But the problem was twofold, something he’d not yet discussed with Li, although he had a fair idea which way she would lean. First, there’d always been the issue of failure—which, in their business, very often led to death or imprisonment. But secondly, he wondered if they would miss the thrill of the hunt and the sharp adrenaline rush at the time of the kill. So sharp sometimes that it was almost sexual.
The military psychiatrists at officers’ school had discussed the issue with both of them—and at the time, they’d both thought that meant they would not be accepted for training. But the shrinks had assured them they were exactly the kind of people best suited for this line of work.
“Professional assassins don’t do the job merely for love of country or even love of money when they go freelance, which I predict you will,” their shrink said, “but for the thrill of it.”
McGarvey would be their most formidable target to date, and Taio wondered whether they could retire or if they would be driven to find even tougher assignments.
What would they do with themselves, day after day?
But then he put his mind back to work on the operation at hand. Li’s suggestion that McGarvey’s wife would be a key to the kill was intriguing, except for the fact it might mean that he and Li would have to separate.
Thirty minutes later, Taio got online with his iPhone and booked them a room for three nights at the Marriott Courtyard near the Sarasota Airport, found the name and location of a gun shop in Bradenton, a city just north of the airport, and a boat rental place in Venice just south of Casey Key. When he was finished, he booked two round-trip first-class tickets to New York’s LaGuardia from the Sarasota Airport for three days later.
They were on the hunt, and the old familiar feelings were starting to build inside him that made him think that when they were finished here, they would take a long vacation somewhere but never get out of the business.
* * *
Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson was like every other large airport in the world, a place of many corridors busy with scurrying people. It was nearly nine in the evening, local, when they made it through customs and immigration, some of the money divided between them, the remainder along with their Schilling passports hidden in the linings of the suitcases, and headed with their small carry-on bags to the car rental agencies, where they booked a nondescript Toyota Camry at the Hertz counter. And it was thirty minutes later before they were on the ring road that led to I-75 south, Li driving.
“You didn’t get much sleep, did you?” she said.
“Enough.”
“No, I can see it in your eyes. And tired people make mistakes.”
“Amateurs make mistakes; we don’t,” Taio said a little too sharply. “You can drive while I tell you my plan, and then I’ll get a couple of hours’ sleep if you’re good to drive all the way.”
Li glanced at him. “Do you think that we can accomplish this in the twenty-four hours we were given?”
“I think so, but even if we miss the deadline, we’ll still collect the second half of our fee, and we didn’t have to pay Buerger.”
“We would lose our expediter.”
“If we remain in the business, there are others.”
“That makes sense,” Li said after a moment. “Our freedom means more than money.”
“Or our lives, because let’s not forget who we’re going up against this time.”
“Tell me again how,” Li said.
He did, and when he was finished, Li nodded. “It’s a way to get past their surveillance devices, if they have them.”
“They’re waiting for us, so I’m sure they’re prepared.”
“But they’ll have to be gullible, especially the woman.”
“They’re Americans, and you pointed out that he’s a romantic.”
“We’ll see,” Li said.
* * *
McGarvey stood in the darkness next to the bedroom window looking across the road and down the sand dunes to the beach and the Gulf. It was after four in the morning. There was no moon or clouds, and the sea was so flat he could see the reflection of stars.
He’d been up and down most of the night, checking the front first, and then the back, even though it was unnecessary. Otto’s surveillance system would alert them the moment anyone came within range. But it wasn’t what you prepared for; that was almost never the problem. It was the unexpected circumstances that mattered. The attack from an unexpected direction, or an attack from where you thought it would come, but in a completely different form.
It wouldn’t have surprised him to see an armed truck barreling up the road, guns blazing. But the last vehicle of any kind, a Mercedes convertible heading south, had passed by a couple of hours ago.
Since then, nothing had moved on the road, out in the Gulf, or along the ICW.
Pete came up behind him. “Just me,” she said softly so as not to startle him.
“I thought you were sleeping,” he said as she came into his arms.
“I was, and now it’s your turn.” She was wearing the same T-shirt and shorts she’d had on last night. She’d just lain on top of the blankets without even taking off her shoes.
Her subcompact Glock was stuffed in the waistband of her shorts, and one of the Beretta pistols was lying on the small table within arm’s reach of where they stood.
“Nothing might happen for a day or two, maybe even longer,” Pete said. “Both of us need to sleep and eat; otherwise, in a couple of days we’ll be sitting ducks. Now, go lie down; Lou will warn us if someone shows up.”
McGarvey looked toward the beach. “Someone’s coming.”
“You’ve known that for a couple of weeks now.”
“But it’ll be sooner than later. We won’t have to hole up here for long.”
Pete reached up and turned his face toward hers. “I heard an and in there,” she said.
“It won’t be over even then, unless they succeed this time.”
“Which you think they eventually will if they keep sending their hit men.”
McGarvey nodded, his worry for her safety spiking again. He felt like an old softy, but he’d been down this path too many times to feel any comfort or optimism.
“The list of the good ones is pretty small. Lou ought to be able to narrow it down.”
“The best ones are on no one’s list. What Lou will probably find is a list of assassinations over the past few years that have never been solved.”
“She can look for methodologies.”
“And find them, but if I were in the business, I wouldn’t do the same thing the same way every time.”
Pete smiled, the expression a little sad, her lips downturned at the corners. “But in a way, you are in the business, my darling. Both of us are.”
FORTY-TWO
The Marriott was comfortable and inexpensive. After a few hours of sleep and breakfast downstairs, they drove over to the airport, where Li left the Camry in long-term parking while Taio went inside to the Avis counter and rented a Ford Edge SUV under the Schilling ID, which they would use until they left Sarasota.
When he’d picked it up, he drove back to the arrivals gate, where Li was waiting for him. She got in, and he handed her his iPhone.
“Find the Gun Barn in Bradenton,” he said as he pulled away.
She retrieved it from the phone’s memory where Taio had stored it on the flight over, and the map came up. “Turn right out of here onto University Parkway and then right again on Tamiami Trail,” she said.
He followed her directions, and when they were heading north, past the west side of the airport, he glanced at her. She seemed tenser than usual for this stage of an op. “Are you okay?”
“A thousand things could go wrong. I’d rather be armed.”
“We discussed it last night,” Taio said. “If the woman gets even a hint that you’re carrying a weapon, she’ll take you down.”
“I can handle myself.”
“Yes, but McGarvey is the target.”
<
br /> “Yes, and while you’ll be carrying an AR-15 with a bump stock, if you can still buy one, and coming up from the rear, I’ll be the bait.”
“This is America; just about any gun is for sale to just about anyone,” Taio said. “And right now, you’re the best chance we have for luring the woman out of their castle and McGarvey to come to the rescue of both of you.”
“What if neither of them comes out? Maybe they’ll call 911.”
“Then you will be rescued. But in the meantime, their attention will be diverted to the front of the house. Which is the point.”
“Let’s not make this a gambit move,” Li said, her voice suddenly soft.
“What do you mean?”
“Sacrifice me to capture the king.”
Taio reached over and brushed a finger over her cheek. “This is not a game of chess. It’s only one operation in a line of ops in which we’ve been partners.” He smiled. “Unless you’ve forgotten, I’m in love with you.”
She returned his smile. “You told me once, but I guess I forgot.”
“Then let me tell you again.”
* * *
McGarvey slept fitfully for only a few hours even though Pete had promised to alert him if she had the least doubt about anything. Since this business had begun last week in Georgetown, he’d been slowly wearing down. He was only fifty, but this morning, light streaming through the windows, he was beginning to feel his age.
He sat up and cocked an ear to listen. Pete wasn’t here, and for the moment, the house seemed unnaturally quiet. He reached for his pistol at the same moment he heard her singing some country-and-western downstairs. It was something she only did when everything was right in her world, and he had to smile just a little.
No attack had come in the night, for which he was grateful, and yet he wanted it to be over with.
“Good morning, Mac,” Lou said. “Did you sleep well?”
“No,” McGarvey said. “Where’s Otto?”
“Here,” Otto said.
“How about running down the modus operandi for high-value hits over the past couple of years that are still unsolved?”
“Already on it, but other than Slatkin’s trick with the clear tape over a hole in a window, nothing pops out from the background noise. The polonium poisoning of Litvinenko in London, a couple of long-range rifle shots, and one case in which a kilo of Semtex was put under the backseat of the Chinese ambassador to North Korea’s limo—which was overkill—there’s no set patterns that we can find.”
“But if whoever is coming after you has upped their game and hired someone really good, it might be that the contractors are so good, they do it differently each time,” Mary broke in.
“Or it’s over and whoever’s targeting you has called it a day,” Otto suggested.
“I don’t think so,” McGarvey said.
Pete appeared at the door. “I don’t either,” she said. She’d brought a cup of coffee for Mac.
“It won’t hurt to keep a tight watch for at least the next day or two, but after that, I don’t know what to tell you two, except that keeping cooped up would drive anyone nuts,” Mary said.
“If nothing happens today or tonight, we’re going to take the boat out into the Gulf,” McGarvey said.
“With a big target on your backs,” Mary said.
“Same reason we’re not surrounded by SWAT teams in full gear. I want to take the bastard alive.”
“Making you even more vulnerable,” Otto said.
“But this time, I have Pete covering my six,” McGarvey said, finally accepting the inevitable.
Pete smiled but said nothing.
* * *
Purchasing the AR-15 had been ridiculously easy. After only a cursory check of Taio’s Minnesota driver’s license for any criminal activity, he and Li walked out the door with the assault rifle, three high-capacity magazines, and fifty rounds of ammunition, no questions asked.
Next, they stopped at a Walmart, where they got a bikini, a cover-up, sandals, and a floppy hat for her and a swimsuit, sandals, and a baseball cap for him. They also bought a compact beach umbrella in a small nylon bag, plus sunglasses for both of them.
Back at the hotel, Taio parked in the rear lot, well away from the front entrance with the trunk of the car facing the hotel. While Li leaned against the side of the car to act as lookout, Taio opened the trunk, pulled the umbrella out of its bag, loaded all three magazines for the AR-15, and stuffed the gun and the mags into the bag.
They entered the hotel through the back door and went up to their room, where they changed into the beachwear.
Watching his wife undress, Taio had the almost overwhelming urge to say the hell with the mission for the day and instead stay here where they could make love all afternoon. They could do the op tonight or even tomorrow.
Li caught his image in the mirror as she fixed the bra clasp, and she had to smile as she turned. “Actually, I would rather us stay here.”
“Am I that obvious?”
“You always have been.”
She went to him, and they embraced. “Let’s make this our last operation,” she said earnestly. “Go back to Hong Kong and do tai chi in the morning, and from time to time take a trip. On a cruise ship, or maybe a safari in Africa, or see Saigon, Tokyo, Australia. Be real people. Tourists.”
“Starting tomorrow,” Taio promised, and he meant it.
They left the hotel the same way they’d come in, and as soon as they were in the car and on the road, Li brought up directions to Sporty’s Boat Rentals in Venice, about twenty miles to the south, and within easy striking distance to the McGarveys’ Casey Key redoubt.
FORTY-THREE
Susan had gone into Geneva to do some shopping after a late lunch, leaving Hammond alone at the villa working his phone and computer. Life went on, and so did business.
Although he had more financial advisers and planners than he could shake a stick at—half of them at the TH Enterprises tower in Los Angeles and the other thousand or so spread over offices on Wall Street near the stock exchange and on Chicago’s Loop—his most important business was his Strategic Liaison Group, what he referred to as his firemen.
Headed by A. Ramos Rodriguez, a Cuban-born whiz who’d received his M.D. Ph.D. in psychiatry with top honors from Harvard, along with his MBA on the side from the same university, ran the small office with only a handful of assistants just down the street from the UN.
Hammond’s business interests literally spanned the globe, everything from media in Germany, mining in China and several other countries, perfume and wines in France, and of course a presence in a half dozen of the world’s top stock exchanges. Rodriguez’s specialty was meeting with and evaluating the financial advisers to the UN delegates from the countries he operated in and a few he wanted to do business with.
It was well after four in the afternoon, and Susan wasn’t back yet when Rodriguez called from Washington. He sounded stressed, something unusual for him.
“I’ve been trying to get you all day. I thought you were aboard your yacht.”
“Alaska was a bore. Is there a problem?”
“I don’t know, but something is definitely in the wind.”
“Don’t be cryptic, Arturo.”
“Last night, I had dinner and drinks with Viktor Kuprik at the Oyster Bar in Grand Central—one of his favorite eateries in New York, which he says is good for his libido. Afterward, we went to a male strip club over on Tenth, another one of his hangouts.”
“He’s gay?”
“Repressed, and I’m the only one he trusts to help with his fantasies.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Kuprik is the chief financial adviser to Feodor Morozov, who’s Russia’s UN ambassador, and your name came up last night.”
“I’m listening,” Hammond said, the first glimmerings of concern rising in his gut.
“Morozov wanted him to find out about you. Specifically your friends. Your Russian friends.”
“I didn’t think so,” Rodriguez said. “So I asked what made him think that I had any insider information on you.”
“And?”
“He said that my name had come up as someone who knew a lot of people not only at the UN but just about everywhere else in the financial world and that I probably could get some information.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“I said that I’d heard of you, of course, and I’d see what I could come up with if he’d give me something specific to work on. He told me just Russians who you had financial relations with.”
“No names?” Hammond asked, the worry in his gut easing just a little. Tarasov had apparently gotten a little sloppy with someone he’d talked to.
“No.”
“Give it a couple of days and tell him you couldn’t find out much of anything beyond the Russians who show up at Monaco and Cannes and Davos and the other places on the circuit.”
“That’s the point; I can’t, and that’s why I called,” Rodriguez said. “Kuprik was found in his bed just a few hours ago. Shot to death.”
“Problem solved,” Hammond said.
“No. The police are on their way now to find out if I know something.”
“How’d they get your name?”
“I don’t know; the stupid bastard may have written it down somewhere.”
“You were seeing him professionally, and I assume that you have records to back it up.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Confidential medical records.”
“Of course, goddamnit, but what do I tell them if your name comes up? There’s supposedly no connection between us.”
“There is a connection. You briefly treated me for depression a couple of years ago when I lost friends in the pencil tower on West Fifty-Seventh that was brought down. Those records are confidential as well.”
Gambit Page 18
