“What’s the problem.” “He’s under a lot of strain. I think that he might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown.” “I’m not surprised, Mr.
Director. In fact I’ve expected it for a long time.” Stenzel tried to regain his smile, but it was uncertain. “People like him are always on the edge. Classic.” “I’d like you to talk to him.” Stenzel thought about it for a few moments. “I’ll try, if you can get him to come to my office. We’ll have to do this on my turf. God only knows any shrink would love to get his hands on someone like Otto Rencke. The man is fascinating. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to do anything for him.”
“But you’ll try.” “Sure. It’s guys like him who design the tests I’m going to use. If he doesn’t want to open up, it’ll be me who comes out looking like a basket case.” Stenzel shrugged. “What’s he done that made you call me?” “He’s irritable, forgetful, off in another world.
More than normal. Maybe even dangerous. It’s like he’s ready to explode. The person I used to know as Otto Rencke isn’t the same person working for me now. It’s like somebody’s impersonating him.”
“That’s not possible, is it? A double?” “No,” McGarvey said. “He’s coming apart, Doc. I think he needs help.”
“I’ll do what I can. How about tomorrow morning. Ten?” “He’ll be there.” Dr. Stenzel eyed McGarvey with some curiosity. “What about yourself, Mr. Director? You look as if you could use some R and R.”
“It’s the season.” Stenzel waited. McGarvey got up and came around the desk. “We’re putting in a lot of hours because of my confirmation hearings and because in the meantime the real work still has to get done around here.” The meeting was obviously over, but Stenzel didn’t get up. “My job description is real simple. I’m supposed to look after the mental health of everyone in this building. A lot of bad stuff can happen if someone goes nuts around here. Including you, Mr.
McGarvey. Maybe especially you.” “No, I didn’t hate my mother.”
“That’s nice,” Stenzel said, grinning like he was getting a joke.
“It’s overwork. We’re all tired.” “I understand that you and your ex-wife got remarried. Congratulations. How is she handling what they’re trying to do to you on the Hill?” Yemm had come to the door.
McGarvey glanced over at him, and Yemm shrugged. Stenzel was doing his job. “It’s depressing her,” McGarvey said. “She’s tired, like the rest of us. Distant sometimes, forgetful. She and our daughter are going round and round.” “Speed bumps,” Stenzel said. He got up. “We all get them from time to time. Tells us to slow down and smell the roses.” “That simple?” “Yup. You need a vacation.” “Tell me about it,” McGarvey said. Stenzel made to leave, but McGarvey stopped him at the door. “How can you be so sure about my wife without first talking to her?” “When you were put up for DCI, another background check was automatically put into motion. That includes the backgrounds of your wife and daughter, as well as your friends. I’m a part of the process.” Speed bumps, McGarvey thought. They all were going a little crazy because of the hearings, because of the workload and, in Liz’s case, because she was pregnant. His daughter hadn’t been herself for several months. Part of it was the pregnancy; she was a little frightened about losing the baby again, and a little angry because her physical abilities were diminishing. But that was only a part of it.
According to Otto she had set herself up as her father’s biographer.
Looking down his track would affect her. But he didn’t know if he could help her come to terms with what she was discovering, because he himself hadn’t fully come to terms with his own past.
Rencke was already gone, so McGarvey phoned the apartment and got a worried Louise Horn. “I made an appointment for Otto to see Dr.
Stenzel in Medical Services tomorrow at ten. Make sure he’s there, would you?” “I’m worried about him, Mr. Director.” “Yeah, so am I.”
After he hung up he stared out the windows for a long time. The entire world around him was going crazy. But thinking like that was in itself crazy. What price? he asked himself. What price?
THURSDAY
THIRTEEN
THEY WERE COMING FOR HIM NOW. BACK FROM THE GRAVE. FROM A PAST THAT HE COULD NOT CHANGE.
They arrived at the committee hearing room a couple of minutes before 10:00 A.M. McGarvey hadn’t slept well last night, and he looked forward to being here with a sense of despair, of uselessness, of wasted effort. The same media crowd waited on the steps and in the broad marble corridor, but civilian guards at the chamber doors barred their entry. Only those with the proper passes were allowed inside. This morning’s session was to be held in camera. Dark secrets were to be revealed, senators exercising their oversight duties. All patriotic and necessary. But it was a horrible joke as far as McGarvey was concerned. DCIs had been testifying before Congress in secret sessions since before Colby, and reading their exact words the very next morning in the Washington Post or New Tork Times. There were more people in attendance than McGarvey had expected He didn’t know most of them, but the senators had the right to invite anybody they chose. A Senate page brought over a manila envelope to Carleton Paterson. “Senator Clawson sends this to you with his compliments, sir,” the young girl said. The envelope contained lists of everyone who’d attended the hearings on Tuesday and Wednesday, as well as a list of those expected to be here this morning. Dmitri Runkov, the Russian intelligence service Washington rezidenrt name wasn’t on either of the first two days’ lists. Neither were any Russian embassy representatives. Their absence struck McGarvey as ominous. Something was happening.
Something just beyond his grasp. Otto knew about it and was lying.
The Russians not being here meant something. “Problem?” Paterson asked. “I don’t know. Maybe. But it’s nothing urgent.” “Wouldn’t do me any good to press you, I suppose,” Paterson said. He handed another list to McGarvey. This one contained a couple of lines on each of ten supersensitive Track III operations that McGarvey had been involved with during his twenty-five-plus-year career with the CIA. Track I operations were intelligence- gathering missions. Track II, which were more sensitive, involved some type of covert action. Track III actions, the most secret and most sensitive, involved the use of deadly force. In each of the cases on McGarvey’s list there had been a death.
In some cases many deaths. The list brought back a lot of very bad memories for Mac. Too late to erase them now, he thought. Too late to go back and undo what had already been done. We can only hope to change the future, and even that hope is a slim possibility. “Those are the problem areas we discussed,” Paterson explained. “Whatever you do, don’t volunteer information. But if Hammond or Madden has this same list, or even a part of it, we’re in a fair bit of trouble.”
Former CIA director Bill Colby called such operations the CIA’s family jewels. They had to be protected at all costs. McGarvey pulled himself out of his funk, and smiled. “Not too late to pull out, Counselor.”
Paterson shook his head. “I wouldn’t miss this brouhaha for all the world, Mr. Director.” The clerk came in, called the chamber to order and the senators, led by Hammond, filed in and took their places. “I remind Mr. McGarvey that he is still under oath as far as concerns these proceedings,” Senator Hammond said. He looked as if he hadn’t slept well last night either. It was well-known that the senator was a big drinker. Yesterday’s contentious session could not have done much for his stress level. “Yes, Senator, I understand,” McGarvey said, thinking suddenly about Katy. At least she would be spared most of the ugly details today. Paterson sat forward. “Do we have this committee’s assurances that the members of the audience have the proper clearances and have been briefed on the necessary security procedures?”
“That goes without saying,” Senator Hammond sputtered. “Excuse me, Senator, but I’d like to ask a question before we get started this morning,” New York senator Gerald Pilcher said. Hammond motioned for him to go
