He did what the Director of National Intelligence told him to do when the Harrington accounts were seized.”
“Arthur has been dead for eighteen months,” I said.
The room went entirely, perfectly still.
The only sound was the faint drip-drip of the condensation line running behind the sheetrock wall.
Chloe frowned, her eyebrows drawing together.“What?”
“Arthur died of pancreatic cancer a year ago last spring,” I said, pulling the battered black satellite phone from my pocket and setting it on the tray beside the district court order.“The man who answered that line tonight wasn’t Arthur.
His name is Christian Shaw.
He is the Director of the Special Activities Center at Langley.
He was Nikolai Rostov’s handler in Vienna.”
Chloe stood up from the bed, ignoring the sharp pain in her cracked ribs, her hands dropping to her sides.“That’s a lie.
Nikolai never worked with the Directorate.
