Washington will be here when we all get back.”
“I’ll get your skis out of the garage,” Todd told Elizabeth. “Great dinner, Mrs. M.” He got up and McGarvey went with him.
Elizabeth’s skis, in their hard shell traveling case, had already been taken down from the rack on the back wall. Todd carried them out to his Land Cruiser SUV and attached them to the roof rack with bungee cords.
McGarvey glanced back at the house. He could see through the hall window that Kathleen was helping Elizabeth with her jacket.
“Watch yourself out there,” McGarvey told his son-in-law.
“I’ll make her take it easy.”
“I don’t mean just that,” McGarvey said. “You and Elizabeth are field officers and I’m the acting DCI. We’re targets. All of us, all the time.”
A flat, professional look came into Van Buren’s eyes. He nodded.
“There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think about it. Especially now with the baby coming.”
McGarvey clapped him on the shoulder. “You know what to do. Both of you do. Watch your backs.”
McGarvey helped his wife clean up, and afterward they went up to bed.
He made sure that the house was locked up and the security system was up and running first. At the head of the stairs he stopped and looked down at the front door in the gloom of the front hall. The scratching was coming again. It was like an animal in trouble trying to gain entry to the house. A rough beast, or merely a stray, he couldn’t tell. But something was coming. Gaining on them. Skulking in the night. Waiting to pounce. “Paradise is where I am,” Voltaire wrote in Le Mondain. Life was what you made of it. Either a paradise or a hell. McGarvey wasn’t sure which life he had created for himself and his family, though he was certain that he wanted paradise, or at least a little peace. By the time he got undressed, washed up and climbed into bed, Kathleen was already half- asleep. “Good night, Katy,” he said. “I wonder what we’ll come back to,” she mumbled. She rolled over, and within a minute her breathing deepened. She was asleep.
McGarvey turned off the lights, and for a long time he listened to the winter wind whipping around the eaves; the scratching, nagging feeling rising again at the edges of his consciousness. In the old days he would have run first and looked back later. But he couldn’t do that now. Not now, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.
FRIDAY
FIFTEEN
McGARVEY COULD FEEL THE PISTOL IN HIS HANDS. FEEL THE RECOIL AS HE FIRED THREE SHOTS AT THE TRAITOR. KILLING HIM.
McGarvey got home a few minutes before noon. Three leather bags were packed and lined up in the front hall. But Kathleen wasn’t home. She’d left a note on the hall table promising that she would be back by noon; she had a couple of errands to run before they left for Andrews Air Force Base. Yemm came in, glanced at the bags and cocked an ear to listen. “Mrs. McGarvey’s not home?” “She had a couple of errands to run,” McGarvey told him. “Put the bags in the trunk, would you, Dick?
I’m going upstairs to change.” True to form, Kathleen had laid out his clothes; boat shoes, white slacks and a colorful Hawaiian print shirt.
She’d also laid out a jacket for the trip to the airport. He felt faintly foolish putting on summer clothes while snow was falling, but when he was dressed his mood was lighter than it had been all week. He found that he was looking forward to the weekend for his own sake. He transferred his Walther to an ankle holster strapped to his right leg under his slacks. When he put his foot down and turned around, Kathleen, snow still clinging to her Hermes scarf, was at the door, looking at him, an intense expression on her face. “Is that necessary?” she asked. She sounded winded, as if she had just finished jogging a couple of miles. “Considering what I am, yes, it is, Katy.”
“Kathleen,” she corrected. But then she smiled and shook her head.
“There I go again.” She came to him and they embraced. “Sorry, darling,” she said. “It’s all right. Old habits die hard. For both of us.” She shivered. “Come on, Katy,” McGarvey said. “We’re going to have a great weekend.” She looked up and squared her shoulders.
“You’re right,” she said. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll check to make sure that we’re locked up.” “Does Dick have to come with us?” “It’d be tough trying to get rid of him,” McGarvey told her. “Having a bodyguard is part of the job.” “I suppose,” she said.
McGarvey stopped at the door. “Did you get your errands done?” “I went to church,” Katy muttered. “What?” “I didn’t think that I’d be so late. Father Vietski heard my confession. No big deal.” McGarvey came back to her. “Are you afraid to fly? We don’t have to go to St.
John. We can take the train to Florida and have just as relaxed a time.” “No, it’s all right. I’ve never been to the islands.” “Are you sure?” he asked. She nodded. “One hundred percent,” she said. She gave him a reassuring smile. “Now, get out of here so I can change.”
The moment they lifted off from Andrews Air Force Base and broke out into the bright sunlight on top of the low deck of snow clouds, Kathleen’s mood took a dramatic swing. She became bright and animated, as if she were onstage even though she was playing to a very small audience. The Gulfstream VIP jet, one of several that the CIA used, was a navy aircraft, maintained and operated by naval personnel. Their captain was Lt. Cmdr. Frank White, a veteran of the Gulf War and the Bosnian peacekeeping operation. He was only forty-seven but looked much older because his hair was perfectly white. He smiled with his eyes and handled the airplane as if it were a toy in his capable hands.
His copilot, Lt. Rody Johnson, was a short-timer. He was going to work for Delta Airlines in the spring. Their flight attendant was Ens.
Judy Dietrich, a blond German from Milwaukee, who looked fifteen but was in fact in her thirties, married and the mother of three boys. As soon as they were at cruising altitude and heading southeast out over the Atlantic, Ensign Dietrich offered them drinks. Yemm stuck with Pepsi, but Kathleen asked for Dom Perignon. “We’re on vacation, and the government is paying for it, so why not live a little,” she said.
The remark was uncharacteristic. McGarvey could see a sharp edge of tension at the corners of her eyes and mouth. “Maybe you should wait until we get on the ground,” he suggested. She waved him off airily.
“Nonsense. It’s going to be a lovely weekend. You said so yourself.”
“Are you a little nervous about flying, Mrs. McGarvey?” Ensign Dietrich asked under her breath as she poured the champagne.
“Absolutely petrified.” “Would you like something ”
“The champagne is fine, thank you,” Kathleen said. “But tell the captain to get us there posthaste if he would.” McGarvey took a glass of champagne and sat back. “We’ll be in the islands in time for dinner.” “Let’s eat out.
I feel like I’ve been in jail for the past month.” McGarvey glanced at Yemm, who shrugged. “There’s a nice place in Frenchtown on St. Thomas.
We can have dinner there before we take the ferry over.”
“Do we have to dress?” “Not in the islands,” McGarvey told his wife.
“That’s the whole point.” “Because if we have to dress, we’re in trouble,” Kathleen said as if she hadn’t heard him. “I didn’t bring any good clothes. Just shorts and swimming suits and summer clothes.”
She sounded almost manic. “That’s fine, Katy,” McGarvey said. “I thought that if the restaurant in Frenchtown is nice, we might feel out of place dressed like this.” She wore a soft yellow maillot over which she had put on a linen skirt, sandals and a scarf around her neck. She looked like a model in a Club Med commercial. “You
