Koger reached for the gun.
“Okay. Okay,” Bryie said. “He was career CIA. Worked India, Lebanon, Syria, Sudan, Morocco. He also did a stint in the old Yugoslavia. Then he was sent to Iraq in the late 1990s to stir up opposition to Saddam Hussein. He had to be recalled after we found out he was plotting to kill Saddam. In retrospect, not a bad idea, but we don’t assassinate people anymore.”
He caught the last two words, knowing that in its early days the CIA had routinely utilized assassination.
“Rife urged the Clinton administration to back an internal Iraqi attempt to overthrow Hussein,” Bryie said. “It was organized by a group of Sunni military officers, a few members of the Iraqi National Congress, and the Kurds. We were to supply covert CIA assistance. Needless to say it turned into a fiasco. The plotters were all caught and executed. That’s when Rife was sent to Latin America.”
“Which was even worse,” Miller noted. “He worked as a supposed military attaché out of our embassy in Buenos Aires. Then he became chief of station in Panama, Mexico, and the Dominican Republic, and eventually chief of the Latin America Division. But he had to be removed from there, too, after he intervened to help a friend who’d been arrested on drug charges in Mexico.”
Cotton smiled. “Sounds like he doesn’t like rules.”
“To say the least,” Bryie said. “I assure you, Rife has a long and storied personnel jacket. In the right scenario, from another time, that type of lone-rangering would have been appreciated. Not anymore. The world is too complicated, too interrelated. Rife never gave a damn about consequences. Unfortunately, those do matter.”
Cotton got the picture. “And now he’s organized some angry ex-agents into a fighting force, one that’s here, screwing with Derrick.”
“Apparently so,” Bryie said. “Frankly, we didn’t view this Scythe as any real threat…until today.”
“They were definitely a threat last night,” Koger said. “And you should know that one of my people killed four men here in Munich. My guess is they were Scythe, or hired by them.”
“I’ll need the details,” Miller said. “I can check it out through my sources here in Munich.”
“Luke’s doing?” Cotton asked.
Koger nodded. “He took ’em out.”
“Is he okay?”
“Not a scratch.” Koger faced Bryie. “Is counter-intelligence monitoring the Scythe?”
Bryie shook his head. “These guys dropped off the grid when they were fired. We made an error in not watching them. But I’m going to get people on it immediately.”
Cotton had long ago discovered that in life you get out in proportion to what you put in. He sensed something from Randy Miller so he asked, “What else do you want to say?”
“Who says I do?”
“A long time working the field.”
Miller tossed him a long stare.
“What is it, Randy?” Koger asked.
“You need to keep your mouth shut,” Bryie said.
Koger lifted the gun from the table and pointed it. “Shut up, Paul.”
“Screw you, Koger. That’s it. I don’t have to take this anymore.” Bryie rose from the chair and pointed a finger at Miller. “What you’re about to do is going to get you fired. Maybe even arrested. Bad enough Malone is here. I’m not going to be a part of this. Contrary to you, I abide by rules. My superiors told me what I could and could not say. Randy’s did too. I’ve already broken those parameters. But not anymore. You’re on your own, Randy.”
And Bryie stormed from the office.
“That was a lot of drama,” Koger noted.
“He’s by-the-book,” Miller said in a low voice. “Always has been. And he’s right, we were told to not be so cooperative. Listen. Ask questions. But don’t talk too much.”
A flicker of uncertainty showed in Miller’s eyes, which only added to the mounting tension in the room. Everyone seemed to be testing each other, seeking out strengths and weaknesses, assessing tactics.
“What is it you have to say?” Cotton asked.
“I’ve been looking intodas letzte königreichfor a few years now.”