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a gift from heaven.
    McGee had no intention of helping Wells. “As soon as I have a better picture of what happened,” he said, “I’ll be happy to brief the committee.”
    “No, you’ll brief me. And I don’t care how many asses you have to kick, or kiss, you’d better have something for me soon.”
    McGee nodded and began to stand. “If that’s all, I’ll be—”
    “Sit down!” Wells bellowed. “I’m not finished.”
    It took everything McGee had not to throat-punch the man, but he complied.
    “What do you know about Vienna?” Wells demanded.
    Without thinking it through, he replied, “It’s the capital of Austria.”
    “You want to mess with me, Director McGee? Is that it? How funny do you think it’ll be when the CIA gets its funding cut?”
    McGee knew better than to be a smart aleck. Wells wasn’t just an arrogant jackass—he was an extremely powerful, arrogant jackass. That made him dangerous.
    It would be political suicide for Wells to cut off funding. He’d never do it. He could, though, slow it down. If that happened, it would cause all sorts of problems for the CIA.
    That was the barrel he had McGee over, and McGee despised him for it. He hated having to kowtow to self-serving clowns like Wells.
    But what he hated even more was the thought of his people at the CIA not getting what they needed. Money was oxygen in the intelligence business. If it were to be cut off, everything would cease to function. He couldn’t risk that.
    “Vienna,” McGee said, pushing his ego aside. “You’re referring to the hit on al-Shishani?”
    “No, I’m referring to their fucking schnitzel. Of course I’m referring to the hit on al-Shishani. What do you know about it?”
    Everything , thought McGee. None of which I am going to share with you.
    Looking the Senator right in the eye, the CIA Director replied, “We think the French wanted to send a message.”
    “ The French? Because the shooter allegedly mentioned Paris?” said Wells, thinking about it for a moment. “I don’t buy it. Not their style. The Israelis, maybe. But they don’t have a dog in this part of the fight.”
    McGee shrugged. “You asked me what I knew.”
    “And you haven’t told me shit,” said Wells. “Our government has checks and balances for a reason. If I find out that you, or the President, have been operating outside constitutional authority, I’ll rain hell down upon you both. Do you understand me?”
    “Yes, sir, I do,” McGee said, pressing the man’s buttons once more as he stood. “Will that be all, sir?”
    Wells stared daggers at him. “Get the fuck out of my office.”
    • • •
    Leaving the Senator’s office, McGee knew two things. One, he hated Wells more than ever. And two, if Harvath didn’t figure out who was behind the Anbar debacle, they were all going to be in a lot of trouble.

CHAPTER 6

    B RUSSELS , B ELGIUM
    I n Budapest, the CIA had a gray Mercedes waiting for them at the dock. Lara was going to the Four Seasons. Harvath was going to the airport. They were both exhausted.
    Neither had wanted to face the raw emotion of their separation. It had been easier to let two bottles of champagne dull as much of it as possible, and they’d had one final, wild night.
    They were a great couple—smart, passionate, and electric together. The fact that they couldn’t figure out how to make something so good work in the same city was crazy.
    When it came time for the actual goodbye, Lara gave him one of the best kisses he’d ever had. Long, slow, sexy. Then she got out of the car, grabbed her bag from the trunk, and walked into the hotel.
    Harvath sat in the backseat and stared at the polished glass doors. What the hell just happened , he wondered. It was like all the oxygen was just sucked out his lungs. Did I really let her walk?
    Several moments passed as he sat there and tried to sort it all out. His driver finally interrupted his thoughts. “Are we ready to head to the airport, sir?”
    The