Read Online Capitol Murder by Phillip Margolin - Free Book Online

National Intelligence, the Central Intelligence Agency, the Defense Intelligence Agency, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and the National Security Agency, among others. Since 9/11 the importance of this committee had increased, and he made sure that his constituents knew that he was important enough to have been made a member.
    “Good morning, Betsy,” Carson said as soon as they were connected. “What’s up?”
    “We’re convening a special session of the SSCI in one-half hour. Can you make it?”
    “I’ll be up,” he told Senator Rivera.
    When the call ended, Carson buzzed his secretary. “Francis, do I have a meeting at ten thirty?”
    “You’re scheduled to meet with a delegation of Oregon filbert farmers.”
    “Shit! Look, I’ve got an emergency meeting with Intelligence. Can you get Kathy to cover for me?”
    “Sure thing.”
    “Have her mention national security. I hope the filbert growers won’t be too pissed off at me for not being able to hear their gripes in person. And send Luke in, will you?”
    The senator turned to Brad. “Come with me, Brad. You’ll find this interesting.”
    “Are you sure I can go?” Brad asked. “I don’t have a top-secret clearance.”
    “I’m a U.S. senator, which means I can do pretty much anything I want. You’ve got a law degree, and I don’t. And I want my lawyer with me.”
    B rad entered the most secure room in the Senate through a pair of unmarked frosted-glass doors and found himself in a waiting area decorated with pictures of men and women who had served as the chair of the SSCI.
    “You’ll have to leave all of your electronic devices,” Lucas Sharp said as he took out his BlackBerry and handed it across a wooden barrier to a stern-looking Capitol Hill policewoman, who placed it in one of many cubbyholes that filled the wall to her left. Brad emptied his pockets and followed the senator and his chief of staff through a door into a corridor with bookshelves on the right and an alcove on the left with a telephone and a small round table surrounded by four chairs.
    The door to the hearing room was open. Looked at head-on, it appeared to be a normal wood door, but Brad could see that it was steel and had the thickness of a door to a vault. On his way to the door, Brad walked by a conference room with a regular phone and a secure, encrypted phone.
    In the center of the conference room was a long rectangular table furnished with comfortable high-backed leather chairs. A plaque identified each senator’s place at the table. The room was swept daily for bugs, and the walls were thick enough to foil anyone trying to hear what went on. No personal electronic devices were allowed, but there was a television at each place with a view of the Senate floor so the senators could see if they were needed for a vote. The television could also show videos of drone strikes in Afghanistan or other top-secret operations. Chairs lined the walls behind the senators, and Lucas told Brad these were for the senators’ aides. While Sharp was speaking, Brad noticed a man sitting at the far end of the conference table. Brad recognized him as someone he had seen on TV.
    Dr. Emil Ibanescu, the deputy director of national intelligence, was a balding, middle-aged man with a sallow complexion. He was wearing an expensive tailored suit, but his paunchy build made it look lumpy. Ibanescu’s parents had emigrated from Romania when Emil was seven. He had graduated at the top of his public high school class in Brooklyn with a perfect grade-point average. Scholarships had covered his tuition at Harvard, where he earned a PhD in record time. Ibanescu spoke many languages, most of them fluently, and had fast-tracked through the CIA. When the Office of the Director of National Intelligence was formed in 2005 to oversee and direct the National Intelligence Program, Ibanescu was tapped to serve as a deputy director.
    “Something must be up if Emil is here,” Lucas said. Carson took his