I’ll go over there myself later, around dinnertime, and ring the doorbell,” Pete said. “I’m not very threatening-looking, and he wouldn’t be expecting someone like me to show up.”
“He’s ex-SAS,” McGarvey said. “Sandhurst.”
“No offense, Mac, but he’s an old guy who probably hasn’t been on a field assignment in years. And I’m pretty good. I think I can take him down, and bring him back here, and we’ll have our foot in the Friday Club’s front door.”
It made sense but McGarvey didn’t like it. “That puts you on the firing line.”
“I didn’t lose a child or a spouse, but I did lose a partner who was my friend. And I’ve been on the firing line before.”
“You can’t go on a field ops with an empty stomach,” Louise said. “Breakfast is ready.”
FIFTY-NINE
Pete Boylan had wanted to be a tomboy all her life, but her good looks had made that nearly impossible, and at thirty-three she was just as frustrated as she’d ever been. Men tended to fall into two groups: those who were intimidated by her and those who trivialized her. Neither type of man had ever interested her, so she was still single, and hating that, too, which sometimes, like this evening, lent her a mean streak. She wanted to hit someone.
She cruised slowly along Whitehaven Street in her personal car, a red Mustang convertible, top up, past the Danish embassy and then the Italian embassy, Remington’s upscale house with the tall iron gate at the front entrance sat between them.
Otto had set her up with a one-piece voice-operated wire that looked like an in-the-ear-canal hearing aide. “Just drove past his house,” she said softly.
“Any visible activity?” McGarvey’s voice was soft but understandable in her ear.
“Lights on upstairs and downstairs, and a Bentley parked in the driveway, trunk lid open, no trunk light.” It was past eight and dark already.
“He’s going someplace.”
“Looks like it,” Pete said. “I’m at Massachusetts Avenue now. Soon as the light changes I’ll drive up to Thirtieth and make a U-turn.”
“How’s traffic?”
“Not bad,” Pete said. The light changed and she made a left then almost immediately a right, and made a sharp U-turn in somebody’s driveway. Two minutes later she was across Massachusetts Avenue and heading back to Remington’s house.
She missed Dan, and wished he were here with her right now. He was bright, kind, and above all understanding, just like her father had been in Palo Alto when she was growing up, especially when she’d gone through her teen years. But he’d had a heart attack when she was in her first year of pre-law at USC, and by the time she’d made it home he was gone. There wasn’t a day when she didn’t think of him, and it would be the same with Dan for the rest of her life.
She pulled up to the curb and parked, blocking Remington’s driveway. “Okay, I’m here, still no activity.”
“If he’s heading out, it means he’s probably desperate,” McGarvey said. “So watch your back.”
“And don’t forget about his driver, Sergeant Randall,” Otto’s voice came through the earpiece. “Ex-Sandhurst and SAS along with Remington. Probably tough as nails.”
“As far as they’re concerned I’m coming from the CIA to conduct an unofficial briefing on the Baghdad situation for Mr. Remington.”
“He’ll ask you on whose orders,” McGarvey said.
“I’m not allowed to give you that information, sir.”
“If something goes bad it might take me ten or fifteen minutes to get to you, so keep on top of it. Give us a clue.”
“Will do,” Pete said.
She took out her CIA identification wallet, got out of her car, and went to the front gate where she pushed the button for the bell, aware that a closed-circuit television camera was pointed at her. A few seconds later an overhead light came on.
“What is it?” a man’s voice came from the speaker grille. He sounded English.
Pete held her ID up to the camera. “Pete Boylan. CIA. I’ve been sent to brief Mr. Remington on the situation in Baghdad.”
“We’re aware of the situation.”
“Some new facts have just come to light, and it was thought that you should have this information immediately. It’ll only take a couple of minutes, sir.”
“Who sent you?”
“I’m not at liberty to give you that name. But he said you would know who it was.”
“Just a moment.”
If Remington called someone over at Langley the game would be over before it began. But the gate lock buzzed and she went through and up the walk to the red front door with a brass knocker,