The Kill Zone km-9

by David Hagberg

When McGarvey came into the dining room Grassinger was looking out the bow windows toward the horse barn and riding arena. His hands were clasped behind his back and he rocked on his heels as if he was thinking about something in time with a beat. He was alone. “I’ve been asking myself what does it mean by ‘forcing the issue.” I can think of a dozen different possibilities, not one of them with a shred of common sense to it. And needing my cooperation, my ‘full cooperation,” is something even more worrisome to me. I’m saying to myself that since we can’t go back to business as usual until the operator or operators are bagged we need to do something really creative to get the job done. Offer them bait. I think that’s what the director is suggesting. The bait being himself, of course. Now, that’s not acceptable, not within my charter. So what to do? Maybe reason and logic?” “They have all the time in the world, Jim,”

  McGarvey said. “But that’s a luxury we don’t have. As long as I stay in the bunker they’ll bide their time.” Grassinger turned around. He wasn’t a happy man. “So we just open the doors to the keep for them, Mr. Director? Is that what you’re asking me to do?” “Something like that.” “Then they’ll waltz in here and kill you and your family. They will have won.” McGarvey smiled faintly. “It might not be all that easy for them.” “No offense intended, sir,” Grassinger apologized.

  “None taken. I’m not suggesting that we lower our guards and turn our backs. But it has to look that way, and it has to be convincing.”

  Grassinger was somewhat mollified. He nodded. “Well, sir, what do you have in mind?” “Who’s with Nikolayev at Andrews?” “I sent young Chris Bartholomew. She knows what she’s doing.” “I want him brought out here tonight around seven. Find a place along the highway so that he can see someone coming from the city. He’ll have to be hidden, but near enough so that he can identify whoever is in the car coming down the driveway.” Grassinger nodded. “I know a couple of spots that might work. Is Chris to stay with him?” “No, I want you there. You might have to move your people in a big hurry.” “Who are you expecting, sir?” Grassinger asked. He had a sour look on his broad face, as if he knew that he was going to hear something disagreeable.

  “Dick Adkins, Otto Rencke, my son-in-law and Bob Johnson from Technical Services.” “I know them all.” “They’ll be the ones coming in the open, but there might be someone else in the first batch who won’t want to be seen.” “Russians, maybe? That’s why we have our own Russian watchdog?” “That, but there’s more,” McGarvey said. This wasn’t easy.

  Grassinger nodded, tight-lipped. “There always is, isn’t there.”

  “All of those people are suspects,” McGarvey said. It took a moment for the implications to set in and Grassinger reared back, but he recovered. “Dear Lord,” he said. “Does Nikolayev know who it is?

  Will he recognize this person?” “The assassin has been brainwashed.

  Sometime in the past. By the Russians. Nikolayev was one of the designers of the program, and according to him the conditioning doesn’t last very long. So the killer needs a control officer. Someone to reinforce the training on a regular basis. He thinks that the assassin’s control officer will try to come out here tonight, too.”

  Grassinger worked to grasp the enormity of what McGarvey was telling him. “Why would they expose themselves like that?”

  “I don’t know,” McGarvey said. But he had his guess. If the killer was one of his friends, they would need to be reinforced in order to pull off such an act.

  “Whoever comes out in the end will be the control officer,” Grassinger said. “All we have to do is match that person with one of the people in the house.”

  “You can deploy your officers along the highway, out of sight.”

  “But they’re your friends, Mr. Director. Your own son-in-law.”

  “I know,” McGarvey said. “I’m going to shut down the alarm system and forward defensive measures. But I’ll leave the detectors in the woods behind the house active in case someone tries to sneak through the back door.”

  “I’ll put a couple of people up there.”

  “Okay. But nobody moves until Nikolayev or I give the word. We’re going to do this once, and only once.”

  An almost infallible means of saving yourself from the desire of self-destruction, is always to have something to do, Voltaire wrote a couple of hundred years ago. It was just as true now as it was then.

  Grassinger got on the radio to summon Blatnik as McGarvey walked back to the garden room and stepped outside.

  On the snow-covered back patio McGarvey watched Kathleen and Elizabeth together. It was like the early days, before the split, mother and daughter together and happy. They were close again after years of distance: For Katy because she saw so much of her estranged husband in her daughter’s actions and mannerisims. And for Liz because her mother refused to consider allowing Kirk back into her life, even though it was clear that she’d never stopped loving him. But that was the disagreeable then. This was the hopeful now, because even though they had this trouble hanging over them, they were together. That’s all that really mattered. “Very impressive, but what’s it supposed to mean?” McGarvey asked, starting across the backyard to them. They had finished with the sixth figure. Kathleen spun around so fast at the sound of his voice that she slipped and fell on her rear. For a moment no one moved, but then Elizabeth shrieked with laughter and helped her mother up. “Why it’s Aku-Aku, dear,” Kathleen said, taking a sideways glance at their handiwork. She and Elizabeth exchanged a knowing look.

  “Easter Island, Daddy,” Elizabeth explained. “You know, the statues.”

  Gloria Sanchez shook her head. She had no idea what it meant. “Okay, so you’re tired of the cold and snow and you’re pining for a South Seas cruise? Is that it?” McGarvey asked. Something was odd here.

  Something off. But he felt as if he were the only one sensing it.

  “It’s Mom’s idea,” Elizabeth said. “They’re waiting for the dawn, Kirk,” Kathleen told him. “You know, it comes up in the east. Morning.

  The new day and all that.” She got the pensive look that had been so common lately. “Todd and Elizabeth are going to adopt, so we’ll be grandparents after all. Ruth is no longer suffering, the poor dear.

  And tonight you’re going to catch the killer. I just know it.” She glanced again at the snow figures. “So all we have to do is survive until morning.” There was nothing McGarvey could say. Kathleen smiled. “Close your mouth, dear,” she told him.

  THIRTY-NINE

  SHE MAKES US BLINDLY PLAY HER TERRIBLE GAME, AND WE NEVER SEE BENEATH THE CARDS. FATE. LUCK. CHANCE. DESTINY. VOLTAIRE HAD BELIEVED IN ALL OF THAT, BUT McGARVEY WASN’T SURE THAT HE DID.

  CROPLEY

  From the windows in several upstairs rooms McGarvey checked the front and back areas around the house. It was 7:30 P.M. and already dark.

  Lights from the downstairs windows spilled yellow patches on the snow.

  Blatnik’s and Grassinger’s people had withdrawn to the highway and behind the house in the woods. The only ones left in the house besides McGarvey were his wife and daughter. A radio played downstairs in the kitchen, but the silence in the house was oppressive. Nothing he could see moved out there, so he went downstairs. At the keypad in the front stair hall he switched off the house alarms. The sensors in the woods behind the house would remain on, but the defensive measures between the house and the highway had been disabled. If Nikolayev was right, the assassin would arrive in the first batch, the assassin’s control officer later. They couldn’t be sure until then.

  McGarvey took out his pistol, checked the action and returned it to the holster at the small of his back. The question that had been pressing him all day intruded again. If it came to it, could he pull the trigger on a friend? Presumably the assassin had been brainwashed. He was sick. Shooting him would be like killing a cancer patient when the cure was readily available. Yet the assassin would be dangerous.

  Elizabeth came down t
he hall from the kitchen, rolling down her sweater sleeves. “Almost time?” she asked. Her face was badly bruised.

  McGarvey nodded. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy, remember?”

  She shrugged. “I’ll live, Dad. Honestly.” She smiled wanly.

  “Anyway, I’m becoming quite the domestic. But I was raised by a neat freak, remember?” She glanced up the stairs. “Where’s Mom?” “She’s taking a hot bath. Stenzel left her something to help her get to sleep afterward.” “Good idea,” Elizabeth agreed. Unsaid between them, but understood nevertheless, was that it would be better if Kathleen remained upstairs, out of the way until the issue was resolved. She would be safe. “Are you armed?” McGarvey asked. Elizabeth nodded.

  “But I don’t know if I could shoot Dick Adkins, or, God forbid, Otto.”

  She was deeply troubled. “How couldn’t we have known, being around them all the time?” “They might not even know themselves,” McGarvey told her. She hadn’t mentioned her own husband’s name, though when McGarvey had told her that he was coming out here tonight with the others she had reacted as if stung. “The ice bucket in the living room is full, I laid out some snacks, and there’s beer and wine in the fridge.” She grinned despite herself. “I even brought some Twinkies for Otto.” “Did you get some cream for him, too?” “Two percent milk.

  Somebody’s got to start slowing him down. Louise won’t.” “Jim, are you set up there?” McGarvey spoke into his lapel mic. There was no answer. “Jim?” Elizabeth watched him. He shook his head, so she tried. “Jim, do you copy?” After a moment she shook her head.

  “Nothing.” McGarvey called Grassinger’s cell phone. The security chief answered on the first ring.

  “Yes.”

  “Is your earpiece working?” McGarvey asked.

  “I just talked to Tony,” Grassinger said. “Are you having trouble?”

  “Liz and I can’t get through.”

  “It’s the base unit at the house, Mr. Director. I’ll send someone down to look at it.”

  “Are you and Nikolayev in position?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then sit tight. We’ll use the phone.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your people know what to do,” McGarvey said as a statement not a question.

  “Yes, sir,” Grassinger replied, and McGarvey could hear an edge of impatience in the man’s voice. He’d been insulted. But it couldn’t be helped. McGarvey needed his people to be sharp.

  Nikolayev and Grassinger waited in an Agency SUV parked off the highway. The vehicle’s lights were off, and they were well hidden in the trees and brush. From their position they could see a couple of hundred feet of highway and the first fifty feet of the driveway. But sitting in the car was uncomfortable because it rested at an uneven angle to the left. Nikolayev didn’t complain. His life had taught him to endure. “Will it be somebody you know?” Grassinger asked. He was behind the wheel. Nikolayev was in the passenger seat at an angle above him. “Everyone I know is too old for this sort of thing,” the Russian replied mildly. He had night-vision binoculars, which he raised to his eyes. “Rencke gave me a list of names and photographs, but there are blanks, you know.” “What good is waiting out here, then?

  What are we supposed to do?” Nikolayev lowered the binoculars and gave Grassinger a hard stare. “You can only hope to protect them in hiding for so long. So we do this tonight to end the waiting.” He glanced toward the highway. “In the first arrivals, anyone who shows up who has not been invited will probably be our man,” he explained. “After that, after everyone is here, we wait. Whoever comes next will be the control officer. We will have to match that person to someone already in the house and warn McGarvey.” “Whoever comes in from the woods behind the house will be our man,” Grassinger suggested. “Let’s not forget that avenue.” “They won’t come that way,” Nikolayev disagreed.

  He raised the bin oculars again as headlights flashed on the highway.

  Moments later a dark-colored Ford Taurus station wagon slowed and turned onto the driveway. “Adkins,” he said. “Number one.”

  Grassinger called McGarvey. “Adkins is coming your way.”

  “Right,” McGarvey replied, and broke the connection.

  McGarvey met Adkins at the front door as his DDCI came across the broad porch with a look that was a study in contrasts between despair and eagerness. “Thanks for coming out tonight,” McGarvey said. “The timing couldn’t have been worse for you. I’m sorry.” “Duty calls,”

  Adkins offered. “I couldn’t stay there. At the house. It’s crazy with all the relatives in from out of town. Not what Ruth would have wanted.” Elizabeth had put a fresh log on the fire in the living room.

  As McGarvey helped Adkins off with his coat she came out. “Hello, Dick,” she said. She offered her cheek for a kiss. “You have Todd’s and my condolences for Ruth. It was terrible. I couldn’t believe it when my dad told me.” “Thanks, Elizabeth. I appreciate your concern.

  I really do. Especially right now when you’re recovering from your own accident.” Adkins’s lips compressed. “Ruth would have said that better than I did.” She touched his arm. “It doesn’t matter how it’s said.” “Are you armed?” McGarvey asked. Adkins’s mouth opened. He looked from McGarvey to Elizabeth and back. He nodded. “Considering what’s been going on, yes, I’m carrying a weapon.” “You’d better give it to me. I’ll put it in the closet with your coat.” Adkins complied, handing his 9mm Beretta to McGarvey. “I don’t usually carry a gun, you know,” he apologized. McGarvey put it in the closet, and they moved into the living room, where Elizabeth poured Adkins and her father a brandy. She got herself a Perrier with a twist. Adkins stood with his back to the fireplace as if he was trying to get warm. But a thin sheen of perspiration covered his forehead. He wore an old burgundy sweater and jeans. His eyes darted from McGarvey to Elizabeth. He was waiting for something. Expecting to be told something. And he was nervous about it. His attitude and dress made him appear boyish.

  “What’s this all about, anyway, Mac?” he asked. He glanced toward the hall. “And where’s Kathleen tonight? She’s okay now, isn’t she?”

  “She’s fine, Dick. She’s upstairs. I’ve called a few people to come out tonight because I have something to tell everybody.” “Any hints for your number two? Maybe I could offer a suggestion or two.” “We’ll wait for the others,” McGarvey said. The cell phone rang out on the hall table, where he’d left it. “Excuse me.” “Do you want some ice, Dick?” Elizabeth asked. The call was from Grassinger. “Your son-in-law is on his way.” “Thank you.” “Wait,” Grassinger said.

  “Wait a second. Another car is coming.” McGarvey looked out the hall window, but he couldn’t see any headlights in the woods yet. The highway was almost a mile away. “It’s Bob Johnson. He’s on his way to you.” “Okay. The last one should be Otto.” “In this batch,”

  Grassinger said. Laying the phone down, McGarvey went back into the living room, where Elizabeth was refreshing Adkins’s drink. “That was Todd. He’s coming down the driveway,” he told them. Elizabeth smiled with pleasure. “Oh good.” Headlights flashed in the living room windows and moved out to the stair hall McGarvey went to get the door at the same time a second pair of headlights appeared up on the driveway in the woods. Todd got out of his car and looked back.

  “Someone is right behind me,” he said. “Did you get a look at who it was?” McGarvey asked from the doorway. He wanted to maintain as much of the fiction for as long as he could. At least until they were all in place. But he hated it; the lying. His stomach was sour. “No,” Todd said. His right hand was in his jacket pocket. Presumably he had his gun there. It was one of the things McGarvey needed to know. A light-colored car came down the long, circular driveway, past the frozen fountain and horse paddock, its headlights illuminating the front of the house. “It’s Bob Johnson,” McGarvey said. Todd had no reaction. Johnson parked his car behind Todd’s and Adkins’s cars and got
out. He hesitated for just a moment, then came around to where Todd waited. He carried a small leather case. They shook hands.

  “Hello, Todd. How’re you doing tonight?”

  “I’ve been better. You?” Johnson shrugged. He looked at McGarvey in the doorway. “Good evening, Mr. Director. I brought my tool kit.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” McGarvey told him. “There’s nothing wrong with the alarm system.” “Sir?” “Come on in, and I’ll explain everything,” McGarvey told him. “Leave your tool kit in the car.” The Technical Services deputy did as he was told, and he followed Todd onto the porch and into the house. “Is Dick here?” Todd asked. “He’s in the living room. Otto should be showing up at any minute.” McGarvey had them hang their coats in the hall closet. “Are you carrying a weapon?” he asked Johnson. Johnson shook his head. He was a few years older than Todd, but his hair was cut short in a butch and his narrow face, with its freckled red cast, made him look like a kid. He was startled by the question. “We carry multi-testers in my shop. Not guns.” “Would you mind?” McGarvey asked. He made an even more startled Johnson spread his legs and stick out his arms. McGarvey quickly frisked him. “Can you tell me what’s going on, sir?” “Aside from the fact that you’ve been pumping classified information to someone on Senator Hammond’s staff, I don’t know,” McGarvey said coolly. “But that’s what we’ll find out tonight.” Johnson was taken aback, but he didn’t protest; nor did he seem defiant. He was a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Leave your gun in the closet, would you, Todd?” McGarvey asked his son-in-law. Todd’s left eyebrow rose, but he did as he was asked without a word, and they all went into the living room. He gave his wife a kiss. “Hi, sweetheart, how’re you doing?” “Just peachy,” she said. She gave Johnson, who wasn’t sure what to do, a nod. “Why don’t we all just have a seat,” McGarvey told them. “Otto is on his way out. He said that he would give me a call from the highway so we can shut down the security system for him.”