Is that worth dying for?”
“You’ll never take me back to Washington, and even if you did it wouldn’t do you any good. I have friends —”
“You’re right,” McGarvey said, and he fired one shot.
Sirens were approaching from the north by the time McGarvey made it down to the service floor and out onto the street. Before the police arrived at the hotel Hadid pulled up with the Range Rover, and McGarvey jumped in.
“Time to leave?” Hadid asked.
McGarvey nodded. “Time to leave.”
FORTY-NINE
It was one in the afternoon in Washington when Remington and his wife, Colleen, met for lunch at the George Hotel just down from Union Station. She’d remarked that it was an odd choice, but he hadn’t explained that he wanted to come here to satisfy a perverse curiosity to see where the
But she hadn’t complained, and in fact had stopped all her complaining after the dinner party at Foster’s home. She’d been impressed with her husband, and he’d even cut back on his drinking — because of the crisis mode Admin was in — which impressed her all the more.
“What made you think of this place?” she asked when their martinis came.
The dining room was nearly full, but the service was good.
Remington shrugged. “Someone mentioned the place. Thought we should give it a try.”
She looked around, and smiled. “I approve. Anyway, Gordo, I’m famished.”
Remington’s sat phone vibrated in his pocket and he hesitated whether to ignore the call, but with everything happening here in Washington and in Baghdad, he answered it. “Remington.”
Colleen shot him a disapproving look.
“We’re in deep shit over here, sir.” It was Peter Townsend, Sandberger’s administrative assistant, who’d done all of the nuts-and-bolts negotiations with the State Department reps in Baghdad. A lawyer by training, he’d served one term as a junior congressman from the Russian River area of California. He sounded shook up.
“What is it?”
“Mr. Sandberger was shot to death in his suite about an hour ago.”
Remington was struck dumb for just a moment, and it must have showed on his face because Colleen put down her drink and gave him a concerned, questioning look. “What about Hanson and Alphonse?”
“They were taken out, too, but it looks as if Mr. Sandberger killed Brody. It’s not making any sense to me, because Harry Weiss was found shot to death in his car a block from the hotel. What the hell is going on? I wasn’t told that we were facing any sort of a threat of this magnitude.”
It was McGarvey, of course. Couldn’t be anyone else, but for now they needed to do some serious damage control. “Okay, listen up. I’ll come there as quickly as possible, but it probably won’t be until tomorrow. In the meantime you’re the on-site supervisor as of this moment. I want the mess cleaned up before I get there. Get in touch with Captain Kabbani, he’s been of some help in the past.”
“His body was found in an alley a block from the hotel. He’d been shot to death at close range. You have to tell me what the hell is going on if you expect me to take care of this shit, because I have no idea what’s coming next. And what do I tell our guys that’ll make any sense?”
Remington didn’t have a clue, but Townsend was waiting. All of Admin was waiting because he’d just become president of the company. The easy way, he couldn’t help but think, and he smiled for just a moment, and his wife’s right eyebrow shot up.
“Goddamnit, I’m in the hot seat. I’m not a contractor, I’m a negotiator, a lawyer.”
“Do you know Stuart Marston?” Remington asked.
“Yes, of course I do. He’s been our point man at State. Helped put the deal through for us.”
“Call him, set up a meeting and tell him what you know—”
“I don’t know shit,” Townsend shouted.
“Calm down, and let me finish,” Remington said. Colleen was watching him, hanging on every word. “Tell Stu that we think it was Kirk McGarvey. The man’s gone over the edge, and he had some sort of a personal vendetta with Roland.”
“Holy shit,” Townsend said.
“Get a hold of yourself, Pete. Until I get there you’re Admin in Baghdad. Work with Marston. Work the problem, don’t let it work you.”
Townsend was silent for several beats, and when he came back he sounded as if he was coming down. “Do I mention McGarvey’s name? I mean the guy was the DCI at one time.”
“The FBI is looking for him, and Justice is considering bringing him up for treason,” Remington said. “So definitely mention his name. It’s something that guys like Marston understand.”
“It’s late here, I’ll call him in the morning.”
“Call him now. He needs to hear about this from us, not the Iraqi police.”
“You’re right.”
“I’ll get there as soon as I can. But keep in touch.”
“Will do,” Townsend said and he rang off.
Remington broke the connection and lowered the phone.
“Talk to me, Gordo,” Colleen said, keeping her voice low.
“Bit of a muckup over in B-town,” Remington said. “Roland and a couple of his people have been shot to death.”
“Good Lord,” Colleen said, but then he could see in her eyes that she understood the consequences as well as he did. “Do you actually have to go over there?”
“We’ll see,” Remington said, and he dialed Robert Foster’s private number, which would be rolled over to wherever the man was. Anywhere in the world.
On the third ring it was answered by a voice mail message. “Leave your name and number after the tone.” But before Remington could leave a message, Foster came on.
“Good afternoon, Gordon. Is something bothering you that you called this number?”
The waiter came over to take their order, but Remington waved him off and waited until he was out of earshot.
“I just received word that Roland was assassinated in Baghdad about an hour ago. His bodyguards were taken out, as was Baghdad’s chief of police.”
“That’s certainly a stunning development. Do you know who was behind this and why?”
“It was McGarvey,” Remington said. “Our operations over there are facing a potential meltdown. I’m flying over tonight to straighten it out.”
Foster’s reply was immediate. “No. I want you to remain here in Washington. Business as usual. Do you have any idea where Mr. McGarvey is at this moment? Certainly not still in Baghdad?”
“I’m not sure, but I believe he’ll try to get out of the country, probably either through Kuwait, the way he got in, or perhaps across the border into Turkey.”
“Is he receiving help from the CIA?”
“Unknown, but I’d say it’s fairly unlikely considering the charges Justice is preparing to file against him.”
“I was under the impression that you had arranged for some of your people to take him out.”
“Apparently they failed.”
“Are they dead?”
“I don’t know, they haven’t surfaced yet. Last I heard they had reached Baghdad.”
