said. “We gave them a better chance than they gave us on nine/eleven.”
They were waved through the gate and headed up the drive in the direction of the Old Headquarters Building, but turned off before they reached the OHB’s circular drive and parking lot.
“Say that in front of a judge and you’ll be dead in the water,” Patterson said, eyeing him.
“If it gets that far,” McGarvey said. “You putting me up in a safe house here on the Campus?”
Patterson hesitated a moment. “If you promise not to run. Green and Boylan want to finish your debriefing, and Dick would like to have a word.”
“My son-in-law’s funeral is tomorrow. I’m going nowhere.”
Until afterward, was the unspoken finish to the sentence, but McGarvey didn’t amplify and Patterson thought it better not to pursue the matter. McGarvey was cooperating, and for now that was enough.
EIGHTEEN
The safe house was a small, two-story colonial in the woods away from the OHB, the white paint on the exterior peeling in places, and some weeds growing in spots in the gravel driveway indicating either that the place hadn’t seen much use lately, or that even the Company was lacking in nonessential maintenance tasks because of the economy. McGarvey expected both.
“Will I have minders?” McGarvey asked when they pulled up.
“Green and Boylan will be bunking with you for the time being,” Patterson said, and as he said it Pete opened the front door of the house, and smiled.
“Pretty girl,” McGarvey said.
“Yes, she is. And bright.” Patterson turned to him. “They have your jacket, your entire file from day one, so it won’t do any good to try to hide some of your . . . more disagreeable . . . outcomes.”
McGarvey got out of the car but hung back for a moment. “They were called assignments, and the outcomes were what I had been ordered to accomplish. You might want to get that idea straight in your head, Carleton. Could be important. Soon.”
Carleton gave him a bleak look, and started to say something, but then thought better of it and drove off.
“Mr. Director,” Pete said. “They sent your things over from the airport, and we brought some spare clothes for you from your suitcase at the Farm. We want you to be comfortable.”
“How are my wife and daughter?” McGarvey asked on the broad porch.
Pete stepped aside to let him go into the house, then followed him and closed the door, making a show of not locking it, which wouldn’t have mattered in any case. “As well as can be expected, sir.”
“May I call them?”
“We’d appreciate it if you would hold off. Just until tonight. Dr. Sampson is with them this afternoon.”
Leonard Sampson was the company’s chief shrink, a bright, dedicated man. McGarvey couldn’t think of many people he’d rather have with Katy and Liz just now. “Anything from Otto yet?”
Pete’s eyebrows knitted. “We were hoping you might be able to shed a little light on his whereabouts.”
“I’ve been out of the country.”
“Yes, sir,” Pete said not pushing the query.
The house was in much better shape inside than out, with nice furnishings, but it smelled unused and musty, closed in for a long time. To the left was a living room with a river rock fireplace that someone had stupidly painted white, an enlarged inauguration photograph of President Langdon above the mantel, surprisingly with no halo. A dining room to the right was furnished with a cherrywood table, seating eight, and a breakfront filled with nice stemware. A number of thick files had been placed at the head of the table. Beyond the dining room, McGarvey assumed, was the kitchen through swinging half-doors. A guest bathroom was tucked into the stair hall that led back to perhaps the den.
Dan Green showed up at the head of the stairs and came down, a curious expression on his face, as if he had just heard something that he’d never even guessed at, likely something he’d read in McGarvey’s file that he was having a little trouble reconciling with what he’d thought he’d known.
“Good afternoon, Mr. McGarvey,” he said, and shook hands. “I trust you had a reasonably pleasant flight back. A spot of trouble in Frankfurt, or so I heard.”
“Nothing much,” McGarvey said.
Green’s left eyebrow rose, and he was about to speak, when Pete stepped in.
“Well, would you like some coffee, before we begin, Mr. Director,” she asked. “Are you hungry? Maybe you’d like to get a couple hours of sleep. Flying through time zones can wear a person to a