Flash Points: A Kirk McGarvey Novel

by David Hagberg

  “Just Echo.”

  “And then Chambeau. Does his name ring any bells with you bastards?”

  Abboud was silent for a long time and Kamal had thought he had lost the man.

  “How much money do you want for McGarvey?”

  The Beijing Gang of Three was paying him a lot of money for McGarvey, and the GIP wanted to pay him even more. The fact of the matter was, now that he was on the hunt, he was willing to do the job for no money. Revenge, if for nothing else. The pure pleasure of watching the lights go out in the bastard’s eyes.

  “Name your price,” Abboud prompted.

  “Five million.”

  “Dollars?”

  “Or euros. Doesn’t matter which. But I want the payment in diamonds.”

  Again Abboud fell silent.

  “Half to be sent immediately to my bank in London.” Kamal gave the name of the bank and a safety deposit box number. “When they arrive I’ll proceed.”

  “You’re not in London now?”

  “I’m near Washington.”

  “It will be done.”

  “Then consider McGarvey as good as dead.”

  “Do not fail this time, or you will become our next target.”

  “Don’t threaten me, you little fucking pufta. You want me to do your dirty work, I’ll do it. But fuck with me and I will find out who you are and I will kill you and your entire family. Am I clear?”

  “You’re clear,” Abboud said. “Good hunting.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  One exit away from Fairfax, McGarvey phoned Otto. “Is the drone following me?”

  “It’s headed southeast, toward Reagan.”

  “Not behind Pete?”

  “No. I think whoever is piloting the thing wants to interfere with air traffic down there. I called the FAA and gave them the heads-up. But it doesn’t look like Hatchett and whoever’s working with him. They wouldn’t try anything that stupid, or dangerous.”

  “It’s al-Daran trying to keep the Bureau busy.”

  “Won’t last for long,” Otto said.

  “If it was him watching your house, then he must have followed us, and he has to know that we went different ways. Could it be someone else watching your place?”

  “Anything’s possible, but I doubt it. The timing was too coincidental. Has to be someone trying to take you out. The sixty-four-dollar question is, why didn’t he send the drone after you?”

  “He has to know that Pete is heading back to Georgetown, and he might guess that I’m heading to Fairfax.”

  “You haven’t picked up a tail?”

  McGarvey glanced in his rearview mirror. So far as he could tell nothing had followed him from McLean. “Not unless he’s double- or triple-teaming me.”

  “If it is al-Daran, and he’s involved with the Consortium, he might guess that you were going after Echo. And it could have been him at the Watergate to take out Fischer.”

  “There were at least two shooters in the stairwells. And to this point he’s worked alone.”

  “Then maybe he took out the shooter who made it to the garage.”

  “Something I’m going to ask him when we finally meet face-to-face. He shot Pete in New York and damned near killed her. I’m going to ask him about that too.”

  “Okay. My surveillance program got lucky picking the drone out from the clutter, but at this point we have no concrete evidence that it was al-Daran, or that he knows where you’re heading. But we also don’t know the opposite. Could be he’s sent a second drone, or could be he’s got help. You might be running into a buzz saw.”

  “I sincerely hope so,” McGarvey said.

  “Watch yourself.”

  “Have you brought Pete up to date?”

  “She’s turned around and is on her way.”

  * * *

  McGarvey got off the interstate on Old Chain Bridge Road and phoned Echo’s house. A woman answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Good evening. Is General Echo at home?”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “Kirk McGarvey. He’ll know the name.”

  The phone was silent long enough for McGarvey to think about breaking the connection, but then Echo came on.

  “Mr. Director, your call has come as a surprise.”

  “So did my chat with the president at Camp David.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not following you.”

  “We talked about Ron Hatchett and the plot.”

  “I’m still not following you.”

  “Okay, General, follow this. Someone tried to kill me. And whoever it was killed Susan Fischer. You could be next. So could Colonel Chambeau and the others in your intelligence agency consortium. The problem is, I don’t know who is behind it, only that you’re trying to bring down the president. And how you’re doing it could get a lot of people killed. By the North Koreans, or the Chinese, or Russians or just about every military involved in any of a dozen flash points.”

  Echo said nothing.

  “Are you following me now, General? I know about it, but I also may know something that you don’t.”

  “You haven’t proved a fucking thing.”

  “There’s a second group out there, one we believe wants the opposite of what you want. And they’ve become just as willing as you to kill for it.”

  Again Echo was silent for a long time. “You mentioned Ron Hatchett.”

  “Let’s talk.”

  “Christ, not here. Where are you?”

  “Not far.”

  “There’s a McDonald’s on Old Lee Highway. Do you know where that is?”

  “I’ll find it.”

  “Okay, I’ll be wearing a dark blue sweater.”

  “I know what you look like, General.”

  * * *

  McGarvey phoned Pete. “I’m just a few minutes out.”

  “I’m on sixty-six just passing Arlington about fifteen minutes behind you. How’d he take it?”

  “Said I had no proof, but I think Hatchett came as a surprise.”

  “I’ll bet it did.”

  “It was probably al-Daran who was piloting the drone. So keep a sharp eye. Anything seems out of place, get the hell out.”

  “Doesn’t make any sense, him following us to Otto’s and then simply sending a drone to watch us,” Pete said. “He could have taken us down when we came out.”

  “Unless he wants something.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll ask him.”

  “He knows this car,” Pete said. “I’ll park a block away, and come in on foot. So keep frosty until then.”

  “You know what this guy is capable of, so walk lightly. I don’t want to lose you.”

  * * *

  McGarvey parked in plain sight in front of the McDonald’s. Inside, he got a cup of coffee and sat down at a table from where he could watch the parking lot, but where his back was to the wall, separating the dining area from the kitchen to the left and the bathrooms down a short corridor.

  Only a few customers were inside at this hour, and one car at the drive-through.

  A dark gray Humvee pulled up, but it took two full minutes for Echo to get out, and even then he stood with the door open as he looked around. He wasn’t a very large man, far less imposing than in his dress uniform with the two stars, and ribbons and badges. Just another guy, no one special.

  Echo finally closed the Humvee’s door and came into the restaurant. He stopped again; his gaze passed McGarvey but then came back.

  He nodded, then went to the counter, where he got a cup of coffee before he came back and sat down.

  “I didn’t recognize you at first,” he said.

  “Surviving a car bomb leaves a mark.”

  Echo nodded again. “What do you want?”

  “The names of all your conspirators and where you got the money.”

  “What money?”

  “To hire Kamal al-Daran to kill me, so that you could go on with your coup d’état.”

  FORTY-SIX<
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  Echo remained silent for a long time, sipping his coffee and occasionally looking toward the front doors as if he thought someone was coming. It was obvious that the general knew he was in a bad position, but he had been under fire in Iraq as a light colonel and again in Afghanistan as a one-star until he took the Pentagon desk job. He knew how to keep his composure.

  “Whatever you think you know, you’re wrong,” he said at length. “I did not order your assassination, and I’ve never heard the name al-Daran.”

  “He’s a Saudi contractor. The same guy who took down the pencil tower in New York last year.”

  “I’m surprised he’s not dead or in custody.”

  “He’s a professional. His job was to take down a second tower, but he failed. And because of it his control officer, a major in the Saudi GIP, was executed. The royal family does not take failure lightly.”

  “And you believe he’s come after you,” Echo said. “Because you stopped him from taking down the second tower. Revenge, then?”

  “I expect that he’ll be coming after me again. Soon. Maybe even tonight, right here.”

  Echo sipped his coffee. “If that’s the case, I hope that you’re ready for him. I assume that you’re working with the CIA again, and you have a backup team out there somewhere. Maybe surrounding this place?”

  “If he shows up here, General, it’ll mean that he knows about you. He’ll have to wonder what you’re doing talking to me.”

  “Okay, Mr. McGarvey, I’m here and I’m talking to you. About what? What the fuck do you want from me? Exactly what the fuck do you think I’m involved with?”

  “A soft coup to discredit the president of the United States.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” Echo said. He started to get up.

  “You’re part of a consortium of mid-level intelligence officers from at least a dozen or more countries—some of them friends of ours—plus, of course, Susan Fischer and your brother-in-law, Colonel Chambeau.”

  Echo did not reply.

  “We have records of your encrypted telephone calls to and from these people, starting just after the election.”

  “If you know that much, then you’ll know that I deal with a great number of people in foreign intelligence and military organizations. Back-burner conversations in what we call the old-boys network. It’s something that’s totally above politics and actually works. I’m sure that you must be familiar with the principle of the thing. We prevent accidents that way. Incidents that crop up out of the blue, that could lead to an escalation of arms. Without us, Mr. McGarvey, people could get killed. Americans could get killed.”

  “It’s not working that way now.”

  “I assure you that it is,” Echo said. “This conversation is over.” He started to rise again.

  “The thing is, I agree with you. Weaver is an idiot. Like some presidents before him. But he is the president, and I’ll do whatever it takes to defend the man.”

  “He’ll be impeached,” Echo said with passion. “The son of a bitch is more than an idiot, he’s dangerous. He, not the conspiracy you think exists, could get us into a shooting war that once begun might not be able to be stopped. You do understand that much, I hope.”

  “A president cannot be impeached for poor judgment.”

  “Do you actually understand what you’re saying? You’ve served your country for most of your life. You’ve lost more than your share. You’ve had more than anyone’s quota of heartache and grief. And yet you can tell me that Weaver isn’t unfit to lead us.”

  “Susan Fischer was murdered because of what you’re doing.”

  Something occurred to Echo. “You were the unidentified armed man there. You talked to her.”

  “I was there, but she and I never had a chance to talk. She ran to the stairwell where someone was waiting for her. She was gunned down with an automatic weapon. A military style weapon.”

  Echo almost laughed. “First you accuse me of a plot to bring down Weaver and now you think I ordered Susan’s death.”

  “We think that al-Daran has an intel contact somewhere here in Washington.”

  “Susan. And you think he killed her?”

  “I think that she was killed not by him, but because of him. There were two gunmen. I took out one, but the other one was killed in the parking garage by someone else.”

  “My people again.”

  “On your orders, or on the White House’s.”

  Echo toyed with his Styrofoam coffee cup, his eyes down. “It wasn’t me, nor, as bad as I believe Weaver to be—not just as a president but as a human being—was it ordered by him.” He looked up. “Susan was basically a decent person, but she was a lush. I think she was having an affair with my brother-in-law Moses. Colonel Chambeau. And if you want my best, by-God guess, it could have been my sister Jen who had her killed.”

  “She has access to people like that? They were professionals.”

  “Do your homework, Mr. Director. My father was General Thomas Echo, who in the last two years of his career represented the army on the Joint Chiefs. Both Jen and I were service brats. I went to VMI and then the academy, but my sister became a town pump. A slut who spread her legs for lieutenants, then captains and majors, and even a couple of generals.

  “She began to drink when she was in her late twenties, so her looks started to go and with Moses, who she’d been fucking for at least a year, she figured she’d better jump off the merry-go-round and settle for a light colonel.”

  McGarvey was certain that at least with part of this story, Echo was telling the truth. Or at least his version of it.

  “Did she have the connections?” Echo asked. “Of course she did. Not so much with active-duty guys, but with the few who went into private contracting after they got out. The pay is good, and the rush from killing people is satisfied. It’s why lots of them go over to Iraq and Afghanistan and a number of other hot spots, to act as muscle for anyone from State Department types to the odd lot of entrepreneurs who made bags of money in war zones.”

  “Fischer was a drunk.”

  “She worked for the NSA and the pressure gets to a lot of them. Same in the Pentagon, and the same, I suspect, out at Langley, and just about everywhere inside and outside the Beltway.”

  “Shooters are not cheap.”

  “Our mother was wealthy, and when she died Dad got the estate. And when he died the money came to me and Jen. She could afford it. And she’s a class-A vindictive bitch. Always has been.”

  “Nice family,” McGarvey said.

  “You have no idea.”

  “Have you talked to her or your brother-in-law?”

  “No.”

  “Brought it to the police?”

  Echo shook his head. “She’s my sister.”

  McGarvey almost laughed. “You and your sister are cut from the same cloth.”

  “Fuck you,” Echo said, but without rancor.

  McGarvey’s phone rang. It was Pete. “He’s here. Driving an old yellow pickup truck. He just pulled up in the Mickey D’s parking lot.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the gas station down the street.”

  “Do you see him?”

  “Through the driver’s window.”

  “Stay put,” McGarvey said.

  Echo was looking at him.

  “Al-Daran is here to kill me. I suggest you keep your head down, because we’re not finished.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Keeping below the level of the pickup truck’s windows, Kamal slipped out the passenger side and hurried around to the rear from where he could see the front door of the McDonald’s and the woman’s Bimmer in the Shell station.

  Only a few cars were in the parking lot, including the beat-up SUV McGarvey was driving, an old Chevy Camaro and a newish-looking Humvee.

  McGarvey was inside the restaurant meeting with someone, which made for an interesting situation, and his woman was covering his six.

  Still keeping low, Kamal darted a
cross to the Camaro, from where he had an even better sight line to the restaurant’s front door and the drive-up window, and where he couldn’t be seen from anyone at the gas station.

  Traffic was light, and he could hear no sirens in the distance. The woman had followed McGarvey this far, but it was likely that she had no idea who had driven up in the pickup truck and she hadn’t alerted the local police.

  The question was, who was inside with McGarvey? Kamal had a good hunch that it was a military type, who’d driven the Humvee. To his way of thinking most Americans were beyond stupid, driving on civilian roads in combat vehicles just to make a macho statement of some kind.

  His estimation of McGarvey dropped a notch. The man had been lucky in New York last year, and again last month in Sarasota. And so had the woman. But that was about to end tonight.

  * * *

  McGarvey, pistol in hand, was about to open the rear door in the kitchen when Echo came up behind him. The general had what looked like a Beretta semiauto in his left hand.

  The restaurant’s manager, a tall skinny Hispanic man possibly in his mid-twenties, came around the corner from the end of the prep line, but pulled up short when he saw both men with guns.

  “Have your people get down out of sight,” McGarvey said.

  Echo pulled out what looked like a badge. “We’re the police. Now do what he says. We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  The kid backed off.

  “How do you want to play this?” Echo asked.

  “Al-Daran is in the yellow pickup out front. You have two choices: either stay here and keep your head down, or walk out the front door, get in your Humvee and drive away.”

  “I’m a good shot, I can defend myself if need be.”

  “No doubt,” McGarvey said. “But unless you get away from me, I’ll shoot you myself.”

  “I did not hire whoever this guy is. I swear to Christ.”

  McGarvey suddenly looked over Echo’s shoulder as if someone were coming. The general half turned and McGarvey snatched the Beretta out of his hand.

  “Goddamnit!” Echo said.

  “Get out of here.”

  “You’re going to kill him.”

  “Probably, but first I want to ask him who he works for,” McGarvey said. “And he’s not going to wait forever, which makes you either part of the problem or part of the solution.”