And Alex had said, Damned right. It would be a hot day in January before he so much as drove by the freaking place.
His jaw tightened.
So much for promises. It was November in D.C., the weather gray and cold, and he was going through those damned doors, walking across the tiled floor to the security desk.
The hell of it was, it all felt as familiar as if he’d never left. He even found himself reaching into his pocket for his ID card but, of course, there was no card in his pocket, there was only the letter that had brought him here today.
He gave his name to the guard, who checked it first against a list on his clipboard, then on his computer monitor.
“Move forward, please, Mr. Knight.”
Alex stepped into the seemingly benign embrace of the security gate.
Checkpoint one, he thought, as the electronic snoops did a preliminary scan. This was his last chance to turn and walk straight out the doors.
A second guard handed him a visitor’s ID badge.
“Elevators are straight ahead, sir.”
He knew where the damned elevators where. Knew, after he stepped inside and pressed the button, that it would take two seconds for the doors to slide shut, seven for the ride up to the sixteenth floor. Knew he’d step out into what looked like a corridor in any office building—except that the luminescent ceiling was filled with lasers and God only knew what else, all checking him from head to toe, and that the plain black door marked Authorized Entry Only would open after he touched his thumb to a keypad and looked straight ahead so that another laser could scan his retina and verify that he really was Alexander Knight, spook.
Ex-spook, Alex reminded himself. Still, he pressed his thumb to the pad, just to see what would happen. To his surprise, it activated the retinal scan and a couple of seconds later, the black door swung open exactly as it had years ago.
Nothing had changed, not even the woman wearing a dark gray suit seated behind the long desk facing the door. She rose to her feet as she had a hundred times in the past.
“The director’s expecting you, Mr. Knight.”
No “Hello.” No “How have you been?” Just the same brusque greeting she’d always offered when he’d had to stop here between assignments.
Alex followed her down a long hall to another closed door. This one, however, opened at the turn of a knob, revealing a large office with bulletproof glass windows overlooking the Beltway that circled Washington.
The man at the cherrywood desk looked up, smiled and rose from his chair. He was the only change in this place. The old director who Alex had worked for was gone. His assistant had replaced him, his name was Shaw, and Alex had never liked him.
“Alex,” Shaw said. “It’s good to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” Alex replied.
It was a lie, but lies were the lifeblood of the Agency.
“Sit down, please. Make yourself comfortable. Have you had breakfast? Would you like some coffee or tea?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
The director sat back in his leather swivel chair and folded his hands over his slight paunch.
“Well, Alex. I hear you’re doing quite well.”
Alex nodded.
“That company of yours—Risk Management Specialists, is that the name? I hear excellent things about the work you and your brothers do.” The director gave a just-between-us-boys chuckle. “Quite a compliment to us, I think. It’s nice to know the techniques you learned here haven’t gone to waste.”
Alex’s smile was tight. “Nothing we learned here has gone to waste. We’ll always remember all of it.”
“Will you?” the director said, and suddenly the phony smile was gone. He sat forward, folded his hands on his desk, his blue eyes boring into Alex’s. “I hope so. I hope you remember the pledge you took when you joined the Agency. To honor, defend and serve your nation.”
“To honor and defend,” Alex said coldly. To hell with phony pleasantries. It was time to get down to basics. “Yes. I remember. Perhaps you remember that the Agency’s interpretation of that pledge was the primary reason my brothers and I resigned.”
“An attack of schoolboy conscience,” the director said, just as coldly. “Misguided and misplaced.”
“I heard this lecture before. You’ll understand why I’m not interested in hearing it again. If that’s why you asked me to come—”
“I asked you to come because I need you to serve your country again.”
“No,” Alex said, and rose to his feet.
“Damn it, Knight…” The director took a deep breath. “Sit down. At least listen to what I have to say.”
Alex looked at the man who had been second-in-command here for more than two decades. After a moment, his face expressionless, he took his seat again.
“Thank you,” the director said. Alex wondered how much it had cost him to say the two simple words. “We have a problem.”
“You have a problem.”
That garnered a sound that was almost a laugh.
“Please. Let’s not play word games. Let me speak my piece in my own fashion.”
Alex shrugged. He had nothing to lose because no matter what the director said, he’d be walking out the door and away from this place in another few minutes.
Shaw leaned forward. “The FBI’s come to me because of a, uh, a delicate situation.”
Alex’s dark eyebrows rose. The FBI and the Agency didn’t even acknowledge each other’s existence. Not in public, not in Congress, not anywhere it mattered.
“The new head of the FBI is an old acquaintance and…well, as I say, a situation has arisen.”
Silence. Alex swore to himself he wouldn’t be the one to break it but curiosity got the best of him and curiosity, after all, didn’t mean he’d get involved in whatever was happening here.
“What situation?”
The director cleared his throat. “The oath of secrecy you took when you joined us is still binding.”
Alex’s mouth twisted. “I’m aware of that.”
“I hope so.”
“Suggesting I’m not is an insult to my honor. Sir,” Alex added, his tone making a mockery of the honorific.
“Damn it, Knight, let’s drop the nonsense. You were one of our best operatives. Now, we need your help again.”
“I already told you, I’m not interested.”
“Have you heard of the Gennaro family?”
“Yes.”
Everyone in law enforcement had. The Gennaro family was deep into drugs, prostitution and illegal gambling.
“And you know about the indictment against Anthony Gennaro?”
Alex nodded. A couple of months before, a federal prosecutor in Manhattan had announced the indictment of the head of the family on charges that ranged from murder to leaving the toilet seat up. If convicted, Tony Gennaro would live out his life in prison, and the family’s power would be ended.
“The feds tell me they have an excellent case. Wiretaps. Computer files.” The director paused. “But their ace in the hole is a witness.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with me.”
“The