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with what the hell you were doing in Anbar.”
    Their conversation was drifting into dangerous territory. Bob McGee chose his words carefully. “Looking for high-ranking ISIS figures.”
    “You deployed a six-man SAD team to the Syrian border, along with heavily armed, multimillion-dollar covert aviation assets, just to look around?”
    The CIA Director nodded. He was in his late fifties, with wavy salt-and-pepper hair and a thick mustache.
    “You’re full of shit. That’s why we have a drone program. What were you really doing there?”
    “Senator, as I said, looking for high-ranking ISIS figures.”
    Wells glared at him. He was getting nowhere. “And the collection management officer? What about her? What was she doing there?”
    They were officially in dangerous territory now. Nevertheless, McGee decided to give him a straight answer, “I don’t know why Ashleigh Foster was there.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “Senator, you have my word that—”
    “What about the other two?” Wells interrupted. “The two additional women from the Embassy?”
    The CIA Director shook his head. “We’re still not sure.”
    Wells glared at him. “What about the video? Have you even seen it?”
    McGee was tempted to glare right back at him. Had he seen it? Of course he had. The whole world had seen it by now. ISIS had wasted no time in putting it out. It was beyond barbaric.
    The women had been made to do unspeakable things with the body parts of the deceased SAD members. They were then brutally raped and tortured before being murdered. One could even be heard crying for her father to come save her. Even for a group as depraved as ISIS, it was sickening.
    “Savages,” said McGee, acknowledging that he had indeed seen it.
    “Can you imagine what the families are going through?”
    “I can’t possibly—”
    “You’re damn right you can’t,” Wells broke in. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but as far as I’m concerned, the CIA is fully responsible for the deaths of those Americans.”
    McGee could see where this was going now. Wells hated the Agency. He was going to hang everything on Langley, if not on him personally.
    The Senator was a petty, vindictive man who had done everything in his power to block McGee’s confirmation. He had never thought him a good choice for director. He had wanted someone with more political skin in the game, a careerist he could manipulate.
    But that was precisely why the President had selected McGee. He wasn’t seen as an “insider.” He didn’t play the game. He had a long history at the CIA, but on the ops side, not management. That was a plus as far as the President was concerned.
    McGee cared deeply about the CIA, and about repairing its broken culture. He was the perfect pick to muck its Augean stables.
    As Director of Central Intelligence, McGee had swung the ax without mercy. The Agency needed to get back to its roots. There were too many bureaucrats, too many middle managers more concerned with their next promotion than the men and women in the field.
    McGee fired more people at the CIA than had been fired in the last three decades. He went after the waste, fraud, and abuse like the cancer it was. That included people friendly with Senator Wells. People who thought Wells would protect their positions.
    The Senator had been quite upset about the layoffs. His pull inside the agency was waning. He was losing good sources of information and influence. People who owed him favors were being cut loose. It didn’t take him long to push back by subtly threatening the new director.
    “You worry about the CIA and I’ll worry about Wells,” the President had told McGee. Up until now, it was a strategy that had worked. But Anbar had just changed everything. It would only accelerate the ambitions of Senator Wells.
    Though he hadn’t yet announced, everyone knew he was going to challenge the President in the next election. Anbar, and that sick video, must have looked like