to Washington from a prestigious New York law firm to help out three presidents ago, strictly on a temporary basis. He was tall, slender, silver-haired, and as well put together as one would expect for a man in his position. He and McGarvey had respect, if not friendship, toward each other.
“Good luck,” Ansel said.
But Mellinger shook his head. “Prick,” he said half under his breath, and Ansel shot him a dirty look but said nothing, and the two of them got back in the Escalade and drove off.
“I don’t think he likes me,” McGarvey said, getting in Patterson’s car.
“A lot of people in this town don’t care for you,” Patterson said. “You’re old school. Hell, you even approved of Guantanamo.”
“I even participated,” McGarvey said. “We gave them a better chance than they gave us on nine/eleven.”
They were waved through the gate and headed up the drive in the direction of the Old Headquarters Building, but turned off before they reached the OHB’s circular drive and parking lot.
“Say that in front of a judge and you’ll be dead in the water,” Patterson said, eyeing him.
“If it gets that far,” McGarvey said. “You putting me up in a safe house here on the Campus?”
Patterson hesitated a moment. “If you promise not to run. Green and Boylan want to finish your debriefing, and Dick would like to have a word.”
“My son-in-law’s funeral is tomorrow. I’m going nowhere.”
Until afterward, was the unspoken finish to the sentence, but McGarvey didn’t amplify and Patterson thought it better not to pursue the matter. McGarvey was cooperating, and for now that was enough.
EIGHTEEN
The safe house was a small, two-story colonial in the woods away from the OHB, the white paint on the exterior peeling in places, and some weeds growing in spots in the gravel driveway indicating either that the place hadn’t seen much use lately, or that even the Company was lacking in nonessential maintenance tasks because of the economy. McGarvey expected both.
“Will I have minders?” McGarvey asked when they pulled up.
“Green and Boylan will be bunking with you for the time being,” Patterson said, and as he said it Pete opened the front door of the house, and smiled.
“Pretty girl,” McGarvey said.
“Yes, she is. And bright.” Patterson turned to him. “They have your jacket, your
McGarvey got out of the car but hung back for a moment. “They were called assignments, and the outcomes were what I had been ordered to accomplish. You might want to get that idea straight in your head, Carleton. Could be important. Soon.”
Carleton gave him a bleak look, and started to say something, but then thought better of it and drove off.
“Mr. Director,” Pete said. “They sent your things over from the airport, and we brought some spare clothes for you from your suitcase at the Farm. We want you to be comfortable.”
“How are my wife and daughter?” McGarvey asked on the broad porch.
Pete stepped aside to let him go into the house, then followed him and closed the door, making a show of not locking it, which wouldn’t have mattered in any case. “As well as can be expected, sir.”
“May I call them?”
“We’d appreciate it if you would hold off. Just until tonight. Dr. Sampson is with them this afternoon.”
Leonard Sampson was the company’s chief shrink, a bright, dedicated man. McGarvey couldn’t think of many people he’d rather have with Katy and Liz just now. “Anything from Otto yet?”
Pete’s eyebrows knitted. “We were hoping you might be able to shed a little light on his whereabouts.”
“I’ve been out of the country.”
“Yes, sir,” Pete said not pushing the query.
The house was in much better shape inside than out, with nice furnishings, but it smelled unused and musty, closed in for a long time. To the left was a living room with a river rock fireplace that someone had stupidly painted white, an enlarged inauguration photograph of President Langdon above the mantel, surprisingly with no halo. A dining room to the right was furnished with a cherrywood table, seating eight, and a breakfront filled with nice stemware. A number of thick files had been placed at the head of the table. Beyond the dining room, McGarvey assumed, was the kitchen through swinging half-doors. A guest bathroom was tucked into the stair hall that led back to perhaps the den.
Dan Green showed up at the head of the stairs and came down, a curious expression on his face, as if he had just heard something that he’d never even guessed at, likely something he’d read in McGarvey’s file that he was having a little trouble reconciling with what he’d thought he’d known.
“Good afternoon, Mr. McGarvey,” he said, and shook hands. “I trust you had a reasonably pleasant flight back. A spot of trouble in Frankfurt, or so I heard.”
“Nothing much,” McGarvey said.
Green’s left eyebrow rose, and he was about to speak, when Pete stepped in.
“Well, would you like some coffee, before we begin, Mr. Director,” she asked. “Are you hungry? Maybe you’d like to get a couple hours of sleep. Flying through time zones can wear a person to a frazzle.”
“Let’s just get started.”
“A beer?” Green asked.
“Sure,” McGarvey said, and he followed Pete into the dining room as Green went back to the kitchen.
“Would you like to clean up, splash some water on your face?” she asked. “Your things are in the front bedroom upstairs, first door on the left.”
“No,” McGarvey said. He took off his jacket, hung it over the back of a chair, and sat down at the opposite end of the table from Pete and the stack of files.
She hesitated for just a beat, but then sat down. Like Green she was dressed in jeans and a light pullover. They could have been coordinated, but the look was meant to be relaxing, not intimidating:
Green came back with the beer but no glass, again an old pal over for a barbecue in the backyard, and did a slight double take when he saw that McGarvey had chosen to put as much distance between himself and his interrogators.
He handed McGarvey the beer, and went to the window where he looked out at the driveway and the wooded hill in the distance on top of which one could see the antennas and satellite dishes on the roof of the OHB.
“Could we begin with the circumstances that led you to accept a job of work for North Korean intelligence?” Pete said. “It’s not quite clear from the incident file you provided us.”
“I’m under indictment for treason,” McGarvey said, but Pete waved him off, a horrified expression on her pleasantly round face.
“Heaven forbid, Mr. Director, it’s nothing like that at all. You’ve been charged, but certainly not indicted. This is merely a fact-finding session. I mean, we have most of the details, we’re simply trying to put everything into some sort of perspective. You understand.”
“No, I don’t,” McGarvey said. “Because whatever I have to say to you, will end up on the seventh floor, and by the time it gets to Justice, or the White House, it’ll all be sanitized to fit whatever the current preconception is.”
Dan Green turned around, a scowl on his oddly proportioned face. “Is that what you think this is all about?” he demanded. “We’re to accept your spin, and none of the rest of us have any other opinion?”
McGarvey looked at him. “Your opinions don’t count, Dan. Only mine do. That’s the drill they want to use to hang me.”
