McGarvey got in, and Yemm headed out, his driving precise in the difficult conditions. “Hammerhead en route Star Seven. ETA twenty,”
Yemm radioed. “Copy.”
“What do we have?” McGarvey demanded.
“The wheel bearing on the front right wheel fell apart, somehow pulled the cotter pin out and sheared the king nut so that the wheel fell off.”
“Doesn’t sound like a simple mechanical failure.”
“We’re checking to see if he had any brake work, or anything like that done in the past few days or weeks. But if it was an accident, whoever did the work was a piss poor mechanic.”
“It’s been known to happen.”
With all the snow and ice on the roads, the emergency room at the hospital was busy.
McGarvey and Yemm went up to the seventh floor, where a pair of CIA Office of Security people were stationed at Otto’s door. The police had already left, and the ward was quiet for the night, though breakfast would be served in a couple of hours. McGarvey went inside the darkened room alone. Otto was propped up in bed, asleep, his head swathed in bandages, his left arm in a sling that held it against his chest. Louise Horn, tall, skinny, her angular features making her look more gaunt than usual, sat in the chair next to the bed. She held Otto’s right hand in both of hers. Her cheeks glistened with tears.
She looked up. “He finally got to sleep, please don’t wake him.”
McGarvey squeezed her shoulder. “I won’t. How is he?”
“Couple of broken ribs. He’ll be okay. His left shoulder was dislocated, that’s why they immobilized his arm. And he banged up his left knee on the bottom of the steering wheel or something.”
McGarvey touched his own head. “What about the bandages?”
Louise Horn looked back at Otto. “The side of his face got cut up with flying glass. Looks worse than it is. But he was lucky. He was wearing his seat belt. Saved his life.” She looked up again, more tears welling from her eyes. “He really could have been killed out there.”
“When did he start wearing a seat belt?”
Louise Horn had a blank expression on her face. She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
McGarvey smiled. “He sure picked a good time to start,” he said. “Give me a call as soon as he’s awake, I want to talk to him. And tell him that Mrs. McGarvey will be up later today to see him.”
“Thanks. That’ll mean a lot to him.”
“Try to get some sleep yourself.” McGarvey gave Otto a last look, then started to go. He stopped at the door. “He’s been pretty intense lately.”
She nodded. “Tell me about it.”
“He’s been pulling some long hours. Working on something that’s bothering him. Has he said anything to you?”
“Nothing,” she said. “And I don’t pry.” She gave McGarvey a faint smile. “We have that rule in our house.”
McGarvey nodded. “Good rule.” he said, and he left.
Before they went back to the Agency, they had a word with Otto’s doctor. Heshi Daishong, a slight, dark, high-strung man. “We’re waiting to see signs of concussion. For now he looks okay. His biggest problems are a slight malnutrition and exhaustion.” “He’s been working hard.” The doctor pushed his glasses up. “We all do. But for Pete’s sake, tell the man to slow down.” He looked very tired himself.
“If all is well, I’ll release him at noon.”
Back at his office McGarvey had the executive kitchen send up coffee and a basket of muffins. He hadn’t had time for breakfast, and he was hungry. He managed to get in a couple of hours of uninterrupted reading before his secretary showed up. She was followed a few minutes later by a strung-out Dick Adkins.
“Well, Ruth was right and the rest of us were wrong,” Adkins said. “They found lumps in both of her breasts. How they missed them for so long is anybody’s guess. But no one’s talking.”
“Is she still at the hospital?” McGarvey asked, concerned. “Yeah. They want to do a bunch of tests, and then, depending on what they find, they’ll want to talk to us about our options.”
“I’ll ask Katy to stop over. In the meantime I want you to get out of here and get some sleep.”
Adkins shook his head.
“If I go home I’ll just sit around and worry myself into drinking. If I go back to the hospital there’s nothing I can do until the tests are done. They won’t let me in the room with her, and they all but kicked me out of the hospital.”
He looked like he was floundering, but he was determined not to cave in.
“The hearings are going to keep you busy for at least the rest of the week. In the meantime we have the NIE and Watch Report to get out.”
“Get out of here anytime you have to, I mean it, Dick.” Adkins nodded.
“Thanks.”
Elizabeth called a couple of minutes after nine from the Farm outside Williamsburg.
“Hi, Daddy, how’s Otto?”
“Good morning, sweetheart. He was banged up pretty good, but the doctor says he’ll be okay, Should be out of the hospital sometime today. What are you doing back at the farm?”
“We have a class of husband and wife recruits, and Stu has made Todd and me stars of the show. There’s lots to go over.”
Stewart Walker was the new commandant of the training facility. A former Green Beret full colonel, he’d been McGarvey’s first choice for the spot, and he was doing a very good job.
“How long are you going to stay there?”
“We’ll be home for the weekend. Todd doesn’t want to drive back until the snow lets up. Unless you want us to chopper back. Otto is going to be okay, isn’t he?”
“He’ll be fine. How about you?”
“Aside from the fact I’m grumpy all the time, and I’m fat, I feel great.” She hesitated. “Tell mom that I’ll call her tonight.”
“I will.”
“Good luck with the hearings. Are you sure you don’t want me to come back?”
“Stay there and do your job.”
“We’ll definitely be back for the weekend. Give ‘em hell, Dad.”
The Senate hearing room was filled to capacity, mostly with media. When McGarvey and Paterson came in and made their way to the witness table the noise level rose, flash cameras went off and television lights came on. Under normal circumstances presidential appointees came to their confirmation hearings with a cadre of attorneys and advisers. But McGarvey had vetoed the plan because, he explained to a reluctant Paterson, no one knew his background except himself. And if there was to be any fallout, he wanted all of it on his shoulders. McGarvey recognized many of the people in the audience; friends from the other U.S. intelligence services, the military, the FBI and from at least a half-dozen embassies around town. Dmitri Runkov, the chief of the SVR’s Washington operation was missing, however, which was bothersome to McGarvey. Connections within connections, or the lack thereof. He put the Russian’s absence at the back of his mind. Paterson took a number of file folders out of his briefcase, extracted a four-page document and laid it on the table in front of McGarvey as the clerk of the hearings came to the front. “Hear ye, hear ye. All those having business before the United States Senate Armed Force Subcommitttee on Intelligence rise for the honorable members: Senators Thomas Hammond, Junior, Minnesota, chairman; John Clawson, Montana, vice chairman; Brian Jackman, Mississippi; Brenda Madden, California; Gerald Pilcher, New York; and Arthur Wright, Utah.” Everyone stood as the senators filed in from a door at the side and took their places behind a long oak desk on a raised platform at the head of the chamber. Hammond was a stern- looking man with thick white hair and bushy Dirksen eyebrows. He looked like a Moses without a robe and tablets. He glared down at McGarvey and Paterson as he removed a number of fat file folders from his briefcase. Of the others, according to Paterson, his second worst enemy was Brenda Madden, a raging knee-jerk liberal who’d been one of the original bra burners at Berkeley. Hers was the same goal as Hammond’s. They wanted to punish the CIA
