Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(90)

Hands in the audience immediately went up and he pointed to one of them.

“Do we know if we’ve intercepted all of the anthrax or if there could be additional attacks in process?”

“We’re reasonably certain that the anthrax threat has been neutralized,” Alexander’s press secretary said. “But without a man inside, we can no longer monitor the situation on an ongoing basis.”

He pointed again.

“Can you tell us more about the operations you’re carrying out with regard to ISIS and the cartels?”

“No,” he said and indicated another reporter.

“Was Christine Barnett aware of the existence of this undercover operative?”

Kevin Gray stared at the television screen and held his breath. The Alexander administration tended not to like to politicize these kinds of things. Would he stay that course?

“We had no choice but to brief the senator about the initial anthrax attack,” he said, and Gray felt his heart sink.

Leave it there. Please, God, just leave it there.

“She was not, however, aware of the existence of our undercover agent. That information was shared on a need-to-know basis. For reasons that should now be obvious, we were concerned with leaks.”

Gray squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long, shaking breath. There it was. The press secretary for the president of the United States had just implied that Barnett couldn’t be trusted with sensitive information out of fear that she would leak it. And now that leak had happened.

He barely heard the rest of the news conference or Barnett’s increasingly deranged ranting, only opening his eyes when the screen turned back to the roundtable of pundits.

“They didn’t say their man was dead,” the host said. “Only that they lost contact with him.”

The former FBI man shook his head in disgust. “Losing contact with an undercover agent almost always means the same thing. Take it from me—because of this newspaper article, that magnificent bastard is lying in a ditch somewhere with his throat cut.” He leaned forward, planting both elbows on the table. “I’ve been enforcing the laws of this country my entire life. But as far as I’m concerned, the law is too good for the person who leaked this. Their head should be put on a pike and marched through the streets.”

Barnett threw the remote at the television, missing by a couple of feet and hitting the wall instead. The TV went silent and Gray focused on not throwing up. Finally, he managed to speak.

“That’s my head he’s talking about.”

“Quit whining,” Barnett snapped back. “That computer operating system is a hundred percent secure. God himself couldn’t trace it. What we need to focus on now is damage control. Where do we stand?”

“Where do we stand?” he said, squinting in her direction. “We stand in the middle of a complete clusterfuck. We were going to walk away with the nomination and were way ahead in the general election polls. You could have coasted right into the Oval Office. But that wasn’t good enough for you. How long is that reporter going to hold out before he gives up his source? This isn’t a story about the Alexander administration covering up their incompetence anymore. He got an undercover agent killed and collapsed a bioterror investigation. He—we—could actually be responsible for the U.S. getting attacked.”

Barnett stared at him, the fury disappearing from her face in favor of a dead expression that was somehow much worse. Gray wondered if, for the first time in their relationship, he was seeing the real woman behind the fa?ade.

Of course, she was bat-shit insane. The truth was that they all were now. There had probably been a time when politicians achieved this level of success because of patriotism or a deep sense of responsibility to their countrymen. But now it was just about power. In fact, crazy seemed to have become a prerequisite. The American people demanded it.

He suddenly wanted to disappear. To storm out of the room, get on a plane, and get the hell out of the country. To go to work for some multinational corporation marketing soap. Or perfume. Or blood pressure pills. To leave this life behind forever.

But he was scared shitless. The woman staring lifelessly at him from across the room was smart, ruthless, and driven. Even with everything happening—even if he walked out the door—she would likely be the next president of the United States. And the first thing she’d do with the power of that office was destroy everyone who hadn’t supported her. Anyone she perceived as a threat. Would he end up in jail? In Guantánamo Bay? Drugged and seat-belted into a car careening down the side of a cliff?

“Okay,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even as he recited his mantra. “There are no disasters. Just opportunities we haven’t found yet.”

Barnett’s expression reverted to the more familiar—and now oddly comforting—one of rage.

“Where do we stand?” Gray said, repeating his boss’s question of a few moments ago. “If anyone asks—and they will—you deny you had anything to do with that leak and point out that there isn’t even a shred of evidence to the contrary. And the fact remains that the first anthrax shipment did make it across the border and it was pure dumb luck that it was found. On the other hand, criticizing guys who let themselves get shot to protect the country isn’t going to poll well with anyone.” He fell silent, rubbing his temples and trying to think the situation through. It wasn’t hard.