"No, thanks. I'm not tough enough to drink coffee during this heat." The senator laughed genially and helped himself to a cup, perhaps to prove he was tough enough. Vinay smiled, watching as the senator poured a single drop of cream into his coffee, wondering how many cups the senator would drink before he felt his manhood sufficiently established. He didn't ask why the senator had summoned him. Vinay had been in the game a long time; he knew the power of silence, how to play the subtle game of position: force the other side to come out first. He didn't betray any anxiety, or any secrets, by rushing into speech. That they were ostensibly on the same side didn't matter; Vinay let no one force him into unguarded speech. When he knew what the senator wanted, then he would know how to react.
Unfortunately, Senator Lake was a great one for small talk, rather than getting to the point. "This is the hottest summer I can remember," he said, leaning back in his butter-soft leather chair. "Miserably hot.
Normally, I take August for vacation—"
Like every politician in D.C. didn't, Vinay thought.
"—maybe get in a little trout fishing. Do you fish, Frank?"
"Not in years." He'd been too busy trying to contain some noxious isms , such as communism and terrorism.
"You really should try to get away more. Fishing puts a man back in touch with nature. You get to see unspoiled parts of the country, and you remember that most of America doesn't live in big cities. Our media is so dominated by what happens in the cities that we tend to forget the concerns of the rest of the country."
Vinay opened his mouth to agree, but the senator waved a hand. "Here I am rambling on, and I know you're busy. I'll get to the point. One of my aides informed me that one of your contract agents has been killed in Mississippi. Reassure me, Frank, that he wasn't on an assignment for you, and don't give me the standard quote that the CIA is forbidden to operate within our own borders. Being forbidden to do something and not doing it are two different things."
Vinay looked blank, but inside he was furious. The only way one of the senator's aides could find out about Rick Medina was from an inside source in Vinay's department. "Senator, there are no operations inside our borders, period. If a contract agent has been killed—and I haven't heard anything about it—then it was something unconnected to us."
"You haven't heard?" Now the senator looked blank. "But—"
"We use a lot of contract agents. They also work for other countries, as you well know, whenever they aren't working for us. Perhaps this person was on assignment, but not for us, and if that were the case, I wouldn't have any information on him or her. Which is it, by the way?"
"Which—?"
"A man or a woman?"
"Oh—a man. You truly haven't heard?"
"Like I said, if it doesn't concern the Agency, I would have no reason to be informed."
"I was informed this man's son is one of your people."
The senator had been informed of too goddamned much, Vinay thought grimly. And if he really thought Vinay would identify one of his most important operatives, then the senator also expected too goddamned much. "It's possible, but unless the death affected operations…" He shrugged, to show how unimportant it was to him that a contract agent had been killed.
Senator Lake consulted a file. "The agent was Rick Medina. Does the name ring a bell?"
"Rick Medina!" Vinay managed a credible look of shock. "Are you sure of that?"
"My source is very reliable," the senator said stiffly. He wasn't accustomed to having his word
questioned.
"I've known Rick for years—not well, no one knew him well, but he was one of our most reliable contract agents. Damn!"
"Are you also acquainted with his son?"
"Rick didn't have a family," Vinay lied. "He was a complete loner."
"I see." For some reason, Senator Lake seemed nonplussed. "Well." Vinay stood, his patience at an end. He was glad he was able to tell the truth about Medina not being on assignment for them when he was killed, but the senator knew too much, details of information that should not have come his way. Already, the deputy director was planning how he would bring the mole in his department out into the sunlight—and then fire his ass.
"Was that all you wanted, Senator?" he asked politely. "I assure you Medina wasn't running anything for us. If you want more detail, I'll be happy to check into his death and get back with you on anything I find."
"Oh, no, that won't be necessary. I was just worried about—well, you know the situation in the country these days, with militia groups looking for any detail, no matter how far-fetched, that they can find to prove our government has run amok. It's best to head these things off at the pass." It was a fairly legitimate concern, but something about the way it was stated struck Vinay as a little too pat, as if the answer had been rehearsed. "Yes, sir," he said. Something wasn't right here; he couldn't put his finger on it, but he trusted his instinct. Why would Senator Lake feel he had to come up with a plausible excuse for asking about Rick Medina?
Maybe Rick wasn't the focus of his questions. Maybe he had really been trying to get information on John. Suspicion struck Vinay hard in the gut. He couldn't think of any good reason why the senator would want or need to know anything about John Medina, but several bad reasons occurred to him, and they all needed to be investigated. He hadn't reached his present position by being gullible. After Vinay had gone, Senator Lake sat down at his wide, hideously expensive desk, absently rubbing his fingers along the glassy finish while he stared thoughtfully at the door through which Vinay had passed. Something very disturbing had happened in that meeting. There were two possibilities, and he didn't like either of them. Either Hayes was mistaken in his information, or the deputy director of operations had just lied to him.