JК
The Third Option :: Flynn Vince
Страница: 18 из 267It was entirely encased in steel, making it impossible for electromagnetic waves to enter or leave. The room itself was divided into smaller rooms, each elevated off the floor so technicians could sweep beneath for bugs.
Senator Clark continued down the hall, passing several of the glass-enclosed briefing rooms, where the senators and a few select staffers received briefings from the various intelligence agencies. Near the end of the hall he approached another door with a touch pad. Clark punched in his personal five-digit code, and the door hissed as its airtight seal relaxed. He entered the elevated room and closed the door, the gasket expanding once again to its airtight position. Black blinds covered the room's four glass walls, and a sleek black oval conference table occupied the center of the fifteen-by-twenty- five-foot space. There was a place at the table for each of the committee's fifteen members. The glass-covered table had individual reading lamps for each senator and a computer monitor mounted at an angle under the glass. The room was dark except for one lone light at the far end.
From where he was standing, Senator Clark could see the thin, bony fingers of his counterpart in the House. Congressman Albert Rudin's hands were placed on the table under the soft light of one of the fifteen modern black lamps. Clark could barely make out Rudin's profile in the shadows, but it didn't matter. He had it memorized, and that profile could belong to one of only two people: either Congressman Albert Rudin, the chairman of the House Select Committee on Intelligence, or Ichabod Crane.
Clark continued to the far end of the room. «Good afternoon, Al.»
Rudin didn't respond, and Clark didn't expect him to. Al Rudin Was probably the most socially retarded politician in Washington. Clark grabbed a glass from the credenza behind the congressman and filled it with a couple of shots of Johnnie Walker scotch. The senator waved the drink in front of Rudin and asked if he'd like some. Rudin gruffly shook his head.
Albert Rudin was in his seventeenth term as a United States congressman. He was a Democrat to the bone and hated absolutely every single Republican in town with the possible exception of Senator Hank Clark. Rudin was a tireless party hack. He did whatever it took to perpetuate the party. If the party was embarrassed by a scandal where they were clearly in the wrong, it was AI Rudin they paraded out in front of the cameras. It was pretty much the same rhetoric every time.
Senator Clark continued down the hall, passing several of the glass-enclosed briefing rooms, where the senators and a few select staffers received briefings from the various intelligence agencies. Near the end of the hall he approached another door with a touch pad. Clark punched in his personal five-digit code, and the door hissed as its airtight seal relaxed. He entered the elevated room and closed the door, the gasket expanding once again to its airtight position. Black blinds covered the room's four glass walls, and a sleek black oval conference table occupied the center of the fifteen-by-twenty- five-foot space. There was a place at the table for each of the committee's fifteen members. The glass-covered table had individual reading lamps for each senator and a computer monitor mounted at an angle under the glass. The room was dark except for one lone light at the far end.
From where he was standing, Senator Clark could see the thin, bony fingers of his counterpart in the House. Congressman Albert Rudin's hands were placed on the table under the soft light of one of the fifteen modern black lamps. Clark could barely make out Rudin's profile in the shadows, but it didn't matter. He had it memorized, and that profile could belong to one of only two people: either Congressman Albert Rudin, the chairman of the House Select Committee on Intelligence, or Ichabod Crane.
Clark continued to the far end of the room. «Good afternoon, Al.»
Rudin didn't respond, and Clark didn't expect him to. Al Rudin Was probably the most socially retarded politician in Washington. Clark grabbed a glass from the credenza behind the congressman and filled it with a couple of shots of Johnnie Walker scotch. The senator waved the drink in front of Rudin and asked if he'd like some. Rudin gruffly shook his head.
Albert Rudin was in his seventeenth term as a United States congressman. He was a Democrat to the bone and hated absolutely every single Republican in town with the possible exception of Senator Hank Clark. Rudin was a tireless party hack. He did whatever it took to perpetuate the party. If the party was embarrassed by a scandal where they were clearly in the wrong, it was AI Rudin they paraded out in front of the cameras. It was pretty much the same rhetoric every time.