Rencke nodded. “Okay, kemo sabe. I’ll get you to Orlando, but you gotta know that the federal marshals or at least the Bureau probably have someone watching your house.”
“I’ll deal with it.”
“You’re not going to hurt our own people,” Louise said, angrily.
“No,” McGarvey said. “Not badly.”
“When do you want to leave?” Rencke asked after a beat.
“Tomorrow afternoon. First I have to get some rest.”
“In the meantime what about me?”
“Find a connection between Sandberger, McCann, and the Friday Club. Someone funded the polonium-210 in Mexico and the hit in Pyongyang. Find the money trail, and maybe we’ll find out the why.”
THIRTY
The director of Central Intelligence Dick Adkins sat in the backseat of his armored Cadillac limousine heading up 17th Street to the White House wondering what the hell he was going to tell the new president that made any sense. Except for the fact he’d once worked with and then for McGarvey before becoming DCI himself, this briefing would have landed in the lap of Madeline Bible the director of National Intelligence.
But President Joseph Langdon had asked specifically for Adkins, and although he’d been in office six months no one in Washington had really taken his measure yet. Everyone, including the media, was still being cautious, and Adkins wasn’t looking forward to the meeting.
At five-eight with a slender build, thinning sand-colored hair, and a pleasant if anonymous face, Adkins had never aspired to run the CIA. Unlike McGarvey he was more of an administrator than a spy, and unlike most of his other predecessors he’d never been politically connected. He’d just inherited a job that no one seemed to want when McGarvey left the Agency. He’d been stuck with it through the previous administration, though he had the feeling his tenure was about to come to an abrupt end.
They went up West Executive Avenue and stopped at the guardhouse, but were immediately waved through; Adkins’s face was a familiar one. The president’s national security adviser Frank Shapiro, a hawk-nosed ultra-liberal, met him at the West Entrance, a sour expression on his narrow face.
“You’re late, Mr. Director.”
“Unavoidable,” Adkins said, not rising to the bait. Within ten days after the new administration was in place, he and Shapiro had gone head-to-head over a National Intelligence Estimate in which Adkins had argued for the retention of the prisoner and interrogation facility at Guantánamo Bay.
“Over my dead body,” Shapiro had said flatly, and Adkins remembered wishing for just that.
They headed to the Oval Office, the West Wing bustling with activity this afternoon, and Adkins girded himself for what he knew was coming.
“You didn’t bring any briefing materials with you?” Shapiro asked. “The president has a number of serious issues he wants to discuss.”
“No, I brought nothing.”
“Top of the list is Kirk McGarvey. The man has become a menace, and the president wants him brought in.”
“Not such an easy job.”
“The CIA won’t be asked to handle it, we’re leaving it to the Bureau. But the president will want to have your advice. You know the man better than I do.”
Adkins almost called him a prick. “I wasn’t aware that you’d met him.”
“I never did,” Shapiro said. “But you know what I mean.”
Maybe asshole would have been a better word, Adkins decided.
President Joseph Langdon, a tall, ruggedly built man with features and mannerisms reminiscent of Lyndon Johnson, was seated at his desk in shirtsleeves, his tie loose, the directors of the FBI Benjamin Caffery and the National Security Agency Air Force Major General Warren E. Reed across from him. He looked up, a stern set to his mouth.
“I’m glad you’re here, finally. Now we can get started.” He nodded for Shapiro to join the meeting and to close the door.
No other chair had been set in front of the president’s desk, so Adkins was forced to remain standing. It was an insult.
“I want to know why better control wasn’t kept of McGarvey?”
“That was up to the Federal Marshals Service, Mr. President.”
“But he was in the custody of the CIA at Langley for debriefing. And prisoners accused of high crimes against the nation are generally not permitted to attend funerals. Especially uncuffed.”
“It was his son-in-law’s funeral.”
“It’s unfortunate. I’m told that Mr. Van Buren was an outstanding officer. But it changes nothing.”
“McGarvey is not guilty of treason.”
“Justice informs me otherwise,” the president said. “He will be brought in, and he will be prosecuted. Which is why you’re here. We want your input. You’ve worked for and with him for a number of years. Where has he gone?