The Mark of the Assassin

company like an
    intelligence agency; it operated on the principle of "need to know."
    Information was strictly compartmentalized. The head of one division
    knew little of what was taking place inside another division, only what
    the executive needed to know. Elliott rarely conducted meetings with all
    his senior officers present. He gave them orders face-to-face in private
    meetings, never in written memoranda. All meetings with Elliott were
    regarded as strictly confidential; executives were forbidden to discuss
    them with other executives. Office gossip was a firing offense, and if
    one of his employees was telling tales out of school, Elliott would soon
    know about it. Their telephones were tapped, their electronic mail was
    read, and surveillance cameras and microphones covered every square inch
    of office space. Mitchell Elliott saw nothing wrong with this. He
    believed God had given him the right--indeed, the responsibility--to
    take whatever steps were necessary to protect his company and his
    country. Elliott's belief in God pervaded everything he did. He believed
    the United States was God's chosen land, Americans His chosen people. He
    believed Christ had told him to study aeronautics and electrical
    engineering, and it was Christ who told him to join the Air Force and
    fight the godless Chinese Communists in Korea. After the war he settled
    in Southern California, married Sally, his high school sweetheart, and
    took a job with McDonnell-Douglas. But Elliott was restless from the
    beginning. He prayed for guidance from the Almighty. After three years
    he formed his own company, Alatron Defense Systems. Elliott had no
    desire to build aircraft. He knew planes would always be vital to the
    nation's defense, but he believed God had granted him a glimpse of the
    future, and the future belonged to the ballistic missile--God's arrows,
    as he called them. Elliott did not build the missiles themselves; he
    developed and manufactured the sophisticated guidance systems that told
    them where to strike. Ten years after forming Alatron, Mitchell Elliott
    was one of the wealthiest men in America and one of its most influential
    as well. He had been a confidant of Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan. He
    had been on a first-name basis with every secretary of defense since
    Robert McNamara. He could reach half the members of the Senate by
    telephone in a matter of minutes. Mitchell Elliott was one of the most
    powerful men in Washington and yet he operated permanently in its
    shadows. Few Americans knew what he did or even knew his name. Sally had
    died of breast cancer ten years earlier, and the heady days of big
    defense spending were long gone. The industry had been devastated,
    thousands of workers laid off, the entire California economy thrown into
    turmoil. More important, Elliott believed America was weaker today than
    she had been in years. The world was a dangerous place. Saddam Hussein
    had proven that. So had a terrorist armed with a single Stinger missile.
    Elliott wanted to protect his country. If a terrorist could shoot down a
    jetliner and kill two hundred people, why couldn't a rogue state like
    North Korea or Libya or Iran kill two million people by firing a nuclear
    missile against New York or Los Angeles? The civilized world had placed
    its faith in treaties and ballistic-missile control regimes. Mitchell
    Elliott reserved faith for the Almighty, and he did not believe in
    promises written on paper. He believed in machines. He believed the only
    way to protect the nation from exotic weapons was with more exotic
    weapons. Tonight, he had to make his case to the President. Elliott's
    relationship with James Beckwith had been cemented by years of steady
    financial support and wise counsel. Elliott had never once asked for a
    favor, even when Beckwith became a powerful force on the Armed Services
    Committee during his second term in the Senate. That was all about to
    change. One of his aides knocked gently at the door. His phalanx of
    aides was drawn from the ranks of the Special Forces. Mark Calahan was
    like all the others. He was six feet in height--tall enough to be
    imposing but not so tall as to dwarf Elliott--short dark hair, dark
    eyes, clean-shaven, dark suit and tie. Each carried a .45 automatic at
    all times. Elliott had made many enemies along with his millions, and he
    never set foot in public without protection. "The car is here, Mr.
    Elliott."
    "I'll be down in a minute."
    The aide nodded and