Covert One 5 - The Lazarus Vendetta Read Free Page A

tent,
making their way purposefully through the milling crowds. Each carried a long
duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Each moved with the wary grace of a
predator.
    One by one, they arrived at the tent and ducked inside.
    “Well, well, well,” Malachi MacNamara murmured to himself. His
pale eyes gleamed. “How very interesting.”

Covert One 5 - The Lazarus Vendetta

Chapter Two
    The White House, Washington,
D.C.
    The elegant eighteenth-century clock along one curved wall of the Oval
Office softly chimed twelve o'clock noon. Outside, ice-cold rain fell in sheets
from a dark gray sky, spattering against the tall windows overlooking the South
Lawn. Whatever the calendar said, the first portents of winter were closing in
on the nation's capital.
    Overhead lights glinted off President Samuel Adams Castilla's titanium-frame
reading glasses as he paged through the top-secret Joint Intelligence Threat
Assessment he had just been handed. His face darkened. He looked across the big
ranch-style pine table that served him as a desk. His voice was dangerously
calm. “Let me make sure I understand you gentlemen correctly. Are you seriously
proposing that I cancel my speech at the Teller Institute? Just three days
before I'm scheduled to deliver it?”
    “That is correct, Mr. President. To put it bluntly, the risks involved
in your Santa Fe
trip are unacceptably high,” David Hanson, the newly con-
    firmed Director of Central Intelligence, said
coolly. He was echoed a moment later by Robert Zeller, the acting director of
the FBI.
    Castilla eyed both men briefly, but he kept his attention focused on Hanson.
The head of the CIA was the tougher and more formidable of the pair—despite the
fact that he looked more like a bantam-weight mild-mannered college professor
from the 1950s, complete with the obligatory bow tie, than he did a
fire-breathing advocate of clandestine action and special operations.
    Although his counterpart, the FBI's Bob Zeller, was a decent man, he was way
out of his depth in Washington's
sea of swirling political intrigue. Tall and broad-shouldered, Zeller looked
good on television, but he should never have been moved up from his post as the
senior U.S. attorney in Atlanta. Not even on a
temporary basis while the White House staff looked for a permanent replacement.
At least the ex-Navy linebacker and longtime federal prosecutor knew his own
weaknesses. He mostly kept his mouth shut in meetings and usually wound up
backing whoever he thought carried the most clout.
    Hanson was a completely different case. If anything, the Agency veteran was
too adept at playing power politics. During his long tenure as chief of the
CIA's Operations Directorate, he had built a firm base of support among the
members of the House and Senate intelligence committees. A great many
influential congressmen and senators believed that David Hanson walked on
water. That gave him a lot of maneuvering room, even room to buck the president
who had just promoted him to run the whole CIA.
    Castilla tapped the Threat Assessment with one blunt forefinger. “I see
a whole lot of speculation in this document. What I do not see are hard
facts.” He read one sentence aloud. “
'Communications intercepts of a nonspecific but significant nature
indicate that radical elements among the demonstrators at Santa Fe may be planning violent action
—either against the Teller Institute or against the president himself.'”
    He took off his reading glasses and looked up. “Care to put that in
plain English, David?”
    “We're picking up increased chatter, both over the Internet and in
monitored phone conversations. A number of troubling phrases crop up again and
again, all in reference to the planned rally. There's constant talk about 'the
big event' or 'the action at Teller,'” the CIA chief said. “My people
have heard it overseas. So has the NSA. And the FBI is picking up the same
undercurrents here at home. Correct, Bob?”
    Zeller nodded