you want me to do?”
“They didn’t say anything else to you?”
“They didn’t even want to look at me.”
McGarvey was a sharp bastard, easily still as good as his reputation, and he didn’t know that Kangas and Mustapha had been the triggermen on his son-in-law and for the IED at Arlington, otherwise he would have killed them.
“Stay where you are,” Sandberger ordered. “He’s probably coming over here next. I want to know when he leaves.”
“Yes, sir,” Weiss said. “I’d still like to take the bastard out myself, if the opportunity is there.”
Sandberger was about to tell him no, but he realized all of a sudden that he was being stupid. “If you get the chance, do it,” he said, and he broke the connection.
His bodyguards, drinking Cokes, were seated together at a table near the door. He waved them over.
“Kangas and Mustapha screwed up,” Sandberger told them. “McGarvey will be coming here tonight.”
“When?” Alphonse asked.
“I don’t know yet. But I have a spotter watching him.”
“What do you want us to do?”
“Station two of our people on each side of the driveway. He’ll probably be showing up in a cab, and I’ll have the tag number for our guys. I want him taken down, priority one.”
“What about us?” Hanson asked. He looked as if he were itching for a fight.
“You’re sticking with me, because I think we might have underestimated the son of a bitch. And if he actually makes it this far, I wouldn’t put it past him to know my room number.”
“There are two stairwells plus the elevators. We’ll need an extra hand if we’re to cover all three,” Alphonse said.
“I want one of the stairwells wired. One pound of Semtex should be enough.”
“Could be collateral damage.”
“We’ll blame it on McGarvey. He’s a ruthless son of a bitch who’s practically under indictment for treason, and who’s unhinged by the deaths of his wife, daughter, and son-in-law.”
“When do you want it done, sir?”
“Wait until we find out if he’s gotten past our people and is actually inside the hotel,” Sandberger said.
“Where will you be?” Hanson asked. “In case we have to fall back for some reason.”
“In the suite with a surprise, because if he gets that far it’ll mean at least one of you is down.”
Hanson smiled. “Not a chance in hell of that happening, Mr. Sandberger,” he said.
FORTY-SEVEN
McGarvey had walked the rest of the way up the path to the Hamara, but instead of going inside he handed the doorman a hundred-dollar bill and had him call for a taxi, which had just come through the blast-barrier entry that served both hotels.
“Where would you like to be taken, sir?” the doorman asked.
“The American embassy,” McGarvey said, and got in the cab.
Before the driver had got the cab turned around, McGarvey held another hundred-dollar bill over the seat. “Do you understand English?”
“Yes, sir,” the cabbie said. “Very much.”
“This is yours if you do exactly as I say with no questions.”
The driver looked uncertain for just a second but then he nodded and snatched the hundred. “Where do you want to go?”
“Not far. And when I tell you to stop, do it immediately. I’ll get out and you will drive away. Do you understand? There’ll be no shooting.”
“Yes, sir. Perfectly.”
McGarvey slid over to the driver’s side of the rear seat and unlatched the door but did not open it. “Now, head to the exit, slowly.”
The driver did as he was told, and at the end of the Hamara’s driveway McGarvey sat back so that his face and shoulders were in deeper shadow. “See the Mercedes parked by the blast barrier?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Drive close to it, slow down so I can get out, and then leave.”
The cabbie glanced in the rearview mirror for just a moment, and once they were out in the Baghdad Hotel’s driveway, still moving slowly, he swung close to the Mercedes and pulled up short.
McGarvey slipped out of the cab and drew his pistol as the driver immediately made for the exit through the concrete barriers.
Keeping low McGarvey used the retreating cab as a shield until at the last second he ducked around the trunk of the Mercedes and yanked open the passenger-side rear door, and slipped inside, laying the muzzle of the big pistol in the side of the spotter’s face.
Weiss was reaching for something on the console beside him, but McGarvey jammed the pistol harder.
“Do exactly as I say or you die now.”
Weiss stopped short.
“If you were reaching for a pistol, pick it up by the barrel and hand it back to me.”
For just a beat Weiss hesitated, but then he slowly handed a standard U.S. military-issue Beretta 92F 9mm autoloader over the seat.
McGarvey pocketed the weapon. “I assume that you work for Admin, and it was you who brought Kangas and Mustapha over to take me down on Sandberger’s orders.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Weiss said.
“If you know who I am, you’ll know what I’ve gone through, and you’ll have to guess that I don’t give a shit who I take out,” McGarvey said, his voice reasonable.
“Okay.”
“Was the IED at Arlington planted on Admin’s orders?”
“I don’t know,” Weiss said, but McGarvey slammed the muzzle of his Glock hard against the man’s cheek, opening a two-inch gash, which immediately began to bleed. “Christ!”
“Tell me what you do know,” McGarvey said.
“You can beat on me all you want, you bastard, but I don’t know,” Weiss said. “If it was a Admin operation it could only have been authorized by Mr. Sandberger or Mr. Remington. No one else in the company has the power to make that kind of a decision.”
McGarvey glanced over at the armed guards sitting just inside the blast barriers, but they hadn’t moved from their folding chairs. “Why were Kangas and Mustapha brought over here?”
“To kill you.”
“On Sandberger’s orders?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” McGarvey asked.
“Mr. Sandberger thought that it was likely you were coming here to assassinate him.”
“And why do you suppose I’d want to do something like that? What do you think I have against your boss?”
“Because you think he ordered the assassination of your son-in-law. And maybe had something to do with the Arlington thing.”
“You’re learning,” McGarvey said. “And you know goddamned well that your boss ordered the hits on my son-in-law and the newspaper reporter because they were getting too close to the Friday Club. And the IED at Arlington was meant for me, but a mistake was made.”
Weiss said nothing.
“Call Sandberger and tell him that you spotted me leaving in a cab, but that you have no idea where I was
