“Did he come in alone?” Sandberger demanded.
“Wait, there’s a lot more. You said he was coming in under the name Tony Watkins, a freelance journalist, right?”
“Yes.”
“I would never have recognized him from the photographs I’ve seen. He’s in a disguise and a damned good one. Not so obvious so you wouldn’t take a second glance. I was close enough to the desk to hear the name, otherwise I would have missed him.”
“Did he make you?”
“He glanced over at me, but there was no reaction that I could see. He just got his key and went up. Elevator straight to the sixth floor, no stops in between.”
“Was he carrying any hardware that was obvious?”
“Probably a pistol, unless he’s crazy. But his only luggage was a small nylon overnight bag.”
“What else?”
“He came into the hotel alone, but I got a look at the car and driver who dropped him off. Didn’t get the tag number, but the guy driving was obviously an Iraqi.”
“Anyone we know?”
“I never saw him before. Anyway he just dropped McGarvey off in front and then drove off. The car was a Range Rover and shot up pretty good. Holes looked recent. Still shiny metal. Bandits on the Basra Highway, I imagine.”
Sandberger gripped the telephone a little tighter, checking his anger. It was the outcome he’d expected, because Kabbani had been an incompetent fool. Now the police chief was dead, the people he’d hired down south probably dead as well, and McGarvey was here in Baghdad. But it was not the outcome he’d hoped for.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Call Kangas and Mustapha. But wait until nightfall. I don’t want them doing a daylight operation. They can go in after dark. But you’ll have to stick it out there to see which way McGarvey moves, and keep us advised. But I’d rather you lose him than have him spot you. Are you clear on that point?”
“Yes, sir,” Weiss said. “But you have to understand that if I do lose him, and our guys miss, he’ll come after you.”
“Not the worst-case scenario,” Sandberger said, and he glanced over at his personal bodyguards, Carl Alphonse and Brody Hanson, seated at one of the tables by the entrance. Unlike the idiots Kabbani had sent to ambush McGarvey, and even Kangas and Mustapha, the two men with him now were among the best he’d ever worked with. Tough, ruthless, and, above all, capable. If they had any fault it was their arrogance. But they had the skills and experience to back it up.
McGarvey was here and he would not live through the night. Sandberger found that he was looking forward to getting back to Washington. He and Gordon would have to make a decision about Foster and the Friday Club. The money was fabulous but the risks were beginning to rise to an unacceptable level. Time to get out, he decided. But in order to do that Admin would have to manage a number of erasures.
Kangas and Mustapha were about to go downstairs to the bar for a couple of drinks and something to eat when the phone in their suite rang. This day had been long and boring, and at one point Mustapha had suggested they say the hell with it and head back to the States. Kangas answered and he recognized Weiss’s voice.
“He’s at the Baghdad Hotel as we thought he would be. He’s in six oh seven.”
“Did he come alone?”
“An Iraqi driver brought him in, but left immediately. And it didn’t look as if he was carrying any heavy hardware, though he’s almost certainly armed.”
“Where are you?” Kangas asked. He snapped his fingers and gestured to Mustapha that the mission was a go.
“Somewhere near enough so that I can watch his movements. He went upstairs around noon, and he hasn’t come down since.”
“Did he spot you?”
Weiss had supplied them with Knight’s Armament PDWs that, on full automatic, fired the 6 ? 35mm cartridge at seven hundred rounds per minute, and three thirty-round magazines each. With the stock folded and the suppressor removed the super-compact weapon was less than eighteen inches long. Mustapha was fixing his weapon diagonally across his chest with a big Velcro pad.
“He saw me, but I don’t think he felt that I was any sort of threat or he would have done something about it by now,” Weiss said, and he gave Kangas a description of McGarvey’s new look.
Kangas had another thought. “Where will Mr. Sandberger be tonight?”
“That’s none of your goddamn business.”
“Yes, it is. This guy came here to take him out. If we get over to the hotel too late he might be on his way over to wherever the boss is staying.”
“Mr. Sandberger is well protected.”
“Yeah, so was the pope.”
Mustapha was wearing a Kevlar vest and he pulled on a dark blue Windbreaker, which he zipped up. It was obvious he was carrying, but then so were a lot of others in the city.
“He’s staying at the Ritz-Carlton in the Green Zone.”
“Good. Tell him to stay there until we’re finished,” Kangas said. “We’re on our way.”
“Not until tonight.”
“We’ll handle this now,” Kangas said and hung up.
FORTY-FIVE
Well rested after sleeping all afternoon, McGarvey took a shower and dressed in blue jeans, a dark pullover, and dark blazer. The Glock 17 Hadid had supplied him with went in a holster on his hip, beneath the jacket, and the silencer and spare magazines in a pocket.
He went to the window and looked at the lights in the Green Zone across the river. Many sections of the city were dark or nearly dark, like his mood he thought. Otto was a friend, but he didn’t understand loss and rage. Nor should he need to understand.
Rencke called on the sat phone, just as McGarvey was about to walk out the door. “You may have more trouble coming your way.”
“What is it?”
“A pair of Admin’s tough guys showed up in Baghdad yesterday evening. Timothy Kangas and Ronni Mustapha. Ex-CIA NOCs. They were fired a few years ago for using excessive force, operating outside their charters, and more or less telling the establishment to screw itself. One of my programs monitoring Sandberger and his people tripped, but I didn’t catch it until a few minutes ago.”
“Are they staying with Sandberger, or Admin’s people?”
“No, and that’s what triggered the search engine. They’re staying at the Baghdad Airport Hotel, and they have open-ended first-class tickets on United, which was another trigger.”
“They know I’m here and they were sent over to take me out,” McGarvey said. “It makes getting a message to Sandberger that much easier.”
“I looked at these guys’ jackets, Mac. They’re good. And I suspect they’ve been ordered to stay away from Admin’s operations in the city. You’re a separate contract. But it doesn’t mean they won’t call for help if they think they need it.”
“It’ll hinge on what they know. My work name and this hotel.”
Rencke hesitated a second or two. “If they have that info it means we have a leak here. And it’d have to be someone fairly high up in Ops. Maybe even the seventh floor.”
“Work out a sting.”
“Shit, shit. I hope to hell I’m wrong, kemo sabe. Honest injun.”
