“We’ll wait,”
McGarvey told his daughter. “I want Todd to call me the minute they land. Nikolayev can be put up in the VIP quarters at Andrews until we find out what he knows.” “It has to be something, Dad. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have bugged out of Moscow the way he did, and the SVR wouldn’t be so hot to find him.” “We’ll see soon enough,” McGarvey said. “In the meantime, did you get any sleep this afternoon?” “A couple of hours,” she said. “I’m too keyed up.” “Nightmares?” Stenzel asked gently. She shot him a defiant look. But then nodded. “I’m holding my baby and someone is coming to take her away from me.” She lowered her eyes. McGarvey almost lost it. Like Todd, he wanted to lash out, to rip off somebody’s arms. But he didn’t have a target. Yet. “I can give you something,” Stenzel suggested, but Elizabeth shook her head.
“No drugs,” she said. “At least I know the nightmares are my own.”
“How do you feel, sweetheart?” McGarvey asked her. “Physically, I mean.” “A lot better than I think I should.” She gave Stenzel another defiant look. “How about going for a walk?” Grassinger came to the kitchen door. He gave McGarvey a nod. “Now, but not after dark, Mr.
Director.” “A short walk,” McGarvey told his daughter. They got their coats and boots, and when they were dressed, McGarvey transferred his Walther PPK into an outer pocket. Elizabeth also carried the compact German police pistol, and she put hers in an outside pocket, too. The snow had stopped for the moment, and it had turned sharply colder, so they could see their breath. They started off behind the house toward the riding arena that was housed in a long, corrugated metal building that was even bigger than the barn. The only footprints in the snow along the path were their own. The sky was dark and low, casting a gloomy pall over the dark woods and gray fields. “I was starting to get claustrophobic in there,” Elizabeth said. “I know how you feel,”
McGarvey replied absently. He couldn’t stop thinking about her nightmare. “What’s wrong with Mother?” she asked.
“She’s overloaded with everything that’s been happening ”
“That’s not true,” Elizabeth cut him off. “Not Mother. She’s stronger than that.
A lot stronger.” “I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” McGarvey admitted tiredly. “Hell, even Stenzel doesn’t know for sure. She’s had every test in the world, and they’ve all come up negative. There’s nothing physical that they can find.” “She acts like a zombie one minute, and completely normal the next. I’m telling you that being around her is like being in the Twilight Zone. She’s my mother, and yet she’s not. She’s like a stranger.” They stopped. “Part of it is because of what happened to you in Vail. It tipped her over the edge.”
Elizabeth looked inward. “Todd said that she called the hospital a bunch of times. He said she was like a crazy woman.” “I know, sweetheart. All we can do is get over this hump, then we’ll get her some help.” Elizabeth touched her father’s sleeve. “Is this almost over?” He looked into her eyes, which were older than her years. He gave her a reassuring smile. “Soon, Liz. Real soon. I promise.”
THURSDAY
THIRTY-SEVEN
“WHO IS MY ASSASSIN?” McGARVEY ASKED.
On the bridge across the Potomac south of the city the sodium vapor lights were a harsh violet, interfering with McGarvey’s view of the White House, the Capitol Building and the Washington Monument. He rode shotgun beside an unhappy Grassinger in an Office of Security Ford Explorer. It was after two-thirty in the morning, and Nikolayev was ready to talk. Despite Security’s sharp warnings to stay put, McGarvey felt that he had no other choice but to go see the man. Find out what they were facing. Whatever was going to happen would go down within the next twenty-four hours or so. McGarvey was certain of it. They would lay out the bait, set the trap and sit back to wait. Nikolayev was the key, as he had been since he’d gone walkabout in August. The Capital Beltway was all but deserted. The weather system that had dumped eleven inches of snow on the Washington area in the last week was gone, leaving behind near-zero temperatures and a crystal clear sky. It was as if the entire city was holding its collective breath, waiting for the next shoe to drop. This was ancient Rome, with her granite buildings, senators and monuments. And the barbarians were massing at the gates. “Pardon me, Mr. Director, but wouldn’t it have been easier to bring this Russian to Cropley,” Grassinger asked. He drove with his eyes constantly scanning his mirrors. A Mac 10 was ready in the rack in front of him, and another was lying on the seat between him and McGarvey. “Someone might be watching,” McGarvey said.
“I don’t want him spotted, and I definitely don’t want to lead anybody back to the safe house yet.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Grassinger said.
“The ‘yet.” ”
“This won’t be easy,” McGarvey said. They took the Beltway exit to Andrews main gate. “Bad police work,” Grassinger murmured. “Maybe. But we’ll do it my way.” The air force cops at the gate stiffened to attention and passed them through when they realized who McGarvey was. The base was as quiet as the highway. The CIA’s Gulfstream had been the last flight of the night, and nothing was leaving until after dawn. Grassinger drove them directly across the base to the VIP quarters housed on the top floor of a three-story building next to base headquarters. The Charge of Quarters was expecting them, and he passed them directly up. Todd met them in the dayroom that looked off toward the runways and rotating beacon atop the control tower. He’d been going for forty- eight hours straight without rest, and he looked haggard, but determined. “He won’t talk to me,”
Todd said. “He keeps repeating that he’ll wait until he sees you.”
“Where’s Otto?” McGarvey asked. “In there with him. They’ve been drinking vodka and talking about old times.” “Which old times are those?” McGarvey asked. “I don’t know. That’s what Otto says every time he comes out to ask for more vodka.” Todd turned to Grassinger.
“You guys shouldn’t have left Mac off the reservation. We could have brought Nikolayev out to the house.” “My call,” McGarvey said. “Wait out here with Jim, I shouldn’t be too long.” “I want to sit in ” Todd started. “No.” McGarvey went down the hall to the west suite, knocked once and went inside. Otto and Nikolayev sat across from each other, a coffee table laden with vodka, glasses and trays of crackers and cheeses and caviar, between them. A stack of file folders was piled up on the floor next to where Nikolayev sat. They looked up, Otto with a startled expression, like a deer caught in headlights, and Nikolayev with an expectant, interested smile, like a scholar ready for a student’s question. “Oh, wow, Mac, I got him,” Otto gushed. He jumped up. “This is Dr. Nikolayev. He promised to help us.” “Good job, Otto,” McGarvey said. His eyes never left NikolayeVs. “Why don’t you give us a few minutes alone to get acquainted?” Otto hopped hesitantly from one foot to the other, but then he nodded. “Sure.” He glanced at the Russian. “Anyway, we’re almost there.” He went out the door, closing it softly behind him. “Dawbm Ootm, Guspadyna Nikolayev,”
McGarvey said. Good morning, Mr. Nikolayev. “Actually it’s Dr.
Nikolayev, Mr. Director. But please, you may call me Anatoli Nikolaevich.” Nikolayev motioned for McGarvey to have a seat.
“Please.” “Why did you leave Moscow?” McGarvey asked. He went to the door and checked the corridor to make sure that no one was there, listening. “Because of something I found out,” Nikolayev said, watching McGarvey’s movements. “What was that, exactly?” McGarvey checked the windows and drew the blinds. He stopped and directed his gaze toward the Russian. “I was doing research for a book, about the KGB during the Cold War years, when I stumbled across references to a General Baranov operation that I thought had been discussed but never implemented. Network Martyrs.” “What next?” McGarvey prompted. He checked the telephone, but the line was dead. Nevertheless, he unplugged it from the wall. “When I began to realize that the operation might be closing down, I made an appointment to see an old Department Viktor chief of staff. Gennadi Zhuralev. But they got to him before we could talk.” McGarvey took out what appeared to be a penlight from a pocket and used it to scan
