No, sir, I would prefer not to have you read me that way. I am telling you, on the basis of my experience, that this operation must be terminated ASAP. It is your job to make that necessity plain to the people who authorized the operation. Failing to get such permission, I would advise you to terminate the operation anyway.

I could lose my job for that, the DDO pointed out.

After I identified the body of Captain Rojas, I set fire to the truck. Couple reasons. I wanted to divert the enemy somewhat, and, of course, I also wanted to render the bodies unrecognizable. Ive never burned the body of a friendly before. I did not like doing that. Larson still doesnt know why I did it. Hes too young to understand. Youre not, sir. You sent those people into the field and you are responsible for them. If you are telling me that your job is more important than that, I am here to tell you that you are wrong, sir. Clark hadnt yet raised his voice above the level of a reasonable man discussing ordinary business, but for the first time in a very long time, Bob Ritter feared for his personal safety.

Your diversion attempt was successful, by the way. The opposition has forty people looking in the wrong place now.

Good. That will make the extraction effort all the easier to accomplish.

John, you cant give me orders like this.

Sir, I am not giving you orders. I am telling you what has to be done. You told me that the operation was mine to run.

That was RECIPROCITY, not SHOWBOAT.

This is not a time for semantics, sir. If you do not pull those people out, morepossibly all of themwill be killed. That, sir, is your responsibility. You cant put people in the field and not support them. You know that.

Youre right, of course, Ritter said after a moment. I cant do it on my own. I have to informwell, you know. Ill take care of that. Well pull them out as quickly as we can.

Good. Clark relaxed. Ritter was a sharp operator, often too sharp in his dealings with subordinates, but he was a man of his word. Besides, the DDO was too smart to cross him on a matter like this. Clark was sure of that. He had made his own position pretty damned clear, and Ritter had caught the signal five-by-five.

What about Larson and his courier?

Ive pulled them both out. His planes at Panama, and hes at the Marriott down the road. Hes pretty good, by the way, but hes probably blown as far as Colombia is concerned. Id say they could both use a few weeks off.

Fair enough. What about you?

I can head back tomorrow if you want. You might want me to help with the extraction.

We may have a line on Cortez.

Really?

And youre the guy who got the first picture of him.

Oh. Wherethe guy at the Untiveros house, the guy we just barely missed?

The same. Positive ID from the lady he seduced. Hes running the people they have in the field from a little house near Anserma.

Id have to take Larson back for that.

Think its worth the risk?

Getting Cortez? Clark thought for a moment. Depends. Its worth a look. What do we know about his security?

Nothing, Ritter admitted, just a rough idea where the house is. We got that from an intercept. Be nice to get him alive. He knows a lot of things we want to find out. We bring him back here and we can hang a murder rap over his head. Death-penalty kind.

Clark nodded thoughtfully. Another element of spy fiction was the canard about how people in the intelligence business were willing to take their cyanide capsules or face a firing squad with a song in their hearts. The facts were to the contrary. Men faced certain death courageously only when there was no attractive alternative. The trick was to give them such an alternative, which didnt require the mind of a rocket scientist, as the current aphorism went. If they got Cortez, the normal form would be take him all the way through a trial, sentence him to deathjust a matter of picking the right judge, and in national-security matters, there was always lots of leewayand take it from there. Cortez would crack in due course, probably even before the trial started. Cortez was no fool, after all, and would know when and how to strike a bargain. Hed already sold out on his own country. Selling out on the Cartel was trivial beside that.

Clark nodded. Give me a few hours to think about it.

Ryan turned left off 10th Street, Northwest, into the drive-through. There were uniformed and plainclothes guards, one of whom held a clipboard. He approached the car.

Jack Ryan to see Dan Murray.

Could I see some ID, please?

Jack pulled out his CIA pass. The guard recognized it for what it was and waved to another guard. This one punched the button to lower the steel barrier that was supposed to prevent people with car bombs from driving under the headquarters of the FBI. He pulled over it and found a place to park the car. A young FBI agent met him in the lobby and handed him a pass that would work the Bureaus electronic gate. If someone invented the right sort of computer virus, Jack thought, half of the government would be prevented from going to work. And maybe the country would be safe until the problem was fixed.

The Hoover Building has a decidedly unusual layout, a maze of diagonal corridors intersecting with squared-off corridors. It is even worse than the Pentagon for the uninitiated to find their way about. In this case, Ryan was well and truly disoriented by the time they found the right office. Dan was waiting for him and led him into his private office. Jack closed the door behind him.

What gives? Murray asked.

Ryan set his briefcase on Murrays desk and opened it.

I need some guidance.

About what?

About what is probably an illegal operationseveral of them, as a matter of fact.

How illegal?

Murder, Jack said as undramatically as he could manage.

The car bombs in Colombia? Murray asked from his swivel chair.

Not bad, Dan. Except they werent car bombs.

Oh? Dan sat down and thought for a few seconds before speaking. He remembered that whatever was being done was retribution for the murder of Emil and the rest. Whatever they were, the law on this is fairly muddled, you know. The prohibition against killing people in intelligence operations is an Executive Order, promulgated by the President. If he writes except in this case on the bottom of the order, then its legalsort of. The law on this issue is really strange. More than anything else, its a constitutional matter, and the Constitution is nice and vague where it has to be.

Yeah, I know about that. What makes it illegal is that Ive been told to give incorrect information to Congress. If the oversight people were in on it, it wouldnt be murder. It would be properly formulated government policy. In fact, as I understand the law, it would not be murder even if we did it first and then told Congress, because we have a lead time to start a covert op if the oversight folks are out of town. But if the DCI tells me to give false information to Congress, then were committing murder, because were not following the law. Thats the good news, Dan.

Go on.

The bad news is that too many people know whats going on, and if the story gets out, some people we have out in the field are in a world of hurt. Ill set the political dimension aside for the moment except to say that theres more than one. Dan, I dont know what the hell Im supposed to do. Ryans analysis, as usual, was very accurate. Hed made only a single mistake. He didnt know what the real bad news was.

Murray smiled, not because he wanted to, but because his friend needed it. What makes you think I do?

Ryans tension eased a bit. Well, I could go to a priest for guidance, but they aint cleared SI. You are, and the FBIs the next best thing to the priesthood, isnt it? It was an inside joke between the two. Both were Boston College graduates.

Wheres the operation being run out of?

Guess. It isnt Langley, not really. Its being run out of a place exactly six blocks up the street.

That means I cant even go to the AG.

Yeah, he just might tell his boss, mightnt he?

So I get in trouble with my bureaucracy, Murray observed lightly.

Is government service really worth the hassle? Jack asked bleakly, his depression returning. Hell, maybe we can retire together. Who can you trust?

That answer came easily. Bill Shaw. Murray rose. Lets go see him.

Loop is one of those computer words that has gained currency in society. It identifies things that happen and the people who make them happen, an action- or decision-cycle that exists independently of the things around it. Any government has a virtually infinite collection of such loops, each defined by its own special set of ground rules, understood by the players. Within the next few hours a new loop had been established. It included selected members of the FBI, but not the U.S. Attorney General, who had authority over the Bureau. It would also include members of the Secret Service, but not their boss, the Secretary of the Treasury. Investigations of this sort were mainly exercises in paper-chasing and analysis, and Murraywho was also tasked to head this one upwas surprised to see that one of his subjects was soon on the move. It didnt help him at all to learn that he was driving to Andrews Air Force Base.

By that time, Ryan was back at his desk, looking slightly wan, everyone thought, but everyone had heard that hed been sick the night before. Something he ate. He now knew what to do: nothing. Ritter was gone, and the Judge still wasnt back. It wasnt easy to do nothing. It was harder still to do things that didnt matter a damn right now. He did feel better, however. Now the problem wasnt his alone. He didnt know that this was nothing to feel better about.

The ODYSSEY File MURRAY HAD A senior agent drive to Andrews immediately, of course, and he got there just in time to watch the small jet taxi off to the end of runway One-Left. The agent used his ID to get himself into the office of the colonel who commanded the 89th Military Airlift Wing. That got the agent the flight plan for the aircraft that had just taken off. He used the colonels phone to call Murray, then admonished the colonel that he, the agent, had never been there, had never made an official inquiry; that this was part of a major criminal investigation and was code-word material. The code-word for the case was ODYSSEY.

Murray and Shaw were together within a minute of taking the call. Shaw had found that he could handle the duties of acting Director. He was sure that it was not a permanent job, and after the proper political figurehead was found, hed revert to Executive Assistant Director (Investigations). Part of him thought that too bad. What was wrong with having a career cop running the Bureau? Of course, that was politics, not police work, and in over thirty years of police work hed discovered that politics was not his cup of tea.

We gotta get somebody there, Shaw observed. But how, for Gods sake?

Why not the Panama legal attach? Murray asked. I know him. Solid guy.

Hes out doing something with DEA. Wont be back in the office for a couple of days. His number-twos not up to it. Too inexperienced to run this himself.

Morales is available in Bogotbut somebodyd notice. . . . Were playing catch-up again, Bill, and that guy is flying down there at five hundred miles per hour. . . . How about Mark Bright? Maybe he can steal a jet from the Air Guard.

Do it!

Special Agent Bright, he said as he picked up the phone.

Mark, this is Dan Murray. I need you to do something. Start taking notes, Mark. Murray kept talking. Two minutes later Bright muttered a mild obscenity and pulled out his phone book. The first call went to Eglin Air Force Base, the second to the local Coast Guard, and the third to his home. He sure as hell wouldnt be home for dinner. Bright grabbed a few items on his way out the door and had another agent drive him to the Coast Guard yard, where a helicopter was already waiting. It took off a minute after he got aboard and headed east to Eglin Air Force Base.

The Air Force had only three F-15E Strike-Eagles, all prototypes for a ground-attack version of the big, twin-engined fighter, and two of those were at Eglin for technical tests while Congress decided if the service would actually put the aircraft into serial production. Aside from some training birds located elsewhere, this was the only two-seat version of the Air Forces prime air-superiority fighter. The major whod be flying him was standing at the side of the aircraft when Bright stepped out of the helicopter. A couple of NCOs assisted the agent into his flight suit, parachute harness, and life vest. The helmet was sitting on the top of the rear ejection seat. In ten minutes the aircraft was ready to roll.

What gives? the pilot asked.

I need to be at Panama, just as fast as you can arrange it.

Gee, you mean youre going to make me fly fast? the major responded, then laughed. Then theres no rush.

Say again?

The tanker took off three minutes ago. Well let him get up to thirty thousand before we lift off. Hell top us off up there, and we go balls to the wall. Another tanker is taking off from Panama to meet usso well have enough fuel to land, sir. That way we can go supersonic most of the flight. You did say you were in a hurry?

Uh-huh. Bright was struggling to adjust his helmet. It didnt fit very well. It was also quite warm in the cockpit, and the air-conditioning system hadnt taken hold yet. What if the other tanker doesnt show up?

The Eagle is a very good glider, the major assured him. We wont have to swim too far.

A radio message crackled in Brights ears. The major answered it, then spoke to his passenger. Grab your balls, sir. It is now post time. The Eagle taxied to the end of the runway, where it sat still for a moment while the pilot brought the engines to full, screaming, vibrating power, and then slipped his brakes. Ten seconds later Bright wondered if a catapult shot off a carrier could be more exciting than this. The F-15E held a forty-degree angle of climb and just kept accelerating, leaving Floridas gulf coast far behind. They tanked a hundred miles offshoreBright was too fascinated to be frightened, though the buffet was noticeableand after separating, the Eagle climbed to forty thousand feet and the pilot punched burners. The aft cockpit was mainly concerned with delivering bombs and missiles on target, but did have a few instruments. One of them told the agent that they had just topped a thousand miles per hour.

Whats the hurry? the pilot asked.

I want to get to Panama ahead of somebody.

Can you give me some details? Might help, you know.

One of those business jetsG-Three, I think. Left Andrews eighty-five minutes ago.

The pilot laughed. Is that all? Hell, you can check into a hotel fore he gets down. Were already ahead of him. Were wasting fuel going this fast.

So waste it, Bright said.

Fine with me, sir. Mach-2 or sittin still, they pay me the same. Okay, figure well get in ninety minutes ahead of your guy. How do you like the ride?

Wheres the drink cart?

Should be a bottle down by your right knee. A nice domestic vintage, good nose, but not the least pretentious.

Bright got it and had a drink out of sheer curiosity.

Salt and electrolytes, to keep you alert, the pilot explained a few seconds later. Youre FBI, right?

Correct.

What gives?

Cant say. Whats that? He heard a beeping sound in his headphones.

SAM radar, the major said.

What?

Thats Cuba over there. Theres a SAM battery on that point that doesnt like American military aircraft. I cant imagine why. Were out of range anyway. Dont sweat it. Its normal. We use them to calibrate our systems, too. Part of the game.

Murray and Shaw were reading over the material Jack had dropped off. Their immediate problems were, first, to determine what was supposed to be going on; next, to determine what was actually going on; next, to determine if it was legal or not; next, if not, then to take appropriate action, once they could figure what appropriate action was. This wasnt a mere can of worms. It was a can of poisonous snakes that Ryan had spilled over Murrays desk.

You know how this might end up?

Shaw turned away from the desk. The country doesnt need another one. Not by my hands, he didnt say.

We got one whether we need it or not, Murray said. I admit, part of me says, Right on! about why theyre doing it, but from what Jack tells me, we have at the very least a technical violation of the oversight laws, and definitely a violation of the Executive Order.

Unless theres a classified codicil that we dont know about. What if the AG knows?

What if hes part of it? The day Emil got hit, the AG flew to Camp David along with the rest of em, remember?

What I want to know is, what the hell our friend is going to Panama for?

Maybe well find out. Hes going down alone. No security troops, everybody sworn to secrecy. Whod you send over to Andrews to choke it out of em?

Pat ODay, Murray answered. That explained matters. I want him to handle the liaison with the Secret Service guys, too. Hes done a lot of work with them. When the time comes, that is. Were a mile away from being ready for that.

Agreed. We have eighteen people working ODYSSEY. Thats not enough.