The Kill Zone

by David Hagberg

  “It’s a possibility that I don’t want to ignore,” McGarvey told him. Adkins walked in, and McGarvey waved him to a seat. “None of his people came over to watch me do battle with Hammond and Madden.”

  “C-SPAN. No need for them to be there in person,” Rudolph said. “But it might help if you would level with me up front rather than later. Hans Lollick wasn’t an accident. Somebody’s after you. Why do you think it might be the Russians? To settle an old debt?”

  “It might be as simple as that,” McGarvey said. “Dick Adkins is in my office now. I’ll have him send over a package on a Russian who used to work in the KGB’s Department Viktor years ago. His name is Nikolayev. He’s missing, and the Russians think that he might be somewhere in France.”

  “And you think that there might be a connection?” Rudolph asked. He was a lawyer by training. All problems had solutions if you started at A and worked your way directly toward Z.

  “We’d like to talk to him.”

  “I’ll look at your stuff and see what we can do. We have a couple of good people in Paris. In the meantime, we’ll see if Runkov has made any calls to France lately.”

  “Thanks, Fred. Let me know.”

  “Will do, Mac. But keep your head down, would you. You can’t imagine the strain it would place on my people if someone bagged a DCI.”

  The nagging, whispering again. It wasn’t as simple as revenge. But exactly what it was McGarvey had no real idea. Nikolayev was nothing more than a starting point.

  “I’ll make sure that the file gets over to the Bureau this morning,” Adkins said. “In the meantime, Jared’s people have come up with something. But I’m damned if I know where it gets us.”

  “It’s Monday morning, what do you expect?” McGarvey said in a poor attempt at humor.

  “How’s Kathleen?”

  “They’re doing some tests this morning. We should know something by this time tomorrow. Could be nothing more than nervous exhaustion. They’re not sure.”

  Adkins nodded sympathetically. His own plate was full because of his wife’s illness, but he seemed to genuinely care about Kathleen.

  “They found Elizabeth’s skis and took them to a forensics lab that the Bureau uses at Lowry Air Force Base. Todd was right, it was Semtex. Not only that, it came from the same batch as the Semtex they used in Hans Lollick. Same chemical tags. Jared will have the full report later today, but whoever staged both attacks was playing from the same sheet of music.”

  It didn’t surprise McGarvey. “What about the fuse in the skis?”

  “It was an acid fuse, they know that much. But they won’t be able to figure out when it was set until they get the skis back here. All Jared could tell me was that the delay could have been as long as ninety-six hours.”

  “Four days,” McGarvey said in wonder. “Starting at Dulles, anybody who had access to the skis could have rigged them.”

  “Or it could have been anyone who had access to your garage,” Adkins said softly.

  Dick Yemm and Otto Rencke were the first two names that came to McGarvey’s mind. He shook his head. He refused to go there. Dulles and Denver were the best bets. But even if the skis had been rigged at the house, someone could have waited until he and Katy were gone, defeated the alarm system and done their thing. A professional could have been in and out in a matter of minutes.

  “Let’s develop a list of every person and every opportunity to rig the skis, starting right here in Washington and working forward all the way to Vail. Then develop a separate list for Hans Lollick, and subtract one from the other.”

  Adkins nodded. Either list would be large, but the combined list would be very small. Frighteningly small.

  Ms. Swanfeld buzzed. Carleton Paterson had arrived. “Send him in,” McGarvey said, as Adkins got up to go. “Staff meeting at ten,” McGarvey told him.

  “I’ll get on it,” Adkins said, and he walked out as the Company’s general counsel came in. Paterson looked angry.

  “Good morning, Mr. Director,” Paterson said. “Although for you I shouldn’t think it’s very good at all.”

  “There’ve been worse,” McGarvey replied.

  “How is Mrs. McGarvey? I understand that she was hospitalized over the weekend. She wasn’t injured on Hans Lollick, was she?”

  “Nervous exhaustion. They thought that a couple days’ bed rest might do her some good.”

  “Do us all some good,” Paterson agreed. “How is your daughter doing?”

  McGarvey’s jaw tightened. “She’s safe, and she’ll mend,” he said. He shook his head. “Beyond that I don’t know yet.”

  Paterson nodded as if it was the news he had expected. “Well, you’re certainly not out of the woods. Hammond telephoned me at seven this morning. He wants you before the committee this afternoon. Something came up, he told me.”

  “Not today, Carleton. You have to stall them.”

  “Not this time, Mr. Director. Either you show up to answer whatever latest questions they have for you—and I expect they’ll have something to do with the attempt on your life—or the committee will recommend to veto your appointment. Hammond’s words.”

  McGarvey closed his eyes. “What time?”

  “Two.”

  Ms. Swanfeld called. McGarvey picked up the phone. “Yes?”

  “Your son-in-law is on three.”

  “Thank you,” he said. He gave Paterson a nod. “Two o’clock it is. But see if you can find out what’s on the agenda.”

  “I’ll try,” Paterson said, and he left.

  McGarvey hit the button for three. “Good morning, Todd. How are you doing?” He tried to keep his tone reasonably upbeat.

  “Better,” Todd answered. “At least Liz finally got some real sleep last night. Doctor Hanover says he’ll let us get out of here tomorrow morning.”

  “We’ll send the Gulfstream for you,” McGarvey said. “It’s early out there, but is she awake yet? Can she talk?”

  “The doctor came in a couple of hours ago. He’s with her right now. I’m out in the hall. I’ll see how long it’ll be—”

  “Wait,” McGarvey stopped him. “How are you doing, son?”

  Todd took a few moments to answer. “I can’t get the sound out of my head. When she hit the tree.” He was shaky now. “I thought she was dead. But when I saw the blood I knew that we’d lost the baby. Again.”

  “There’ll be another one.” McGarvey’s heart was breaking for his son-in-law. But there wasn’t a thing he could do for him.

  “I don’t know if we can go through that again.”

  “Don’t give up on each other,” McGarvey flared. “Goddammit, Todd. You’re young. You’re both tough.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you talked to your folks?”

  “My dad called. They wanted to come out here, but I told them that we’d be back sometime tomorrow.”

  “Do they know what really happened?”

  “No. It was just a stupid skiing accident.”

  “It’s better to keep them out of it.”

  “I know,” Todd said. “How is Mrs. M.?”

  “We put her in the hospital yesterday afternoon. She’s taking this very hard, so they have her on some pretty serious sedatives. And they’re running some tests this morning.”

  Todd fell silent again for a few seconds. “I didn’t recognize her voice when she called here. It was like she was a complete stranger. Anyway, how did she find out so soon?”

  “Apparently Otto told her. Did he call you?”

  “No,” Todd said. “But that was stupid of him.”

  “Yeah. We’re still working on the why. But he’s disappeared.”

  “Christ, don’t tell me that they got to him.”

  “We don’t think so. At least Louise doesn’t think so. We’ll find out when he turns up.”

  “Okay, here comes the doctor,” Todd said. “Hang on a minute.”

  Ms. Swanfeld came to the door. “Mr. Yemm is here. Can you see him now?”
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  McGarvey looked up and nodded. “Send him in.”

  Yemm came in, and McGarvey motioned him to have a seat. Todd came back on the line.

  “She’s fine. Unless something develops today, or sometime overnight, she can get out of here first thing in the morning.”

  “Good. I’ll get Security on getting you back here. Does she know what happened to her?”

  “If you mean about the bindings being rigged, no. I haven’t told her yet.”

  “That’s okay for now. But she’ll have to be debriefed when you get back. She might have heard or seen something.”

  “I’ll bring the phone to her,” Todd said.

  Yemm was grim-lipped, as if he was the bearer of more bad news. There didn’t seem to be any end to it.

  Elizabeth came on the line. She sounded sleepy, distant; she was drifting. “Hello, Daddy. I want to come home now.”

  If McGarvey could have reached through the telephone to cradle his baby in his arms and pull her back to him he would have done it. “You’re coming home in the morning, sweetheart. How do you feel?”

  “Achy,” she said. “And tired,” she added after a longish pause.

  “Get some rest, Liz. Do what the doctor tells you to do, and you’ll be home in the morning.”

  The line was dead for a moment or two. “Daddy?” Elizabeth said in a tiny voice. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry—”

  “It’s all right, sweetheart,” McGarvey soothed. “Everything will be okay, I promise you. Your mother and I love you very much. Don’t forget that.”

  “That’s enough,” Todd came back on the line. He sounded matter-of-fact, not angry.

  “Take care of her, Todd,” McGarvey said. “And yourself. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  “We’re going to find out who did this.”

  “Count on it—”

  “There’ll be no trial, Dad,” Todd said, his voice harsh. “No trial.” He broke the connection, and McGarvey hung up.

  “How are they doing, boss?” Yemm asked.

  It took a moment for him to come back. “They’ll be coming home in the morning. Send a Gulfstream.”

  “We’ll get it out there this afternoon so it’ll be standing by when they’re ready,” Yemm said. “I found Otto. Or at least I found out where he got himself off to. He went to France. Commandeered an Aurora and took off from Andrews yesterday afternoon. Late. He logged the flight to what he called Special Operation Spotlight. I checked. There is no such operation.”

  The Aurora was the air force’s new spy plane, replacing the SR71 Blackbird. It flew to the edge of space at Mach 7. Based in New Mexico, it had been a very black project. Damned few people knew that it existed or that it was operational.

  “Where’d it land?”

  “Pontoise. The French air force base outside of Paris,” Yemm said. “We’re still trying to unravel how he got the clearances not only from the French, but from our own air force.”

  “Is he still there?”

  “The airplane is,” Yemm said. “The French don’t know what to make of it, and I didn’t think that it was such a good idea to make a fuss. It’s better to go along with him for now.”

  “I’ll have Dave Whittaker call the Paris station to be on the lookout for him. Any idea what he’s doing over there? Specifically?”

  “Nikolayev’s name comes to mind,” Yemm replied. He was having a hard time of it. Something was bothering him. “Otto got the Colorado search up and running. Chris Walker in the Ops Center logged Otto’s heads-up last night. It looks like Otto initiated his own ExComms, under both Elizabeth’s and Todd’s work names. And he found them before Ops did. Then he phoned Mrs. M.”

  McGarvey fought down his fear. It wasn’t Otto who called the house. Nor had it been Otto in the computer center or in Dr. Stenzel’s office. A different personality had taken up residence in Otto’s body, and the implications that followed were nothing short of staggering.

  “We’ve pulled his files,” Yemm was saying. “Leastways the ones he hasn’t blocked out.” He averted his eyes. He was embarrassed. It was something new. “We’ve also looked at Stenzel’s report. The whole file on Otto, which goes back about twenty years.”

  “He’s done a lot of good things for the CIA.”

  “Yes, sir. But we think that he might be losing it. Stenzel agrees.” Yemm chose his words with care. “If that’s the case, then he could be a danger. At the very least he’s got the DO’s mainframe screwed up pretty good. And he’s running some kind of a maverick operation on his own.”

  “The old KGB. Nikolayev and Department Viktor.”

  “Yeah,” Yemm said. “The assassination squads.”

  The whispering was there again. The nagging little voices at the back of McGarvey’s consciousness. There was nothing he could put his finger on. Nothing concrete; all the more disturbing because of the vagueness. Was it a monster coming after them? In their midst? Coming to scratch at Katy’s sanity. Coming to kill them all?

  “Otto was wearing his seat belt,” Yemm said, before McGarvey could give voice to that one objection. “He never used it before, by his own admission.”

  “He was worried—”

  “I’m sorry, boss, but we gotta keep going on this one. Unless you order me to stop.”

  McGarvey turned away and looked out the windows. Otto and Louise had been the only guests at the wedding except for Todd and Elizabeth. Kathleen had taken him aside and straightened his bow tie, then given him a kiss on a freshly scrubbed cheek. “He cleans up good,” Louise said. She was proud of him.

  “Indeed he does,” Kathleen had replied. There was just a moment there, an instant when everything had been absolute perfection.

  “Do it,” he told Yemm. He turned around. “But walk lightly, Dick. If he’s done nothing wrong, I don’t want him banged up. He’s having a hard enough time as it is. And if he’s guilty, he’ll be watching for someone to come after him. He’s capable of doing a lot of damage to the Agency. A lot of damage.”

  Yemm shook his head. “I think it stinks, too, boss. Big-time.”

  EIGHT

  HE KNEW WHAT HE WAS FIGHTING NOW. AND FOR WHOM. IT WAS AS IF A VEIL HAD BEEN LIFTED FROM HIS EYES.

  WASHINGTON

  The limousine that carried McGarvey into the city from fortress CIA in the woods was a soft gray leather and smoked glass cocoon. As one crossed the river on the Roosevelt Bridge the Lincoln Memorial was off to the right, and the massive granite pile of the State Department was to the left. One hundred fifty years ago Lincoln dealt with a divided nation. Today State dealt with a divided world, and the director of Central Intelligence was supposed to be the one with all the answers.

  Since a week ago Sunday his world had been turned upside down. They were under a siege mentality. Nothing was getting done. They were merely reacting to whatever came their way. And he was just as bad as everyone else.

  In the old days he had picked up his tent and run.

  In the past week he had surrounded his tent with what he hoped was an impregnable wall and hunkered down.

  It was time to fight back.

  McGarvey straightened up as they worked their way through traffic on Constitution Avenue, and he glanced over at Paterson, who was reading something. Murphy had set great stock by the Agency’s new general counsel, and to this point McGarvey had not been disappointed with the man. But Paterson was an outsider, and that’s how he wanted to keep it. At one point he’d explained to Murphy that defense attorneys work with killers, but didn’t live their lives. “I’ll help keep the CIA in compliance with the law, but I’ll never be a spy.”

  It struck McGarvey all at once that with Kathleen hospitalized he had no one to confide in. Larry Danielle, who’d worked his way all the way up from a job as a field officer with the OSS during World War II, to head the Directorate of Operations, and finally ended his long career as Deputy Director of Central Intelligence, had been McGarvey’s rudder, a steady hand, an intelligent, sympathetic ear. Almos
t a father figure since McGarvey’s parents were dead. He’d never once told McGarvey what to do, or even how to do it. But he’d always been there, waiting in the corridor, or getting in his car in the parking lot, or getting a sandwich in the Agency’s cafeteria, to give a word of encouragement or advice.

  Danielle’s favorite lines were: Be careful what you wish for, you might get it. Slow down before and after an operation, but when you find yourself in the middle of the fray, my boy, then go hell-bent for leather. Very often it’ll be the only way you can preserve your life. Develop the ability to surround yourself with friends and lovers, but trust no one. If you can’t juggle that lot without driving yourself insane, then get out of the business. Better men than you have failed. And lesser men than you have succeeded brilliantly. It’s often not a matter of intelligence, rather it’s the peculiar mind-set of the spy.

  Danielle had been a slow-moving, soft-spoken man for whom appearances belied the truth. In fact he was a man of rare intelligence and consummate good grace and old world manners. The last of the gentlemen spies, Murphy had said at Danielle’s funeral.

  McGarvey missed him. Missed the old generation that had created the CIA. And somehow that was amusing just now. He smiled.

  “What in heaven’s name are you thinking about, Mr. Director?” Paterson asked in amazement.

  “I’m becoming old-fashioned,” McGarvey replied. Danielle would have called it something different.

  “From where I sit you’re the only one making any sense,” Paterson said. “And you’ll need to be pragmatic today, because Hammond sounded positively delighted on the phone. Whatever he’s going to spring on us will be good. So good, in fact, I wasn’t able to get so much as a hint from any of his people.”

  “One of my old operations.”

  “Maybe.” Paterson shrugged.

  “If they’re looking for more blood, they’ll find it. There’s not much we can do to sugarcoat the truth.”

  They passed the National Gallery of Art and approached the Capitol itself, which was surrounded by the House and Senate office buildings, the Supreme Court and Library of Congress, and the Madison and Adams Buildings.