Saving Faith By: David Baldacci

“I understand.” As he said this, the younger man managed not to shake

his head in bewilderment. Everyone in this room other than Robert

Thornhill knew that the FBI and CIA actually got along well. Though

they could be ham-handed at times in joint investigations because they

had more resources than anyone else, the FBI was not on a witch hunt to

bring down the Agency. But the men in this room also understood quite

clearly that Robert Thornhill believed the FBI was their worst enemy.

And they also knew that Thornhill had, decades ago, orchestrated a

number of Agency-authorized assassinations with cunning and zeal. Why

cross such a man?

Another colleague said, “But if we kill the agent, don’t you think the

FBI will go on a crusade to find out the truth? They have the

resources to scorch the earth. No matter how good we are, we can’t

match their strength. Then where are we?”

Some grumbling rose from the others. Thornhill looked around warily.

The collection of men here represented an uneasy alliance. They were

paranoid, inscrutable fellows long used to keeping their own counsel.

It had truly been a miracle to forge them together in the first

place.

“The FBI will do everything they can to solve the murder of one of

their agents and the chief witness to one of their most ambitious

investigations ever. So what I would propose doing is to give them the

solution we desire them to have.” They looked curiously at him.

Thornhill sipped water from his glass and then took a minute to prime

his pipe.

“After years of helping Buchanan run his operation, Faith Lockhart’s

conscience or good sense or paranoia got the better of her. She went

to the FBI and has now begun telling them everything she knows. Through

a little foresight on my part, we were able to discover this

development. Buchanan, however, is completely unaware that his partner

has turned against him. He also doesn’t know that we intend to kill

her. Only we know.” Thornhill inwardly congratulated himself for this

last remark. It felt good, omniscience; it was the business he was in,

after all.

“The FBI, however, may suspect that he does know about her betrayal or

may find out at some point. Thus, to the outside observer, no one in

the world has greater motivation to kill Faith Lockhart than Danny

Buchanan.”

“And your point?” the questioner persisted.

“My point,” said Thornhill tersely, “is quite simple. Instead of

allowing Buchanan to disappear, we tip off the FBI that he and his

clients discovered Lockhart’s duplicity and had her and the agent

murdered.”

“But once they get hold of Buchanan, he’ll tell them everything,” the

man quickly responded.

Thornhill looked at him as a disappointed teacher to pupil. Over the

last year, Buchanan had given them everything they needed; he was now

officially expendable.

The truth slowly dawned on the group. “So we tip the FBI about

Buchanan posthumously. Three deaths. Correction, three murders,”

another man said.

Thornhill looked around the room, silently gauging the reaction of the

others to this exchange, to his plan. Despite their protestations

about killing an FBI agent, he knew that three deaths meant nothing to

these men. They were from the old school, which quite clearly

understood that sacrifices of that nature were sometimes necessary.

Certainly what they did for a living sometimes cost people their lives;

however, their operations had also avoided open war. Kill three to

save three million, who could possibly argue with that? Even if the

victims were relatively innocent. Every soldier who ever died in

battle was innocent too. Covert action, quaintly referred to as the

“third option” in intelligence circles, the one between diplomacy and

open war, was where the CIA could really prove its worth, Thornhill

believed. Although it was also at the heart of some of the Agency’s

worst disasters. Well, without risk there was never the possibility

for glory. That epitaph could be put on his tombstone.

No formal vote was taken by Thornhill; none was needed.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Thornhill said. “I’ll take care of

everything.” He adjourned the meeting.

CHAPTER 2 \

THE SMALL, WOOD-SHINGLED COTTAGE STOOD ALONE at the end of a short,

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