JК
The Third Option :: Flynn Vince
Страница: 227 из 267«Scott thinks they might have found the Professor, and you're not going to like what he did for the last twenty-plus years.»
«What?» asked Kennedy.
«He worked in Langley's Office of Security.»
«What's his name?» asked Stansfield.
«Peter Cameron?'
Stansfield shook his head. This was not good news. The director knew exactly who Peter Cameron was. The man had been in charge of the CIA's Office of Security from 1996 to 1998. During his tenure as the head of Langley's Gestapo, his access to sensitive information would have been almost limitless.
SENATOR CLARK GOT out of bed at seven A.M. It made no difference if he was in Washington or Arizona. Clark was a bit of a night owl, usually staying up until one in the morning. On this particular Thursday morning, the senator was sitting in the sun room just off the kitchen of his Washington, D.C., estate. Clark was in his white robe and a pair of slippers. He was alone. Wife number three was already off to the club for a morning aerobics class of some sort. It wasn't stepping or spinning, he knew that. She'd moved on to the newest fad and swore it was the best yet. Clark didn't care what it was called just so long as it worked.
He munched on a piece of toast and perused the front page of the Wall Street Journal. The help didn't arrive until eight. Clark always made his own breakfast, which was no great feat considering the fact that it consisted of black coffee and two slices of toast covered with butter and jelly. He rather enjoyed this time of the day. He was alone in his castle with no one there to intrude. It was usually the one and only time of the day that he devoted to his investments. Clark would peruse the Journal and then give marching orders to his various brokers, advisors, and money managers. Then he was done with it for the day. He refused to become a slave to the emerging trend of constant on-line market updates.
A buzzer sounded from the kitchen, and Clark leaned back in his chair to look at the TV mounted above the microwave. The estate's security cameras could be viewed by any TV in the house. The TV showed the senator a picture of a cleanly shaven Peter Cameron sitting behind the wheel of his car, waiting at the gate. Clark walked into the kitchen and pressed the intercom button.
Good morning, Peter.»
«Good morning, sir.»
«I'll buzz you in. There's coffee in the kitchen if you'd like, and then show yourself into my study. I'll be down in a few minutes.» Clark cinched the belt on his robe and headed upstairs. He had a good feeling about this unannounced visit by Cameron. If the news was as good as he hoped, he just might call off the hit.
«What?» asked Kennedy.
«He worked in Langley's Office of Security.»
«What's his name?» asked Stansfield.
«Peter Cameron?'
Stansfield shook his head. This was not good news. The director knew exactly who Peter Cameron was. The man had been in charge of the CIA's Office of Security from 1996 to 1998. During his tenure as the head of Langley's Gestapo, his access to sensitive information would have been almost limitless.
SENATOR CLARK GOT out of bed at seven A.M. It made no difference if he was in Washington or Arizona. Clark was a bit of a night owl, usually staying up until one in the morning. On this particular Thursday morning, the senator was sitting in the sun room just off the kitchen of his Washington, D.C., estate. Clark was in his white robe and a pair of slippers. He was alone. Wife number three was already off to the club for a morning aerobics class of some sort. It wasn't stepping or spinning, he knew that. She'd moved on to the newest fad and swore it was the best yet. Clark didn't care what it was called just so long as it worked.
He munched on a piece of toast and perused the front page of the Wall Street Journal. The help didn't arrive until eight. Clark always made his own breakfast, which was no great feat considering the fact that it consisted of black coffee and two slices of toast covered with butter and jelly. He rather enjoyed this time of the day. He was alone in his castle with no one there to intrude. It was usually the one and only time of the day that he devoted to his investments. Clark would peruse the Journal and then give marching orders to his various brokers, advisors, and money managers. Then he was done with it for the day. He refused to become a slave to the emerging trend of constant on-line market updates.
A buzzer sounded from the kitchen, and Clark leaned back in his chair to look at the TV mounted above the microwave. The estate's security cameras could be viewed by any TV in the house. The TV showed the senator a picture of a cleanly shaven Peter Cameron sitting behind the wheel of his car, waiting at the gate. Clark walked into the kitchen and pressed the intercom button.
Good morning, Peter.»
«Good morning, sir.»
«I'll buzz you in. There's coffee in the kitchen if you'd like, and then show yourself into my study. I'll be down in a few minutes.» Clark cinched the belt on his robe and headed upstairs. He had a good feeling about this unannounced visit by Cameron. If the news was as good as he hoped, he just might call off the hit.