For Rex, this didn’t apply quite so neatly.
The general might have the clearance to take part in a classified discussion, but when it came to the nuts and bolts of an ongoing CIA operation, Rex didn’t have a need to know. That he pried for the information anyway suggested a vanity that fit with what Irene already knew about the man. Irene’s distrust for the blowhard went beyond their professional disagreements. The same instinct that made her an excellent agent runner warned her that he couldn’t be trusted.
Until Rex proved otherwise, Irene was going with her gut.
“Good,” the president said. “Irene—anything more?”
“Not to do with this situation,” Irene said, edging forward to lock gazes with the president. “But I would like to do a quick check-in on an administrative matter.”
“Of course,” the president said with a smile.
A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
CHAPTER 26
THE president eyed Irene for a beat, his upraised eyebrows registering the significance of her statement.
Though the words were innocuous-sounding enough, the meaning behind them was not. Irene had learned long ago that even if people were not privy to the details discussed during her private conversations with the president, the fact that she was having a private conversation at all still drove speculation. Speculation that in turn drove wagging tongues. To avoid kick-starting the rumor mill every time she needed to see her boss alone, Irene had suggested a series of code words that would both alert the president to the true nature of her request and communicate its level of urgency. Administrative matter signified that her need was urgent and that it corresponded to one of her most important special access programs.
CRANKSHAFT.
“Sure,” the president said, glancing at his watch, “but I’ve got a policy meeting with Ted and a couple senators in fifteen minutes. Is that enough time?”
“Plenty,” Irene said.
Irene was seated next to the exit, which meant the departing principals filed past her to get to the door.
Most of the departures didn’t register with her.
One did.
Rex placed a hand lightly on her shoulder as he walked past.
Anyone viewing the gesture would have discounted it as harmless. A moment of innocent contact between two coworkers as one edged past the other in a confined space. Maybe this was even how Rex had intended the touch.
This was not how Irene received it.
Her distaste for the general magnified the moment that his fingers were resting on her shoulder, stretching the touch’s duration from a fraction of a second to something longer.
Intolerably longer.
Which took her somewhere else.
Irene felt her chest tighten as she struggled to breathe. She debated reaching for the mug resting on the table next to her elbow in order to fake choking on a swallow but didn’t.
What if the president saw her shaking hand?
Irene fought to keep her expression blank even as touches from phantom fingers crawled across her skin like invisible spiders.
Not now.
Please, God, not now.
The Situation Room’s heavy door swung shut with a resounding thud.
“Irene—are you okay?”
“Fine, sir,” Irene said, forcing a smile.
The sound of the closing security door had somehow broken the spell.
She really was fine.
For now.
Alexander held her gaze for another moment and then slowly nodded. “Okay, then. I’m glad you grabbed me. I have some thoughts about your intention to send a CIA officer to the compound.”
“Yes, sir,” Irene said, her stomach sinking. “I wanted to update you on that. Nash is in Pakistan, as is our NOC. She’ll be ready to make the approach by tomorrow.”
She knew Alexander well enough to recognize when the president was getting cold feet. She was hoping that once he learned that the operation was already in motion, Alexander would stop second-guessing his decision.
“I’m not saying no,” Alexander said. “I’m just saying that I want to call an audible.”
For most people, this phrase was just a figure of speech. Not Joshua Alexander. The president had played football at Alabama until an injury his junior year had ended his hopes for what might have been a very promising postcollegiate NFL career.
President Alexander knew all about audibles.
“What do you mean, sir?” Irene said.
