just like the treadmill in the mornings, freeing McGarvey’s mind to drift to Otto Rencke, who, despite his eccentricities, or perhaps because of them, was possibly the most valuable man in the Agency. He was able to see things that no one else could. He’d once explained to McGarvey that he had worked on the problem of describing color to a blind Indian mathematician. “Toughest thing I ever did, ya know. Oh, wow, but it was cool.” Using a complicated series of tensor calculus matrices, he was able to first establish neutrality white. Then he separated the equations into their constituent parts; the way white light separates into a rainbow of colors through a prism. “The eighth-order equations were my prism, and in the end Ravi kissed me, and said, “I see. Thank you very much.” “
The same concept in reverse, representing very difficult mathematics by colors, was Otto’s breakthrough. He’d already quantified millions of pieces of seemingly random data and intelligence information into the form of mathematical equations, so now he could reduce the complicated decisions that an intelligence officer had to make into colors.
Pastels were at the edge of his understanding; not strong, not clear.
But lavender, and especially purple stood for very bad situations acts of terrorism, assassinations, even wars. To this point Rencke had never been wrong, not once. When a color showed up he could predict what was coming. They got dressed at seven. On the way down to the car they stopped at the third-floor computer center. This was where Otto usually worked, in the midst of the Agency’s mainframe and three interconnected Cray supercomputers. The huge, dimly lit blue room was kept cooler than the rest of the building. It smelled strongly of electronic equipment, and no one ever wanted to speak above a whisper.
Mysterious forces beyond human ken were in operation here. The computer was like the tabernacle that held the host on a Catholic Church altar; holy of holies. There were niches and alcoves scattered throughout the room, nestled amidst the equipment, where the human operators worked. They hadn’t seen Otto for most of the afternoon, though no one could say exactly when he had left. It was like that down here; he was an elusive figure, like the shadows beneath a shifting pattern of clouds. The niche where he usually worked was a filthy mess of computer printouts, paper cups, milk cartons and McDonald’s wrappers strewn on the floor and on a long worktable; wastepaper baskets overflowing, shredder baskets filled, classified satellite downloads lying everywhere. The infrared and visible light images appeared to be mostly of Eastern Europe and Russia. McGarvey recognized the Baltic coastlines of Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia up to Finland, and then the cities of Helsinki, Leningrad and as far east as Moscow. One of the monitors displayed the sword-and-shield logo of the old KGB against a pastel pink background. McGarvey touched enter, and the screen immediately went blank. “Doesn’t look like he wants anyone snooping around,” Yemm said. “Apparently not,” McGarvey replied absently. He stared at the blank screen. He was concerned. There was nothing currently on the front burner about the KGB. But Otto was in the middle of something. What? Time to talk to the Company shrink?
He looked at the piles of classified photographs littering the area.
He didn’t want to lose Otto. Or even worse, he didn’t want Otto to run amok; the entire CIA could suffer. The damage could ultimately be worse than what Aldrich Ames had done to them. He telephoned the computer center night duty supervisor and asked him to clean up the monitor area that Rencke had been using and secure any classified documents he found. “He won’t be happy, Mr. McGarvey.” I’ll talk to him.” On the way home he stared at the heavy traffic on the Parkway, suddenly depressed. It was dark already, and it was supposed to snow again. He shivered even though it was warm in the car. “Do you ever think about getting out of the business, Dick?” he asked. “Every day, boss,” Yemm replied. “Every day.” The answer seemed particularly bitter to McGarvey. But then everyone was in a screwed-up mood lately.
It had to be the weather. And for him it had to be that he had no real idea why he had accepted the President’s appointment. Time to step down. He’d done his bit. He’d fought the wars, though very often he had to wonder if what he had accomplished had really mattered at all, or if his career had been nothing but a wasted effort. And here he was now at the helm. It was a job he’d never wanted. Yet almost every DCI whom he’d served under had been in his estimation primarily a politician. Not a career intelligence officer, like in Britain. The CIA was falling apart. Had been for years. The Agency had become nothing more than a glorified extension of the White House; DCIs told the administration nothing more than it wanted to hear, when it wanted to hear it. Time for the truth. Trouble was that McGarvey didn’t know if he was up to the job.
SEVEN
SCOUT’S HONOR… THE WORDS WERE COMING BACK TO HAUNT HER.
He let himself in with his key, and his spirits lifted. It was good to be home, another Monday behind him. He entered the alarm code on the touch pad put his briefcase on the hall table, hung his coat in the closet and went back to the kitchen. Kathleen was putting a pan in the oven, and something on the stove smelled wonderful. “Hi, Katy, how was your day?” She gave a sudden start and turned around. She was dressed in a sweatshirt and blue jeans, and wore a pair of his white socks. On her the clothes looked like something out of a fashion magazine. “You startled me.” She looked like she had been pulled back from a mill on miles away against her will, and she resented it. But then she shook her head ruefully. “Sorry, darling. I guess I was daydreaming.” “I know the feeling.” He went around the counter and gave her a kiss. “Do I get to see what’s cooking?”
“Don’t push your luck, I don’t do this for just anybody.” She gave him a stern look, but she couldn’t hold it. She smiled. “Chili, corn bread and a salad. Down-home.” “Sounds good,” McGarvey said. “So, how was your day?” “Busy. How about you?” “It was definitely a Monday.” “Go change. I’ll make you a drink.” “You’ve got a deal,” he said, suddenly weary. He went upstairs, changed into a flannel shirt, jeans and moccasins. His eyes were bloodshot from the pool water, and his muscles were sore. Each year it seemed to get a little bit tougher to come back from a strong workout. He stopped and looked out the window. The wind had risen, and the snow had a definite slant. Bad night to be out. He shivered, for some reason thinking about bad nights like this one, and some a lot worse, when he’d been out; stalking his prey someone unexpected, some monster coming out of the blizzard and darkness. What other monsters were lurking out there now, coming toward them? He couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding, of menace that had been hanging over him like a dark cloud for the past several days. Time to get out, the thought once again flashed across his mind. Go. Run. Run. Run. Find a hole and jump in like he had done before. For the sake of Katy and Liz. Or for self-preservation?
He’d never had the guts to ask himself that question. Maybe it was time to start. Self-doubt settled heavy on his shoulders, pushing him down; a nearly impossible burden to bear. He walked out of the bedroom and went downstairs, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, grasping for a lightness that he didn’t feel because he owed it to his wife to try at least as hard as she was trying. She had poured him a cognac neat, and she was laying out the place settings at the counter.
“I thought we’d eat in here. That okay with you?” She had turned on the gas logs in the French fireplace that separated the kitchen from the family room. McGarvey nodded. “How was your day, Katy?” She shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Nothing unusual.” “You look a little frazzled.” She was on the other side of the counter, and she cocked her head as if she was listening for something. “The confirmation hearings start tomorrow, don’t they?” “Is that what’s getting to you?”
“I saw the Post this morning. They think that you’re going to have a bad time of it. Are they going to stop you?”
He was relieved that that’s all that was bothering her. They’d not talked very much about the Senate hearings except that their lives, hers included, would be under a microscope for a week or two. It was an inevitable part of the process. Worse than running for elected office because you couldn’t campaign. No one was supposed to want this job. If you did, you were automatically suspect. “They might. Would that bother you?” She thought about it. “What if you are confirmed as DCI, Kirk? How long will you keep the job?” “I don’t know. Maybe I won’t take it in the first place. Look, Katy, if ”
“I’m serious. Would you make a career of it like Roland did? Peggy told me that it almost killed him.” She was stressed out. “Now that we’ve come this far I want some time with you.” “I’ll call the President in the morning and tell him I’m out.” “No,” Kathleen replied sharply. “It’s not worth it, what it’s doing to you. I’ll stick it out until
