large or beefy, and they moved easily on the balls of their feet, their attention in all directions, like rotating radar beams. They were expecting trouble.
McGarvey eased a little farther back into the shadows so that he was partially hidden behind the bole of a palm tree.
The two were dressed nearly alike, baggy khakis and dark Windbreakers with more bulk than was likely. They were wearing vests under the jackets, and by the look of it even in the dim light McGarvey could tell they were carrying some heavy hardware strapped to their chests. The Windbreakers were zippered, which was a mistake on their part. It would be awkward for them to draw their weapons.
McGarvey waited until they were just past then drew his pistol and stepped out on the path. “I expect that you’re looking for me.”
They both reached for their weapons.
“I have no intention of killing you this evening, unless I’m forced into it,” McGarvey told them, and they stopped. “Please turn around.”
They did as they were told, their jackets half unzipped, and he saw their weapons.
“Knight PDWs. Nice. Which one of you is Tim Kangas?”
The one on the left pursed his lips.
McGarvey nodded pleasantly toward the smaller man on the right. “That means you must be Ronni Mustapha. Former NOCs, and I’m told quite good, though you had a little trouble with discipline and following orders.”
“We’re here,” Kangas said. “What do you want?” He showed no fear, only a wariness; he was looking for an opening.
“You were sent here by your boss at Admin to kill me. Fair enough. But I’m here just to gather some facts. Maybe we can work something out.”
“What’s in it for us?” Muataspha asked.
“Your lives, of course,” McGarvey said.
“What do you want?”
“Someone placed an IED at Arlington Cemetery. Was it on Admin’s orders? Roland Sandberger or Gordon Remington?”
“We don’t know,” Kangas said.
McGarvey suddenly raised his pistol to point directly at Kangas’s head and took several steps closer. “I asked you a question. The people killed in that explosion were my wife and daughter. I’m motivated.”
“We know about you, Mr. McGarvey, but it wasn’t us at Arlington. And if it was Admin we were not told.” No fear showed in his eyes, just the same wariness.
“Why were you sent here to assassinate me? Who ordered it?”
“Our boss, Mr. Remington.”
“Why?”
“You’ve been declared a threat to our operations,” Mustapha said. “I’m sure the order originated from Mr. Sandberger because of an incident between the two of you in Germany.”
“Toss your weapons in the bushes,” McGarvey said, and he watched their eyes as they very slowly did as they had been told. They were professionals. They knew how to back away when the odds were not in their favor so that they could live to fight another day.
“Now what?” Kangas asked.
“Go back to the airport hotel, and in the morning get on your United flight back to the States,” McGarvey said. “My issue is with Sandberger, not with his foot soldiers. But if I see you again I’ll kill you. Do we have an understanding?”
“Yes,” Kangas said, and McGarvey stepped back off the path to let them pass. “What do you want us to tell Mr. Sandberger?”
“Whatever you want,” McGarvey said, and he watched as they walked back the way they had come, his body bathed in sweat. It had taken everything in his power not to kill them. But they were just foot soldiers, and he wanted word to get to Sandberger.
FORTY-SIX
Sandberger was in a booth at the bar in the Ritz-Carlton when Weiss phoned to tell him what had happened on the path between the two hotels, and for several long seconds he could not answer. His throat was constricted and the muscles in his face were rigid.
The American call girl he was seated with turned pale.
“Mr. Sandberger?” Weiss said.
“Just a moment,” Sandberger said, coming down. He laid the phone on the table, pulled a hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to the girl with a smile. “Next time I’m in town,” he said.
The girl took the money, grabbed her purse, and slid out of the booth, her short skirt riding up. She had great legs and a tight ass. “Sure thing,” she said, and she left.
Sandberger picked up the phone. “Tell me everything,” he said, his voice even. He was back in control.
“McGarvey came out of the hotel and headed over to the Hamara about five minutes before our guys showed up. I told them where he’d gone, and they