Free Day of Reckoning by Stephen England Page B

into place—all we need is your signature on the authorization,” Kranemeyer announced, laying a folder on Shapiro’s desk.
    The DD(I) put on his glasses and opened the dossier, scrutinizing the files. “This doesn’t just need my signature, Barney. An operation of this nature needs the President to issue cross-border authority.”
    “I’m aware of standard protocols, director,” Kranemeyer replied, leaning forward until his palms rested on the smooth glass of Shapiro’s desktop. “The fact remains that the President is in Paris for the G-8 summit. His attention is currently divided between the precarious financial state of the EU and the latest argument made on the behalf of his campaign before the Supreme Court.”
    “Your point, Barney?”
    Kranemeyer let out a long sigh. “My point is that if the DCIA has been compromised, we have only hours to act. The President isn’t going to make the decision fast enough, not with everything else he’s got on his plate.”
    Shapiro seemed to consider the argument for a long moment, then he closed the dossier. “I’ll consider it, Barney. I’ve got a teleconference with Director Haskel and the Bureau in five. Would you care to join me?”
     
    10:07 A.M.
    The highway
    Virginia
     
    “You killed him.” It was more of a statement than a question, but there was doubt in the voice.
    Harry looked over, his eyes meeting with Carol’s. Her face was ashen pale, her eyes regarding him as though she was seeing him for the first time.
    “You shouldn’t have watched,” he responded, turning his attention back to the road as the Tahoe continued to speed toward Culpeper. “It’s never pretty.”
    “ Pretty ?” she asked in disbelief, her voice trembling. “How did you get to be so cold? For God’s sake, Harry…you blew his brains out.”
    “That’s not important right now,” he retorted, his words clipped. He couldn’t allow himself to think about it. Too many variables still in play.
    “What’s important is how they found us,” Harry continued without giving her time to think about it. “They were on top of us way too fast. Is there anything you have on you frequently?”
    His question seemed to jar Carol from her thoughts. “What?”
    “Shoes, a purse, anything—something they could roll the dice on you wearing.”
    The light of realization spread across her face. “I don’t know—not really.”
    “Think,” Harry urged. “Ten to one you’re wearing a tracker.”
    He glanced over, his gaze sweeping her body from the tip of her shoes to her head. “Those earrings look familiar.”
    “They were my mother’s,” she responded, her tone defensive.
    “And you wear them nearly every day, don’t you?”
     
    10:12 A.M.
    CIA Headquarters
    Langley, Virginia
     
    The teleconference room was not overly warm, Kranemeyer realized as he took his seat to one side of the table. President Hancock may not have yet responded to the economic situation by wearing a sweater in the grand tradition of Jimmy Carter, but it seemed that other governmental employees were expected to.
    “Director Haskel,” Michael Shapiro began, initiating the conference, “I’m here with the Director of the Clandestine Service, Bernard Kranemeyer, along with his head analyst, Ron Carter. Go ahead.”
    “Thanks, Mike,” Eric Haskel responded over the video uplink, “I’m sure you gentlemen are very busy, so I’ll keep this brief. In short, we have identified the driver of the sedan that crashed into Director Lay’s SUV this morning, and our findings seem to rule out the Russian Mafia connection which was initially suggested by your people.”
    A file photo came flashing up on screen as the FBI director continued to narrate. “Michael Fedorenko, a naturalized US citizen, formerly Mikhail Fedorenko of the USSR. Forty-five years of age, he came to this country following the fall of the Soviet Union. A former demolitions specialist in the Red Army, Fedorenko made considerable money in