plans.”
“Right you are, Mr. Ghranditti. You can count on me.” Angelides smiled.
Ghranditti gave an abrupt nod and stepped into the limo. Within seconds, the long black luxury car was cruising off.
Aloft, flying south to Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland
Elaine peeled off her jacket and tossed it across the aisle, worrying what Tice was doing, whom he would harm next. She fell back against her seat and gazed out the window at a slick of clouds slicing the sky. Suddenly she saw herself as a teenager sitting with her mother in the front row at the federal courthouse in Los Angeles.
Her father stood behind the defense table, a big-ticket attorney at each of his tailored shoulders. He was buffed and polished in his suit, striped shirt, and red power tie, wearing that commanding look he wore. But then, he knew he had a secret $100 million stash in Liechtenstein and a mistress waiting in Paris, and once the judge pounded his gavel, only four years to serve in Lompoc’s white-collar federal camp.
Why was she thinking about him? She felt good. She had longed to be back at work, to be useful again, to contribute. Langley was important to her. Helping the country was even more important, especially now. Plus she was dealing well with people, the way she used to. Then there was the hunt itself, against the most highly skilled quarry of her life. While Tice appalled her, she also found him fascinating—the ultimate challenge.
Excitement surged through her, instantly followed by a profound sense of responsibility. She must find Tice. She
would
find him. And now, after her work with his dossier and at Allenwood, she was starting to feel a resonance, a connection. Each assignment was like crawling inside someone else’s scales and living with them until they became skin—
her
skin.
As she mulled that, she remembered a section in Tice’s file that analyzed his success as a spymaster. She opened the file folder and settled back. Tice had used human manipulation like a subversive weapon, calling his approach the BAR Code—Befriend, Assess, Recruit. She flipped through the pages until she found it:
. . . Tice was unusually persuasive, with a huge talent for displaying warmth and compassion. When a recruiter reported a potential mole or asset or agent was resistant, Tice would have a personal meeting arranged.By the time the potential arrived, Tice had steeped himself in every detail of his or her life. Tice asked questions, listened intently, and showed deep interest in the person’s concerns and worries for the future. Soon the potential began to believe he cared.
Tice met with them as many times as needed until they agreed to do the job. After they completed it, they were compromised—and he owned their souls.
His signature touch was deceptively simple: When they entered the door for the first meeting, he would already be walking toward them, his hand outstretched, smiling. He would introduce himself, disarming them and setting the stage for what was to follow: “Let’s dispense with formalities. My friends call me Jay.” . . .
The description was chilling. Great spymasters like Tice learned to pretend loyalty while actually being disloyal. Some authorities believed all were self-absorbed and egocentric, even narcissistic. Tice was so skillful that he must have known exactly what he was doing—manipulating people like puppets. This pattern of divided loyalties would have paved the way for his plunge down the slippery slope to treason.
As the plane bounced on a pocket of air, she took out her cell and dialed. “I’m in the plane, flying back, Hannah. Were the satellites useful?”
“They were overhead, but no help at all—yet. The FBI got a schedule of guard patrols and personnel assignments at Allenwood, and the NRO checked it against the satellites’ digitized reports. The satellites didn’t spot either Theosopholis or Tice, and everyone out in the open from one to five A.M. was
“Right you are, Mr. Ghranditti. You can count on me.” Angelides smiled.
Ghranditti gave an abrupt nod and stepped into the limo. Within seconds, the long black luxury car was cruising off.
Aloft, flying south to Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland
Elaine peeled off her jacket and tossed it across the aisle, worrying what Tice was doing, whom he would harm next. She fell back against her seat and gazed out the window at a slick of clouds slicing the sky. Suddenly she saw herself as a teenager sitting with her mother in the front row at the federal courthouse in Los Angeles.
Her father stood behind the defense table, a big-ticket attorney at each of his tailored shoulders. He was buffed and polished in his suit, striped shirt, and red power tie, wearing that commanding look he wore. But then, he knew he had a secret $100 million stash in Liechtenstein and a mistress waiting in Paris, and once the judge pounded his gavel, only four years to serve in Lompoc’s white-collar federal camp.
Why was she thinking about him? She felt good. She had longed to be back at work, to be useful again, to contribute. Langley was important to her. Helping the country was even more important, especially now. Plus she was dealing well with people, the way she used to. Then there was the hunt itself, against the most highly skilled quarry of her life. While Tice appalled her, she also found him fascinating—the ultimate challenge.
Excitement surged through her, instantly followed by a profound sense of responsibility. She must find Tice. She
would
find him. And now, after her work with his dossier and at Allenwood, she was starting to feel a resonance, a connection. Each assignment was like crawling inside someone else’s scales and living with them until they became skin—
her
skin.
As she mulled that, she remembered a section in Tice’s file that analyzed his success as a spymaster. She opened the file folder and settled back. Tice had used human manipulation like a subversive weapon, calling his approach the BAR Code—Befriend, Assess, Recruit. She flipped through the pages until she found it:
. . . Tice was unusually persuasive, with a huge talent for displaying warmth and compassion. When a recruiter reported a potential mole or asset or agent was resistant, Tice would have a personal meeting arranged.By the time the potential arrived, Tice had steeped himself in every detail of his or her life. Tice asked questions, listened intently, and showed deep interest in the person’s concerns and worries for the future. Soon the potential began to believe he cared.
Tice met with them as many times as needed until they agreed to do the job. After they completed it, they were compromised—and he owned their souls.
His signature touch was deceptively simple: When they entered the door for the first meeting, he would already be walking toward them, his hand outstretched, smiling. He would introduce himself, disarming them and setting the stage for what was to follow: “Let’s dispense with formalities. My friends call me Jay.” . . .
The description was chilling. Great spymasters like Tice learned to pretend loyalty while actually being disloyal. Some authorities believed all were self-absorbed and egocentric, even narcissistic. Tice was so skillful that he must have known exactly what he was doing—manipulating people like puppets. This pattern of divided loyalties would have paved the way for his plunge down the slippery slope to treason.
As the plane bounced on a pocket of air, she took out her cell and dialed. “I’m in the plane, flying back, Hannah. Were the satellites useful?”
“They were overhead, but no help at all—yet. The FBI got a schedule of guard patrols and personnel assignments at Allenwood, and the NRO checked it against the satellites’ digitized reports. The satellites didn’t spot either Theosopholis or Tice, and everyone out in the open from one to five A.M. was
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