21
Washington D.C.
The room was a mess of tired bodies, laptop screens, papers and empty paper cups stained brown from strong coffee.
The ventilation did its best to rid the room of the smell of fear and frustration as Gilmore paced to the far end of the conference table. Schneider was out of his jacket with shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows. He hunched over his laptop with elbows on the polished oak and a hand shielding his ledge-like brow.
Gilmore slid his phone under Schneider’s nose, the image of Driver’s suspect on the screen.
‘What’s this?’ Schneider asked.
‘The question is who,’ Gilmore replied.
‘Spit it out, Bryan.’
‘It could be the leader of Viper Nine. A major player at the very least.’
‘Who’s your source?’ the CIA Director asked, studying the image.
Gilmore remained u
