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return it to its normal operation.”
    â€œWhat happened, Deputy?”
    Glenn shrugged. “Don’t know. Probably chasing a ghost.”
    â€œNone of our ­people were involved in this, were they?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBut the GPS for the asset number—­”
    Glenn clamped down on Terry’s shoulder and squeezed while fixing the fat man with his gaze. “Is no longer your concern, Terry. Do you understand?”
    Terry nodded, his cheeks jiggling.
    â€œSmart man.” Glenn let go, straightened his jacket and tie, and focused on the screen. Two destroyed cars and one missing rogue agent. Wonderful. “You do good work here.”
    Turning away from the screen, Glenn walked over to a nearby empty console. He lifted a phone and punched a number.
    â€œSpecial Activities director,” the voice said. “This is a secured line.”
    â€œSteve, it’s Glenn.”
    â€œDeputy, what can I do for you?”
    Always formal. “I need a favor.”
    â€œThis have anything to do with you redirecting a UAV over Ur?”
    â€œWord travels fast, I see.”
    â€œWhen the deputy director walks into the Operations Center and diverts a UAV without any explanation, ­people notice.”
    â€œGuess I should come down here more often.”
    â€œSo, does this have something to do with why you’re there?”
    â€œYeah, it does.”
    â€œYou know I don’t have any assets in Ur. Wonder why you’re so interested in that area, being there’s no CIA there.”
    â€œThe asset doesn’t belong to you or Clandestine Ser­vice.”
    â€œAre you going to tell me who he does belong to?”
    Glenn gritted his teeth. Although Steve Ogden, as the SAD, worked for the director of the National Clandestine Ser­vice, and the NCS reported to Glenn, the two had come to the CIA at almost the same time and therefore were equals, experiencewise. Steve was formal, but he wasn’t against busting his chops from time to time. Even so, Steve was solid and damn good at keeping his mouth shut. Basically, he was the only guy at Langley that Glenn knew he could trust right now.
    But would he back a rogue player? Time to find out, because you don’t have any other angle.
    â€œHe’s my guy,” Glenn said. “Mike Caldwell.”
    A moment or two of silence passed.
    â€œI’ll meet you in your office, Glenn.”
    Click.
    Glenn hung up and sighed. Shit. This wasn’t going to be easy.
    S teve was already in his office and sitting in front of his desk when Glenn walked in. The man was over fifty but still had the body of a linebacker, and every inch of it filled the chair. Before Glenn could say anything, Steve launched in on him.
    â€œMike Caldwell resigned earlier this year.”
    â€œThis needs to stay quiet, Steve.” Glenn eased into a chair. “And no, he didn’t. Well, he did, sort of. I made it look that way.”
    â€œHe’s working for you, huh? Doing projects outside the scope of Special Activities and the Clandestine Ser­vice?”
    â€œYou don’t want to know the details. Most of it isn’t legal, so you want to keep your knowledge limited. He’s working projects for me, yes, which puts my nuts in an even tighter vise than they normally would be. That’s all I want to say about it for your sake.”
    â€œAnd DNCS has no idea?”
    â€œNor does the director. No one does but you and me now.”
    â€œWhat happened to him?”
    â€œGot snatched. Don’t know by whom, or where he’s been taken.”
    â€œWhy not just write him off? No one knows he’s there but us. Wash your hands and it all goes away. Sounds like the best play if you want to stay out of jail.”
    Glenn swallowed a mouthful of spit. “Because he’s my guy. And you couldn’t do it, either, so don’t suggest it again.”
    Steve rubbed his chin. “You’re putting