Rencke had become subdued, his face long. “It’s something else too, isn’t it Mac? It’s about your parents.”
“I guess,” McGarvey said.
The house was suddenly closing in. He went out to the courtyard, and lit a cigarette. He had the fleeting thought that if someone was out there in the trees the flare of his match and the glowing tip of the cigarette would make him a perfect target for assassination. It was a thought he’d had from time to time. It would answer the ultimate question, as Rencke had suggested, of finding out what came afterward. And it would be a release from his dreams in which he clearly saw the faces of every person he’d ever killed. His sister in Utah had stopped speaking to him years ago, so his nieces and nephews had grown up without knowing their uncle. It was at times like these he missed the sense of family. His wife couldn’t live with him, and he’d been frightened for the safety of every woman he’d ever known intimately. Lately he’d even tried to keep his daughter at arm’s length for fear that she would come to harm’s way. Yemlin showing up in Paris had shaken him more than he wanted to admit, because despite his expertise in the business he was just as vulnerable as any other man. This kill would be the ultimate for him, because although he knew in his heart of hearts that he would never be able to reduce the odds of success to fifty-fifty he was still going ahead with it. He wasn’t invincible, but he didn’t care because the prize was worth the risk.
“I never knew my parents, so I can only guess what you must be feeling,” Rencke said from the darkness behind McGarvey. “But at least you had them when you were growing up. You had family. A sister, and then a wife and a daughter. No matter how bad it gets, you had that much, Mac. Which was more than I ever had. I don’t even have my cats anymore. I’ve got nobody except for you.”
McGarvey turned around. Rencke had extinguished the house lights and he stood in the deeper shadows beneath the eaves. He looked like the silhouette of a comic figure, except that it was painfully obvious from his words that he was hurting.
It seemed to McGarvey that he had given of himself for most of his life. He’d given himself to his country, which since Santiago didn’t seem to care, or even want to know about him. He’d given everything he was capable of to women, but in the end they’d all rejected him for one reason or another. Because of his fears, of course, but because he was apparently incapable of giving them what they needed, on their terms. Elizabeth was the only exception, but she was young and she still idolized him. In time her eyes would be opened and though she might not reject-him, she would at least keep him at arm’s length.
He’d fared no better with men either. He’d looked up to his father, who he’d been told was a traitor. He’d looked up to John Lymann Trotter, a former DDO, who’d tried to kill him. He’d looked up to Phil Carrara, another DDO, who’d died trying to help him. And he’d looked up to CIA director Roland Murphy, who thought that at best McGarvey was a sometimes necessary evil. “We’re a couple of misfits, aren’t we, Mac?” Rencke said. “You’re an assassin and I’m a flake. But you know, it’s sometimes the misfits who get the job done.”
“If you’re a misfit, Otto, I wish the rest of the world were misfits too,” McGarvey said gently.
Rencke laughed. “That makes us family.”
“Sure does. But until the job is done we’re going to be a busy family and you’re going to have to do exactly as I say.”
“I’ll do it, Mac.”
“When can you take possession of your new house?”
“I signed the lease two days ago. It’s mine right now. I just wanted to wait until you came back.”
“We’re going up there tonight. What we can’t take with us, we’re going to destroy, as if you’d suddenly left here and vandals broke in.”
“It’s rare in France.”
“It’s rare, but it happens. Maybe the brothers of one of your conquests in the neighborhood decided to get even. We’ll let the local cops figure that out.
“If you’ll help me we can be out of here within the hour,” Rencke said.
“Okay. But I’m not going to tell you what I’m planning so that if something goes wrong you’ll be able to get out. No matter what happens, if something starts to go bad you’re going to run. To Rio if you want. If I come out okay, I’ll find you. Are you all right for money?”
“I have plenty. Most of it outside of France.”
“Once I start, you won’t be able to contact me, so you’ll have to set up a very secure number where I can reach you if I need information.”
“Can do.”
“We’ll arrange a code phrase so that when you answer I’ll know that everything is okay. Yemlin and his people might be the weak link. If he falls they won’t know what I’ve planned, but they’ll know that I’m coming. You’re going to have to do what you can to get back into the CIA’s computers. And hopefully the SVR’s number that Yemlin gave us is a valid one.”
“I’ll say your daughter called and she’s fine,” Rencke said.
McGarvey had a sudden odd feeling, like butterflies fluttering inside his head.
“The code phrase,” Rencke prompted. “I’ll use that one if everything is okay.”
McGarvey nodded. “That’ll work. She’d be pleased if she knew.”
“She’s a pretty girl.”
“When did you meet her?” McGarvey asked a little too sharply.
“It’s okay, Mac. I’ve kept up with you and your family. I wanted to make sure everything was going okay. Your ex-wife is doing fine, but I’m glad she didn’t marry that attorney puke. And Elizabeth’s marks finally came up, and she was doing fine for the UN last time I checked.” Rencke smiled. “Think of me as an uncle. When this is all over with, maybe you can ask her to write me a letter now and then. Maybe invite me to the wedding when she gets married.” Rencke’s face lit up. “I’d made a terrific godfather. I mean it’d be great, don’t you think?”
McGarvey laughed and shook his head. “You are a flake, Otto, but you’re my flake now.”
Rencke laughed out loud and hopped from one foot to another.
“But if you ever touch her, you’ll die,” McGarvey said, trying to keep the grin off his face, but it only made Rencke laugh all the harder.
Gallows humor, McGarvey thought as he went inside and helped Rencke dismantle the equipment he needed, and destroy the rest.
TWENTY-TWO
Elizabeth estimated that it was past one in the morning, and she was tired, hungry and just a little bit frightened. They’d taken her to what looked like an army post or police barracks somewhere on the outskirts of Paris, placed her in a small windowless room furnished with a steel table and three chairs, returned her cigarettes and matches, gave her a bottle of Evian and a plastic glass, and had left. But that had been hours ago, and now she was bored out of her skull and she had to pee.
She got up, smoothed her hair with her fingers, then lit another cigarette and perched on the edge of the table and stared pointedly at the small square of plastic imbedded in the wall. Behind it was either an observation port, or a closed circuit television camera. Either way, they were watching her, and they damned well knew that she knew it. It was irritating because they were treating her like a criminal, and when she finally showed up in Tom Lynch’s office she’d have some explaining to do.
At the very least she figured Ryan would fire her, and she didn’t have much of a leg to stand on. But she wasn’t going to give the French the satisfaction of watching her fall apart.
She stubbed out her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, raised her middle finger at the plastic square and threw herself down on the chair. “Les salopards,” she swore softly.
The door opened and a kindly looking man with a wrinkled face and thinning white hair came in with a file folder, which he placed on the table. He pulled up a chair, and sat down across from Elizabeth.
“Good evening, ma petite. My name is Alexandre Levy, and I would like to ask you a few questions, after which you will be free to leave. Someone will take you back to your hotel. I’m sure that you would like to have a hot
