“Your job is to fortify the gates of this institution. In my opinion, based on twenty-five years of experience around here, the greatest dangers to the institution are already inside the gates.”
She did not reply.
He said, “Court Gentry is Denny’s war. He’s brought you in to help him fight it, but there is no future in it for you. Sure, maybe you’ll kill your target, and that might be a little feather in your cap, but this isn’t true Agency business, and someday Denny is going to crash and burn for all his extracurricular activities.” Hanley spoke softly. “You are a winner, Suzanne. I see it. Don’t follow Denny Carmichael down into the dirt.”
Brewer smiled a little while looking down at her iPad. Hanley got the impression she was trying to extricate herself from what she saw as nothing more than a personal conflict between Hanley and Carmichael. She did so by ignoring his comments entirely. “I know Gentry killed several men in his unit when they tried to detain him. Can you tell me what he did before that? Why they were after him in the first place?”
Hanley saw Brewer wasn’t going to listen to his advice. Denny was top dog, so she would do what he said, not follow Hanley, a topped-out and burned-out minion.
He said, “I don’t know what Gentry did before he killed the other men on his task force. Whatever happened with Court Gentry five years ago, it hurt Denny personally or professionally, maybe both.”
Brewer said, “CIA does not vendetta-kill our own because some exec is pissed off.”
Hanley smiled at her. “If you think Denny Carmichael is just an exec, then you aren’t going as far in this building as I thought you were. Denny is the CIA these days. He has the president’s ear, because he kills a lot of bad guys, and the director fears him, because the director doesn’t want to get any of Denny’s blood on his own hands. In the history of this Agency there has never been a more powerful entity than Denny Carmichael. Never. Doing his bidding will help you move up to the seventh floor, but like I said, Denny’s house of cards will tumble, and those left standing will sweep away anyone connected to the man. If you know what’s good for you—”
Apparently Suzanne Brewer had heard enough. “Director Hanley, this has nothing to do with my future aspirations with the Agency. Violator is a threat to Agency personnel, and it is my job to protect Agency personnel. It is as simple as that. Take yourself, for example.”
“What about me?”
“You have to know you are a potential target of this man.”
“Of course I know.”
“Then why don’t you let me increase your security profile?”
“Carmichael and Mayes put a team of JSOC skull fuckers on my house. They are hoping Gentry comes after me.”
“And that makes you feel secure?”
“Hell no! It makes me feel like a goat tied to a stick! I’ve got two of my guys riding with me and I’ve requisitioned an armored car. But it won’t be enough. If Gentry wants me, he’ll get me.”
“Then let me help you. I can give you a full motorcade, a dozen security officers.”
Hanley did not answer her directly. Instead he said, “Last night I walked out onto my back patio and talked to the trees. I figure that if Gentry is coming for me, he’s probably back there somewhere waiting for me to go to bed.”
“What are you telling the trees?”
Hanley laughed. “The truth. I’m telling them that all this shit is Denny’s doing. Not mine.”
“Aren’t you just giving him an easy shot?”
“Gentry doesn’t need an easy shot. Won’t make any difference to him if he has to skulk into my house. This way my poor Ecuadorian cleaning lady won’t have to wipe my brains off the wall, she can just hose it off the patio tile.”
Suzanne Brewer stood. “I certainly hope that doesn’t happen to you.”
He stood as well, and they shook hands. “Yeah. Me, too. Somebody has to be left standing when Denny goes down. I’m hoping it’s me.” He shrugged, lurching his big shoulders up and down. “I’m hoping it’s you, too.”
“Thank you for your time today, Matt.”
Brewer left the office, and Matt knew he had not managed to dent her thick armor at all.
35
Matthew Hanley sat in the backseat of an armored Toyota Camry, gazing through the tempered glass at the heavy evening traffic on Rock Creek Parkway. A flash of lightning illuminated the high hill to the right of his vehicle, thick with trees and shrubs. The director of the Special Activities Division took the quarter second of illumination as an opportunity to scan the high ground, searching for signs of a man there with an antitank weapon.
The darkness returned, and Matt closed his eyes.
Calm the fuck down. He’s not after you.