“Hanrahan.”
“We’ve just detected what appears to be an ASDF Orion one hundred miles south of us. We’ve been illuminated and interrogated, but we’re getting no response on any of their patrol frequencies.”
“Is he one of ours out of Okinawa, Don?”
“Negative. We can jam his radar.”
“He knows we’re here, and he knows what we’re doing. Keep an eye on him.”
“Will do, Skipper.”
“What about the Samisho?”
“Same as before.”
“This might get interesting after all,” Hanrahan said. “Keep me posted.”
“We have to talk,” Reid said from the doorway. “We’ve just eight days to get everything into place.”
Louis Zerkel sat at the bedroom window watching the lights of Dulles Airport in the distance. “Ending up buried in a fucking garbage dump isn’t right. He deserved better than that.”
“There wasn’t much else we could do. I’m sorry, Louis.”
“I owed him.”
“Do you believe in God?” Mueller asked.
Louis turned away from the window. The German leaned against a work table, a hint of compassion in his expression that was probably fake. “Of course not.”
“Then it doesn’t matter where his body ended up. Your brother is dead, and you killed him.”
“Jesus,” Reid said softly.
“It was an accident,” Louis blurted.
“Glen knew that a bullet in the head from some cop somewhere was always a possibility. It’s better than spending the rest of your life cooped up in a prison, being fucked up the asshole.”
Louis wanted to throw up. He had nobody to rely on now that both Dr. Shepard and Glen were gone. He had no idea where he could go, or what he could do. He was lost.
“Question is, are you capable of finishing the project?” Mueller asked. “If the tables were reversed do you think Glen would give up?”
“No. He’d rather die than quit.” Louis stopped. “Christ.” He couldn’t get the sight of Glen’s horribly charred body out of his mind’s eye. The heat had been so intense that there’d been very little left that could have been identified as human.
“That’s right, Louis. So now it’s up to us to finish the job. Otherwise his life would have been in vain.”
Louis wanted to tell Mueller to shut his lousy lying mouth. But if they quit now all the work would go to waste. The Japanese would continue to threaten us, and no one would do a thing about it. Worst of all the devious ones, the devils, the power-mad money brokers of the world would have won.
“Eight days.”
“That’s the day of Guerin’s VIP flight to Honolulu,” Reid explained.
“I built an extra repeater for Portland.”
“You’re a very strong man,” Mueller said. “I’m impressed.”
Louis looked at the German to see if he was kidding. But Mueller was deadly serious. Reid had brought him over from Europe, and even Glen respected him. Something in the set of the man’s jaw, in the confidence of his manner, was frightening and yet comforting in an odd sort of way. Louis could see that Mueller had something that neither Dr. Shepard nor Glen had. Experience in the real world of international struggles.
Mueller knew the score. He’d been a soldier for practically all his life. He wasn’t afraid to kill or be killed. He was a force unto himself.
He’d been an East German intelligence officer. But when the Wall came down and East Germany ceased to exist, Mueller hadn’t quit. He’d taken the fight elsewhere.
Mueller was a soldier.
“My life for yours,” Louis mumbled, a part of him afraid that he would be rejected.
“What do you think about that?” Mueller smiled, warmly.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“I’m here unofficially, Mr. Kennedy,” Jack Franson said.
“Right now that sounds ominous.”
“I can’t say there’s no problem, but it’s something I think we can handle here in Portland without taking it any further. At least for the moment. But I have to tell you up front that Washington is taking an interest in Mr. McGarvey. A serious interest. It’s just that they don’t have as full an appreciation for Guerin as we do here.”
“Then maybe you can answer a few questions for me,” Kennedy said on the way into the board room.
“That’s what I’m here for, sir. But I’ve got a few of my own. I just want to head off any repercussions for you. Right now especially.”
Kennedy motioned the FBI agent to a seat at the long table. Nancy had brought in coffee for them. It was Sunday, but Guerin was fully staffed and would be until America flew to Honolulu and safely returned. “I appreciate your concern.”
“Like I said, this is an unofficial visit. But McGarvey is going to become a problem for you. Some of the things I’m hearing are just incredible. Yesterday he actually threatened me. He sat right in my office and told me that if we continued to follow him, he’d retaliate. My boss didn’t take it lightly.” Franson hesitated a moment. “I want you to be clear on one thing, Mr. Kennedy. We take this very seriously. Mr. McGarvey is presumed innocent until he’s proven guilty.”
“I wasn’t aware he was under investigation. What is he being charged with?”
“His case file hasn’t been sent out yet, but he is under investigation. Washington has asked that we keep an eye on him.”
“What can I do for you?” Kennedy asked. His stomach was tied in knots.
“Do you know about his background? I mean before you hired him, did you do a background investigation?”
“We know that he worked for the CIA. It’s the main reason we hired him to deal with our … special security concerns. Internationally.”
“How did his name come to your attention? This kind of guy doesn’t advertise in the positions-wanted column. Did he approach you? Or what?”
“He was recommended to us by someone in Washington, as a matter of fact. It was a personal friend of Mr. Vasilanti.”
“May I ask who that was?”
“Roland Murphy. The director of the CIA.”
“I see,” Franson said. If he was affected by Murphy’s name, he didn’t show it. “May I also ask what those special security concerns are? I mean I can imagine some of the problems a company this size has gotta face. But McGarvey is something more than just a night watchman or cop. His talents are, shall we say, unique?”
Kennedy studied the FBI agent. “I don’t know if I should discuss this with you, on an unofficial basis. We’re in an extremely competitive situation just now, especially in light of the dollar’s position against certain foreign currencies.”
Franson held up his hands. “I understand, completely, Mr. Kennedy. But I’m talking about a criminal investigation of one of your employees.”
“On what charge?”
“I’m not at liberty to say at this time.”
“In that case I’m afraid I can’t be of much help. But if you could be more specific.”
“McGarvey is a bad apple.”
“Should we fire him?”
“Let’s just say that despite his talents I wouldn’t want him working for me.”
Good advice or bad, Kennedy asked himself. But considering the problem they faced, McGarvey might be the only one who made any sense for the job. Fight fire with fire.
Kennedy got up. “Thanks for coming out.”
“One thing, Mr. Kennedy,” Franson said, rising. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention our talk to Mr. McGarvey.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kennedy replied. “And I’d appreciate being kept informed.”
“Sure,” the FBI agent said, and he left.
Kennedy sat down. If the Bureau had something on McGarvey, it would have arrested him instead of coming out here with vague innuendoes and warnings. It would have been more of a surprise, however, if Washington had not been interested. McGarvey stepped on toes. He irritated people. His own admission, because irri
tated people made mistakes. But that wasn’t what building airplanes was all about. Nobody was happy about hiring McGarvey. It had simply come down to dealing with what they all perceived as a necessary evil.
It came down to survival.
As long as McGarvey wasn’t being formally charged with any crime he would stay on the payroll. If Franson told him what McGarvey was being investigated for, and what evidence the FBI had, he might make a different decision. As it was, no matter how uneasy the man made them feel, he was making progress, Kennedy hoped.
“Are you okay there?” Phil Carrara asked.
“Probably not,” McGarvey answered, and he hung up.
Carrara was calling from the untraceable number at his home, or he wouldn’t have asked if McGarvey’s phone was clean. It meant he finally had something to say and he didn’t want anyone else to know about it.
A dark-blue Chevy sedan followed McGarvey at a discreet distance from his apartment to Union Station just off Fareless Square where he used a pay phone in the arrivals hall to return his old friend’s call. No one approached him.
“The Bureau is taking an interest in me these days,” he said. “Your doing?”
“Ryan’s got the General convinced that you’ve finally sold out.”
“That’s why nobody’s been in for me? Maybe I have, Phil.”
“Don’t fuck with me. One of my people bought it outside Tokyo a few days ago,” Carrara said, a sudden hard edge in his voice. “Found his body, what was left of it, at the bottom of a cliff. You were placed at the scene.”
It was Kamiya’s doing, which meant the Japanese probably had an informant at the CIA’s Tokyo Station. “That’s not my style, Phil. Was I being followed?”
“We just got word that you threatened the Portland SA-C.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. I was set up in Tokyo, which means your operation there is rotten.”
“Leaks like a sieve,” Carrara admitted. “But your name keeps popping up all over the place. Like you’re pulling in all your chips. Like you’re getting back at everyone who ever crossed you. One minute you’re in Moscow dealing with the old KGB at the same time their navy is involved in a shootout with the Japanese. Then your name comes up in connection with a couple of former East German spies who could be involved with Ed Reid, at the same time he’s shouting about a war with the Japanese. And finally you get yourself involved in the deaths of three Japanese nationals. Talk to me, Kirk. Japanese cops don’t take hard crimes lightly. Especially not now, and especially not involving an American. Yet someone in the government over there had you sprung and the charges dropped, and a few hours later one of my people is murdered. Ryan is going nuts. What the hell is going on, compar?”
“Sokichi Kamiya. He’s the power behind something called Mintori Assurance. They’re the ones targeting Guerin. The East German thing is a coincidence.”
“Why kill one of my people? What’s he gain by taking such a big risk?”
“To shut me up.”
“It would have been easier to have you killed.”
“Would have started you thinking that maybe I was right after all. This way instead of getting help, I’m being investigated for murder and counter-espionage.”
“You took the offer to Tokyo. It wasn’t the other way around.”
“I was trying to push them into making a mistake, which they did. We fly next week, and Kamiya is going to do everything in his power to stop us.”
Carrara was silent.
“Think about it, Phil. What the hell would I have to gain after all these years?”
“The President is going to Tokyo early. We just got that word this morning. The official announcement won’t come for a few days yet. But we were asked about you.”
“When is he leaving?”
“Sunday.”
McGarvey tried to think it out. The coincidence of America’s flight to Honolulu with the Vice President aboard on the same day the President was leaving for Tokyo was ominous.
“If I’m the chief suspect why tell me?”
It took Carrara a moment to answer. “Because I think Ryan is wrong. But you’re being set up in an even more sophisticated way than you can imagine.”
“Let me come to Washington to talk to Murphy.”
“He won’t listen to you now.”
“Goddammit, Phil. Whatever’s coming down will happen next Sunday. I think they’re going to try to knock Guerin out of the sky.”
“Then you’ll have to stop them, but we can’t help you.”
“Air Force One is a Guerin 522.”
“Oh, Christ,” Carrara whispered. “It never occurred to me.”
“Murphy’s got to convince him to wait until Monday.”
“Nobody will listen to you now, Kirk. It’s too late.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ryan’s got the headhunters after you.”
“That’s Internal Affairs. What’s my past got to do with this?”
“It’s your deep background, Kirk.” Carrara’s voice was distant. “I pulled your initial background investigation, and they picked up on it. They’re just about back to the forties. When they get to the Manhattan Project … shit, there’s no hard evidence, but there’ll be enough for Ryan.”
McGarvey had been hit in the gut with a battering ram. All these years he had managed to keep a lid on it, hoping against hope that it would pass, as all things do, but never really believing he’d ever be safe until he was dead. Now they were going to use his past against him.
A father’s sins after all did pass to the son.
He hung up.
“We’ve got a problem.”
Al Vasilanti looked up tiredly from the spreadsheets on his desk. His skin was pale, his eyes watery. “So what else is new, David? Is it Rolls?”
“The FBI was just here about McGarvey.”
“Are they going to help us?”
“He’s under criminal investigation,” Kennedy said. “I was all but told to fire him or we’d find ourselves in trouble. They’re coming at us from all directions. It’s getting crazy.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I think we should postpone the Honolulu flight.”
“Not a chance.”
Kennedy shrugged. “Then it beats me what I’m supposed to do.”
Vasilanti eyed him coldly. “Lea d, follow, or get out of the way. The Commercial Airplane Division is yours as long as you think you can handle it. Can you?”
“Yes.”
“We design and build airplanes. Safe airplanes. If there’s a problem with that, we fix it. Now talk to me. Is there a problem getting America ready to fly?”
Kennedy remembered the aftermath of the shuttle Challenger disaster. He’d been on the investigating team. “Technically no. But after Dulles it’s hard to be sure what to do.”
“A different airplane, David. One that either flies or breaks us. What have they got on McGarvey?”
“Franson wouldn’t say.”
“Do you trust McGarvey?”
“Not any farther than I could throw this building. But he knows what he’s talking about. He set up the deal for us with the Russians. He identified our enemies in Japan. And he turned Sir Malcolm around. But it’s like there’s a dark halo over his head. He’s a dangerous man.”
“That’s what we were told before we hired him. But he came highly recommended. Do you think he can do the job?”
“If anyone can,” Kennedy admitted.
“Then support him anyway you can, or cut him loose and we’ll do this on our own. It’s your decision, David. But make it, and then stick with it. We fly on Sunday.”
“Then that’ll be my decision too, Al.”
Vasilanti’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t cross me.”
“So long as I’m president I’ll decide whether we go or stay. In the end if you want it any different, you’ll have to fire me. But for now, I’m in charge.”
“Make it work.”
“One way or another, I will.”
Louis Zerkel powered up the encoding circuitry and then the triggering interface. The first five repeaters ready to be tested were stacked up on the workbench waiting for their fresh batteries. He’d held off installing the batteries until he was sure of the mission date. They only had a useful life of thirty days, and he wanted a safety factor of at least three. He’d have at least that because Reid had confirmed that they were a definite go for next Sunday. Seven days. Mueller was leaving for the West Coast sometime tonight.
He slit the seam at the bottom of the first repeater with a razor knife and carefully peeled the paper back, exposing the plain cardboard. Clipping the paper aside with a clothespin, he slit the glue joint at the top edge and lifted the cardboard top away from the old battery, which looked like a black plastic credit card with no markings except for a gold stripe at each end. Holding the cardboard aside, he lifted the battery away from its bed with a pair of tweezers and inserted a fresh battery in its place. Reversing his steps he reglued the cardboard top and refastened the paper covering. Next he switched on a field-strength meter, which he placed next to the repeater, and then keyed the encoder and trigger generator. A few milliseconds later, an audio tone went out, and the repeater kicked out a duplicate of the signal, but piggybacked on the same VHF-FM frequency that the seven airport noise-reduction research units they’d targeted were using.
He looked up. Mueller and Reid had come down again to watch. “It works.”
“How long before you’re finished?” Mueller asked.
“With this batch a couple hours. I’ll do the rest later.”
“What about the closed-circuit camera shunt?”
“It’s ready,” Louis said. “I’ll show you how it works as soon as I’m done with these. Now get out of here.”
“No mistakes.”
“None. Leave me alone.”
Reid and Mueller went back upstairs.
“His brother’s death hasn’t affected him as much as I thought it would,” Reid said when they got to the living room.
“In California he depended on his psychologist. Here on his brother. But now he’s transferred his trust to me.”
High Flight Page 53
