world to think along a parallel line. “Someone copied the paper files and hand-carried them across.”
“Someone with access,” Pete said. “Someone on the seventh floor.”
Otto saw it, too. “This proves it,” he said. “We thought McCann was working with someone else in the company,” he explained to Pete. “Maybe someone he was reporting to.”
“Well, he’s still there, and he’s trying to bring you down, Mr. Director,” Pete said.
“Show him the rest.”
“Okay, so the Bureau is looking for you, but so is the U.S. Marshal’s Service.” She brought up the Service’s internal-use files and came up with the same dossier on McGarvey. “And the State Department’s Bureau of Intelligence and Research, D.C.’s Metro Police, and just about every law enforcement agency—state, county, and municipal—in a several-hundred-mile radius. Homeland Security has you on its watch list. And just this morning Baghdad police were seriously looking for you, and Iraq’s ambassador to the U.S. filed a formal complaint.”
Nothing was a surprise to McGarvey except the speed at which everything was happening. “Foster must be getting nervous to go to these lengths,” he said.
“I came over last night and Otto briefed me,” Pete said. “But we still don’t have enough proof that Foster’s Friday Club has anything to do with this, or with the Mexico City or Pyongyang incidents. Leastways nothing we can take to the Justice Department.”
“How’d you find this place?” McGarvey asked.
“I sent an e-mail to Otto’s home account and he answered me within ninety seconds.”
“Untraceable,” Otto said.
“Most of the people I talked to on Campus think someone is gunning for you, but their hands are tied. They’re afraid for their jobs. It’s scary over there. Morale has never been so low.”
“Technically makes you a traitor,” McGarvey said.
She smiled. “Just doing my job, Mr. Director.”
“Might be easier if you started calling me Mac. My friends do. The ones in this house at least.”
“You’d be surprised how many friends you have in this town,” she said.
“And just now too many enemies,” McGarvey said. “But you’re wrong about proof, I’ve got all I need.” And he told them about Kangas and Mustapha in Baghdad and again in Rock Creek Park this morning. “Admin is right in the middle of it.”
“On the Friday Club’s orders,” Otto said. “But the stuff on the disk they found in Todd’s car is worthless. So right now all we have is your word that a couple of Admin contractors at gunpoint told you everything.” Otto shook his head. “We need more than that to convince just about everyone in Washington including the president’s staff that you’re no traitor.”
“We can go after these two guys,” Pete said. “Present them as material witnesses.”
“They’re just shooters, not planners. They heard stuff, but they probably had no direct contact with Foster and his group,” McGarvey said. “It’s why I went to Baghdad, to see what Sandberger had to say. But he was willing to take a bullet rather than tell me anything. Which leaves us Remington.”
Otto was clearly worried. “What do you have in mind?”
“Find out where he lives, find out what security measures he has in place, and if he has bodyguards, and then I’ll go over to see him.”
“And if he’s willing to take a bullet the same as Sandberger, that’ll leave us with squat,” Otto said. “Admin killed Todd and Katy and Liz. We already had that pretty well figured out. But as bad as it is you gotta calm down and think it through. Honest injun.”
“Goddamnit, I’m not going to walk away,” McGarvey said, his entire body numb. Killing Sandberger had been satisfying. Too satisfying, and yet Otto was right, killing Remington would do nothing for them.
“Okay, so if you get nothing out of Remington, what next? Foster?”
“Yes.”
“And after him you’d be gunning for some top people in this town,” Otto said. “Think it out. Where does it end? And more important than that, where’s the connection between Mexico City, Pyongyang, and now? Because I don’t see it.”
“You still need material witnesses,” Pete broke in. “One material witness who would be willing to testify against Foster to save his butt. S. Gordon Remington.”
“That’s right,” McGarvey said.
“To save his butt from you,” she said quietly. “There’s no way you can run around Washington on your own—especially not during the day—no matter how good your disguise is.”
Louise was at the door. “She’s right. I recognized you because we’re friends. Could happen again if you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Otto can check out Remington’s house and security measures and