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Carnivore had sent word to four nations that he was tired, he wanted out of the post–cold war world of new faces and rules. In exchange for protected retirement, he promised to reveal the details of every assassination and subversion he knew anything about. He was auctioning a priceless cache of the globe’s most-secret secrets, and Britain, France, Germany, and the United States were invited to bid.
    Hughes Bremner had arranged to represent the United States with the Carnivore’s go-between. Immediately he’d run into a problem: The President was reluctant to participate. He’d said he hadn’t become President to repeat the lousy ethics of his predecessors, and he’d be damned if he gave sanctuary to an assassin, terrorist, or anyone with that kind of blood on his hands.
    With the director of Central Intelligence, Bremner had convinced the President of the Carnivore’s value, and the President had given his reluctant permission—as long as the asylum were kept absolutely secret.
    The number one, Lucas Maynard, said, “Good thing we won the bidding war, Hughes.”
    Hughes Bremner’s smile was inside. This was a game few played as well as he. “Yes. Britain and France’s recessions have weakened their ability to compete, and Germany has so many problems with neo-Nazis and the East, it has little energy for anything else. We gave the Carnivore everything he asked.” He paused to see the minute signs from his fellowboard members that indicated their relief. “The standard protocols to test his sincerity and intent are in place, and M ASQUERADE is fully on schedule.” He looked at each in turn, cool and imperious. “I’ll run through the final steps to be sure we all know what we’re doing.”
    For nearly an hour, Bremner described the groundwork, risks, precautions, and timetable. He showed a video interview with one of the world’s foremost brain scientists. When he finished, they sat in the sealed room far below the sweltering streets, each evaluating what he’d heard. Bremner watched them.
    â€œLet’s get any doubts out in the open,” Bremner encouraged. “Our lives are at stake.”
    The five men talked for another two hours, but in the end they made no substantial changes to the plan. Seldom did any Bremner operation require serious alteration.
    It was 4:00 A.M. when they left the clandestine room one at a time. Lucas Maynard rode up in the elevator alone. He touched the playback button of the ultra-miniature recorder under his suit and conservative tie. He listened to the taped voices of his colleagues, and he smiled.
    It was still hot in Washington, D.C., the next morning when veteran CIA agent Lucas Maynard, stout and pink-faced, arrived at the swank Hay-Adams Hotel for breakfast with his old friend, Undersecretary of State Clarence (“Clare”) Edward. Maynard was purposefully early, and for a man of his long experience in covert operations, he was nervous. But he’d been out of the field many years, and he’d never had to worry about his own side before.
    Maynard had chosen the Hay-Adams, just a block from the White House, because the restaurant’s tables were far enough apart for private conversation. And he’d asked for this meeting because, after more than thirty years, he was about to call in the undersecretary’s IOU.
    The undersecretary didn’t know this. Maynard would have found the situation amusing, if it weren’t so damn dangerous.
    Mindful of his diabetes, Maynard ordered fruit, oatmeal, and milk. He surveyed the room, checking for anyone from Langley. He recognized no one, saw no signs of listening devices, and spotted no one casually looking in his direction. There was no reason for anyone in the Company to suspect what he planned to do. His motive was known only to him, he was sure of that.
    Maynard’s food arrived, and so did the undersecretary. Clare Edward