he could handle much more of that.
“You don’t have much of a choice, kemo sabe. The situation out there is too fluid for you not to rely on local knowledge. Hell, just getting from Kuwait City to Baghdad is a tough nut to crack even for a convoy. You gotta listen to me, Mac.”
But it was hard. He wanted revenge, and yet he knew that he wasn’t thinking straight.
“Pull your head out, Mac. Honest injun. This is too important to screw up. You and I both know that Mexico City and Pyongyang were connected and there’s more to come.”
“How’s Audie,” McGarvey asked, changing tack. Otto was correct, there was no getting around it. He’d always considered himself a loner, but almost from the beginning he’d had Otto’s help. Only it wasn’t until now that he really understood just how much help his friend had given him.
“She’s fine, and she’s going to stay put until we get this shit settled. Are you with me?”
“Yeah,” McGarvey said. “I’ll need to know who Sandberger’s surrounding himself with, the layout of where he’s staying, and my chances of getting to him when he’s least protected.”
“What I can’t come up with before you head out this afternoon I’ll have waiting for you in Kuwait,” Otto said. “Question.”
“Go ahead.”
“What if Sandberger and Administrative Solutions are nothing more than they advertise themselves?”
“That’s not true.”
“Goddamnit, Mac, isn’t there anything Louise or I can say to make you back off just for a little while until I come up with something concrete?”
“No,” McGarvey said, a coldness closing over his heart. “It’s too late for that now.”
Otto was silent for a long moment, when he was back he sounded resigned. “Your call, kemo sabe. I’ll do everything I can from this end to get you the intel you need.”
“As you always have.”
“But I need you to listen to me—really listen to me, no shit. I’ll give you the truth. I’ll never blow smoke up your ass. My promise. And you’ll have to promise me that you’ll listen back.”
McGarvey looked out the window. The morning sky over the Atlantic was perfectly clear. When the sun is shining anything is possible. It was one of Katy’s favorite sayings. She hated dark, cloudy, rainy days.
“Promise,” McGarvey told his old friend.
THIRTY-FOUR
Dick Adkins had never been much for confrontations, nor had he ever been much of a spy, in the sense of a field agent, or a special operative like McGarvey. But he was a good administrator and while under his watch morale at the CIA hadn’t been given much of a boost, yet it had not sagged with the economy and political tides as other agencies, in particular FEMA and Homeland Security, had.
But pulling up at the security gate at CIA Headquarters he wondered if coming back to confront Dave Whittaker made any sense, or would make any difference. He was certain that the only man who had any real inkling of what Mexico City and Pyongyang meant, and what was still coming after them, was McGarvey. And the Company needed to cut him some slack.
The guard recognized Adkins, but for just a moment he seemed unsure of what to do. He glanced at something to his right, then looked back, smiled and nodded. “Good afternoon, Mr. Director,” he said, and he waved Adkins through.
Evidently word had not filtered down to the security personnel that Adkins no longer had access. It was something he’d counted on.
He drove up the curving road to the Old Headquarters Building, past the visitors’ parking lot around to the gated entrance to the executive underground parking garage. He’d neglected to turn in his security pass and it still worked to raise the barrier. Down on the third level he pulled up beside the DCI’s slot, occupied now by Dave Whittaker’s dark green Chevy Impala.
His pass also worked in the private elevator to the seventh floor, and stepping off the car he was taken aback for just a moment. A longstanding tradition had been for all the doors on the seventh floor to be left open. Everyone up here was cleared for just about everything that went on. And every DCI, back as far as Adkins could remember, had liked to come out of their offices and wander up and down the corridors to see what was going on. The only doors left closed were the ones to the director’s office and to his private dining room.
But this afternoon every door on the seventh floor was closed. That fact seemed