of technicians and analysts to his left began talking in earnest as several of them hurriedly flipped through books about the White House. After about twenty seconds one of them pronounced that the staircase in question was the one that led from the third floor to the roof.

Stansfield looked from the monitor back to the rear of the room to find General Flood and General Campbell engaged in a heated and animated discussion. Watching the two generals talk, Stansfield’s face maintained its always neutral expression.

His discerning mind was, however, busily extrapolating the problems, complaints, and solutions that this most current bump in the road would create. In a matter of seconds Stansfield had the solutions formed, filed, and ready to be stated in his always unambiguous fashion. Slowly, he started back up the stairs.

When he reached the two generals, he placed a hand on General Flood’s shoulder and said, “Let’s go to my office where we can talk.”

Stansfield started for the door and gave Kennedy a look that told her to join them. The group proceeded through a locked and guarded door, down a ramp, and then onward to the director’s corner office. As soon as Stansfield heard his soundproof office door close, he knew what was about to happen-and it did. “This is absolutely unacceptable,” stated a barely restrained General Campbell. “I gave him a direct order! I don’t care how good his reasons may or may not be; this is bigger than him, and we cannot have him running around doing whatever he wants, when he wants!”

Stansfield turned around to face Campbell. Kennedy, the last one to enter the room, stopped midway between her boss and the generals.

Stansfield nodded slowly, acknowledging Campbell’s complaint.

With his jaw clenched, Campbell continued, “I ordered him to stand down because I knew we would be out of the loop for at least an hour. What happens if he gets caught… if he kills one of Aziz’s men? We need to be here.” Campbell pointed at the ground.

“We need to be monitoring every little move, so if the shit hits the fan, we can give the order to move.”

Campbell was so upset it seemed that his bristly flattop was standing even more upright than usual.

“Your boy needs to start following orders, or I swear to God-“ The stocky ranger stammered for a second, his neck veins bulging. Campbell didn’t finish the thought, but it was obvious to all that he was thinking of physical confrontation.

Stansfield nodded slowly in an effort to validate Campbell’s anger.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered who would actually win that fight. Campbell, although twenty years Rapp’s senior, was not a man to be trifled with. Shifting his gaze from Campbell to Flood, Stansfield asked, “Would you like to add anything?”

Flood shook his sizable head.

“There’s nothing left to say.

It’s a no-brainer. Rapp is wrong, and he needs to be reeled in.”

Stansfield digested Flood’s comments. They were every bit as warranted as Campbell’s. The director of central intelligence walked around his desk and looked out the window for a brief moment. The day was as it had been for the last two, sunny and bright. Turning back to the generals, Stansfield said, “We have a difference of opinion, gentlemen. I’ll tell you what I see. I see a man who is trained to act on his own. A man who is used to spending days if not weeks in the field without the aid or interference of his country. Mitch Rapp is not a soldier, and he most definitely is not a politician. His ability to know when to take risks, when to push ahead, when to pull back, is uncanny. Its, quite honestly, the best I’ve ever seen. He thrives in this environment where every decision could mean life or death.”

Stansfield paused for a moment and then in an almost academic tone continued, “He has a much clearer picture of the tactical situation, not only because he is on-site, but because he is not distracted by all of the things that we are.” For clarity, he added, “Most notably, he doesn’t have to deal with Vice President Baxter.”

Clutching his hands in front of him and then letting them fall to his side, Stansfield continued, “Now, with all due respect, gentlemen, you know I think very highly of both of you, but you must understand, Mitch is not a soldier. He has been trained from day one to think independently. If you want to get mad about this, which you have every right to, then get mad at me. He is my responsibility.”

Stansfield stopped just long enough to make it seem as though he was giving them a chance to reply and then said, “We’ve made a mistake with you two.” He pointed to Campbell and Kennedy. “I don’t want you attending any more meetings.

I want you right here monitoring Rapp and his progress.

There are too many meddlesome issues that General Flood and I can handle. I want you two focused on Mitch and how best to aid him. He is our eyes.” The elderly spymaster looked from Campbell to Kennedy and back.

“The way I see it… he’s doing exactly what we sent him in there to do.

Now, General Campbell, if you want to go in there, and get Mitch on the radio, and read him the riot act, that’s fine. That is undoubtedly your prerogative, and I’m not going to stand in your way. But, it won’t do us a bit of good, because he won’t listen.”

Stansfield could see that his words were getting to Campbell. The ranger’s demeanor had calmed ever so slightly.

“What I would propose is that I have a talk with him and explain how important it is that he communicate his every action so we can deal with something if it comes up.”

Before Stansfield could start his next sentence, the large phone on his desk started to ring. Stansfield looked down to see where the call was coming from. On the small screen were a string of letters that caused his brow to knot into a frown. The light on the secure phone continued to blink and Stansfield debated whether he should answer it. After two more rings his frail hand moved slowly toward the receiver.