their relationship that you knew of?”
McGee looked at him. “No.”
“How about at work? Any problems between him and Carlton?”
“No.”
“Any problems between him and Lydia Ryan?”
“No.”
“Was there anything beyond business going on between him and Lydia Ryan?”
“Absolutely not,” the CIA Director asserted, getting annoyed. “I’m telling you, Harvath’s not the killer.”
Tullis looked up from his notebook. “I have to ask these questions. I’m just doing my job.”
McGee took another sip of his coffee. He needed to remain professional. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve lost people. I understand. But what I need you to understand is that until we’re able to rule him out, Harvath is going to remain a person of interest in this case. Based on everything you’ve told me, you must want his name cleared as soon as possible.”
“I do,” McGee replied. “Absolutely.”
“We have that in common, then.”
“What else can I do to help?”
The Chief trailed backward in his notes until he found what he was looking for. “When Harvath checked into the hotel with Cordero, he listed the make, model, color, and tag number of the car he was driving. It was a rental, picked up from Hertz at Manchester-Boston Regional Airport, about an hour and fifteen minutes south of here. It hasn’t been seen either.
“The AG’s people will likely issue a subpoena for the rental agreement. In the meantime, if you can provide a photo of Harvath, as well as his Social Security number, a copy of his driver’s license, as well as any credit card and banking information, you’d be giving the investigation a huge leg up.”
McGee’s mind, partially cleared, was already two steps ahead. “By law, I can’t give you anything from his file, not without a subpoena. But as a private citizen, concerned over his whereabouts, I might be able to get you a photograph.”
“That’d be very helpful.”
“In the meantime, how thoroughly have you searched the area?”
Tullis pointed to the K9 SUV parked halfway down the drive. “We secured a piece of his clothing from the hotel. So far, our canine unit hasn’t had any luck.”
McGee knew that detecting viable scent differed from dog to dog. It normally depended on the handler and how the animal had been trained. The longer the scent was in the wild, though, the harder it was for most dogs to pick up, much less track.
“Any blood or sign of a struggle outside?” he asked.
“None,” answered Tullis.
“Have you checked the shoreline?”
“I have two Marine Patrols working the water. So far, nothing there either.”
McGee wasn’t quite sure how to process that information. On one hand, it sounded as if Harvath hadn’t crawled off somewhere and was lying in the woods dying. On the other hand, how the hell had he been able to walk out of a situation like this? Either he was in pursuit of the killer, or he himself was the killer, which was absolutely a nonstarter.
There was, though, a third possibility: that everyone inside the cottage had been killed as part of an operation to snatch Harvath.
But why kill them? Why be so heavy-handed, so excessive? As the question entered McGee’s mind, he was reminded of the North Korean dictator having his half-brother assassinated in plain sight, in the middle of the Kuala Lumpur International Airport. Then there were Russia’s high-profile assassinations of former spies living in the UK. The Saudis had been arrogant enough to send a fifteen-man hit team, complete with their own forensic pathologist and a bone saw, through Turkish customs to murder a dissident journalist at their embassy in Istanbul.
None of the perpetrators had been afraid to operate on foreign soil, and none had chosen to be understated with their methods. Subtlety and the dark arts no longer seemed to go hand in glove. The world was indeed a dangerous place—and getting more so all the time.
McGee was confident that he had heard and seen enough. He was ready to leave. The sooner he was on the jet, the sooner he could begin relaying instructions back to Langley. Wherever Harvath was, he was going to find him. He only hoped that when he did, Harvath was still alive.
Looking over to where the FBI Director had been chatting with one of the detectives, he saw both men approaching.
“Good news,” the detective said. “We finally made contact with the owners of the home across the street. They have a hide-a-key in back and have given us permission to enter and review their security footage.”
“That is good news,” Tullis replied. “Maybe we just caught a break.”
CHAPTER 8
*