First Daughter - Eric van Lustbader [51]
"I inherited Nightwing eight years ago, Louise. What troubles me most is that though I'm his handler, I've never laid eyes on the man. Can you believe it? The rendezvous are dead letter drops, always in a different District hotel designated by Nightwing himself, a sealed message left for 'Uncle Dan.' "
He shook his head, becoming more concerned as his thoughts were made concrete by his words. "At first, Nightwing provided us with intel on Russia and mainland China. More recently, he's widened his field to include priceless datastreams of intelligence regarding decisions being made behind closed doors in key Middle Eastern states, some of which are our purported allies. These datastreams invariably proved reliable, invaluable, so you can see why the president insists on treating him with extreme kid gloves. But Nightwing has been involved in questionable assignments; he's a law unto himself. Is it any wonder I'm disturbed that I know virtually nothing about him? His file is unusually thin. I have an unshakable suspicion that the information it contains is more legend than real. Who created the legend and why remains a mystery. Nightwing's previous handler is dead, so there's no one else to ask, and believe me I've spent many fruitless nights poring through the Homeland Security database—it incorporates those of the CIA, FBI, and NSA now—without finding any mention of Nightwing whatsoever. More than once it's occurred to me that the file was written by Nightwing himself."
Louise's hand in his was cool, as if he were addressing a marble statue, marvelously carved but, for all that, still stone. He wondered whether she heard him, whether his voice was familiar to her, like a favorite radio station one listened to when one was young. He liked to think his voice made her feel safe, secure. Loved. Tears welled in his eyes, temporarily blinding him. He plowed on with his discussion, more determined than ever to make of this visit something private and intimate he could savor later, when out in the bustling world, he'd think of her here, entombed in the labyrinth of her own mind.
"In fact, Louise, only two men know more about the asset than me: the president and the National Security Advisor. Given the president's nonchalant attitude toward the asset suddenly falling off the grid, I'm beginning to suspect that against all protocol, one of those two men has been in touch with Nightwing without my knowing. However, I'm all too aware that trying to confirm that suspicion is a sure way to commit political suicide."
No, he decided, as he pressed the speed-dial key for Hugh Garner's cell, he'd have to take the president's advice and concentrate on Alli Carson's abduction and the FASR. For the moment, he had no choice but to leave Nightwing—file name Ian Brady—to his own devices. However, if the National Security Advisor now had the inside track with the president, it was time he himself made contact with his own powerful ally, because all at once the political landscape had turned to quicksand. Despite the danger, he had to make a decisive move before it sucked him under.
The call completed, he freed his hand from Louise's limp grasp. When he leaned over, kissed her pale lips, a tremor of love and yearning passed through him as he thought of her, rosy-cheeked and laughing, her long hair glinting in sunlight, lifted through the air by his strong arms.
FIFTEEN
WELL DONE, McClure," Hugh Garner said. "As if we didn't have enough trouble, you've given us another girl—approximately the same age and weight as the First Daughter—who's also missing.