State and we’re putting the package together for the president.”
“What’s Dave Whittaker’s input?”
“We haven’t reached him yet. Apparently he’s not at home, and his cell doesn’t pick up.”
“Christ.”
“Now get the hell out of here, please,” Loring said. “We need to get back to work.”
“Right,” Adkins said, and he felt a little sick to his stomach.
“Tell Mac good luck,” Loring said.
“Security wants to know what’s going on up here,” one of the analysts called out across the room.
“Use the VIP elevator, I’ll stall them for as long as I can,” Loring told Adkins.
SEVENTY
Sergant Schilling came to the living room door at the same moment Whittaker was trying to reach his pilot by cell phone. It had to have been McGarvey’s doing, sending the helicopter away. But Cardillo was one of them, ferrying members of the Friday Club with no questions asked.
“The two cameras in front went down, and the lights are going out one at a time,” Schilling said.
“Something wrong with the power?” Foster asked.
Cardillo’s cell phone rang.
“I believe Mr. McGarvey shot out the cameras and is doing the same with the lights.”
“He’s right outside the house, then.”
“Yes, sir. But the only way in is through the front door, which I’ll cover.”
Cardillo’s cell phone rang a second time.
“Let Boberg know what’s going on.”
Cardillo’s phone was answered on the third ring. “Yes.”
“Why the hell did you leave?” Whittaker shouted, but all of a sudden he realized that he wasn’t hearing the helicopter’s cabin noises.
“Because I didn’t want you to get away before I had a chance to talk to you and Foster,” McGarvey said.
Whittaker was shaken, but not surprised. “The FBI is on its way out here in force,” he said. Foster and Schilling were staring at him.
“Not yet, David,” McGarvey said after a slight delay. “We’re monitoring calls from the house, including your cell phone.”
Whittaker held his hand over the cell phone microphone. “It’s McGarvey on my pilot’s cell phone. Can he get inside the house?”
“Only with explosives,” Schilling said.
“Unless you brought some Semtex you’re not getting in here.”
“I saw the bars on the window,” McGarvey said. “Makes you wonder what Foster is trying to protect. But I don’t need to blow my way inside, because you and Foster are going to let me in.”
“The hell you say.”
“We deciphered a flash drive that Remington gave to us before he was gunned down by his own people. It’s a Friday Club membership list. Impressive.”
“You’ve got nothing, you son of a bitch. You’re a traitor to your country.”
“We have the information on your laptop. Stupid to leave it in your office for just about anyone to grab. Otto told me that he built the machine, and he knew your user ID and password. Whittakercia? Come on, David.”
Schilling had stepped out into the stair hall, and he came back. “Boberg is on the way. Keep McGarvey talking.”
“All you have are the names of a number of American patriots who love their country enough to form a club, just like Kiwanis or Rotary.”
“Except Rotary wasn’t involved in Mexico last year or in Pyongyang a few months ago. Rotary hasn’t involved the Chinese in some kind of plot.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” Whittaker practically shouted, but he was rocked to the core. He knew what McGarvey was capable of. He had tried to warn Foster and the others, but none of them would listen, and now it was too late, unless McGarvey could be killed.
“There never was any polonium in Mexico, and none ever came across the border in Arizona. And we know that the shooters who took out the Chinese general in Pyongyang were South Koreans working for a Russian expediter in Tokyo who’d been hired by Howard McCann. And Howard was getting money from your club of patriots.”
Schilling switched off the living room lights and those in the stair hall. He was armed with a Franchi SPAS-12 automatic shotgun capable of firing four rounds per second. It was a devastating weapon at close range. “Stay in this room,” he said, and he disappeared into the darkness in the stair hall.
“Even if what you’re telling me was only partially true, it still proves nothing. How do we know this flash drive you mentioned was Remington’s?”
“I think Otto could make a case for it,” McGarvey said. “The only thing we haven’t figured out yet is what you people are really up to. Whatever it is involves the Chinese, of course. But to what purpose?”
Whittaker said nothing.
“So here’s what we’re going to do. If Mr. Boberg manages to kill