Pursuit Of Honor by Vince Flynn Page A

O’Brien wasn’t anywhere on the horizon. She was the wife of Chuck O’Brien, the director of the CIA’s National Clandestine Service. “What about her?” Rapp asked cautiously.
    “That’s how I knew about the operation you were running.”
    One of the keys to a successful interrogation, at least early on, was to keep the subject off balance. No matter how shocking or strange a piece of information might be, you never let it show. “Which operation,” Rapp asked, “would that be?”
    “The mosques.”
    “Go on,” Rapp ordered.
    “The undercover guys you sent into the mosques.”
    Rapp walked back and looked down at Adams. “You mean the operation that was leaked to the Post last week.”
    “Yeah… Yeah… that’s the one.”
    “The story you leaked, you mean?” Rapp asked.
    Adams didn’t answer fast enough, so Hurley gave him a little love tap with the tip of the barrel-just hard enough to draw a drop of blood.
    “Yes,” Adams screamed. “Yes… I was the one who told Barreiro.”
    “The leak,” Rapp said, “that ended up getting one of my agents killed.”
    “I… I… I,” Adams stammered, “wouldn’t know anything about that.”
    Rapp glanced at his watch. He might have to be late for the meeting. “And just what does Kathy O’Brien have to do with this?”
    “She’s… how I found out.”
    “You already said that. I want specifics.” Rapp saw Adams ’s eyes begin to dart around again, which was a sign that his brain was scrambling to find the right lie. “Don’t do it.”
    “Do what?”
    “Lie to me.”
    “I’m not… I mean I wasn’t going to.”
    “Anything you say to me I’ll have verified within the hour, and if I find out you’ve lied to me… well, let’s just say I’m going keep you alive as long as it takes to make you feel some real pain.”
    “She…” Adams’s eyes started darting again, until suddenly, a knife tip appeared an inch in front of the left one.
    Rapp held the blade perfectly still. “I can tell when a man is lying to me. So one more time, what does Kathy have to do with this?”
    Adams closed his eyes and said, “She’s been seeing a therapist.”
    “And?”
    “We had the office bugged.”
    With great effort to conceal his surprise Rapp asked, “The therapist’s office?”
    “Yes.”
    Rapp’s mind was flooded with a half-dozen questions, but for now he needed to keep Adams focused on the most immediate facts. They could squeeze the rest out of him later. “So if I call my source at Justice, she’ll tell me that you had warrants to wiretap the therapist’s office?”
    Adams took a long time to answer, which in itself was an answer.
    Rapp cocked his head to the side. “You didn’t have a warrant?”
    “Not exactly,” Adams admitted.
    Rapp pulled the knife back and shared a quick look with Hurley. Things suddenly began to fall into place for Rapp. Why Adams knew the broad brushstrokes of what they had been up to, but could not pass the threshold needed to refer a case to Justice. “You wiretapped the office of a doctor and recorded the private therapy sessions of the wife of the director of the National Clandestine Service. And you did it illegally.”
    “I was only trying to do my job.”
    “And you lecture me about breaking the fucking law,” Rapp snapped.
    “I was just trying to stop you. You were out of control.”
    “Out of control… I break those laws to keep people safe. Real people. You break ’em to protect some piece of paper you don’t even understand.”
    “I am trying to protect the world from animals like you.”
    Rapp stuck the tip of the knife into Adams ’s left nostril and said, “I should-”
    “Mitch,” Dr. Lewis announced from the door, “I’d like to have a word with you and Stan.”
    Rapp resisted the urge to slice the traitor’s nose clean off his face. They had a standard policy during interrogations that whenever Lewis asked anyone for a private word, they were to drop everything and leave