SEVENTY
Sergant Schilling came to the living room door at the same moment Whittaker was trying to reach his pilot by cell phone. It had to have been McGarvey’s doing, sending the helicopter away. But Cardillo was one of them, ferrying members of the Friday Club with no questions asked.
“The two cameras in front went down, and the lights are going out one at a time,” Schilling said.
“Something wrong with the power?” Foster asked.
Cardillo’s cell phone rang.
“I believe Mr. McGarvey shot out the cameras and is doing the same with the lights.”
“He’s right outside the house, then.”
“Yes, sir. But the only way in is through the front door, which I’ll cover.”
Cardillo’s cell phone rang a second time.
“Let Boberg know what’s going on.”
Cardillo’s phone was answered on the third ring. “Yes.”
“Why the hell did you leave?” Whittaker shouted, but all of a sudden he realized that he wasn’t hearing the helicopter’s cabin noises.
“Because I didn’t want you to get away before I had a chance to talk to you and Foster,” McGarvey said.
Whittaker was shaken, but not surprised. “The FBI is on its way out here in force,” he said. Foster and Schilling were staring at him.
“Not yet, David,” McGarvey said after a slight delay. “We’re monitoring calls from the house, including your cell phone.”
Whittaker held his hand over the cell phone microphone. “It’s McGarvey on my pilot’s cell phone. Can he get inside the house?”
“Only with explosives,” Schilling said.
“Unless you brought some Semtex you’re not getting in here.”
“I saw the bars on the window,” McGarvey said. “Makes you wonder what Foster is trying to protect. But I don’t need to blow my way inside, because you and Foster are going to let me in.”
“The hell you say.”
“We deciphered a flash drive that Remington gave to us before he was gunned down by his own people. It’s a Friday Club membership list. Impressive.”
“You’ve got nothing, you son of a bitch. You’re a traitor to your country.”
“We have the information on your laptop. Stupid to leave it in your office for just about anyone to grab. Otto told me that he built the machine, and he knew your user ID and password. Whittakercia? Come on, David.”
Schilling had stepped out into the stair hall, and he came back. “Boberg is on the way. Keep McGarvey talking.”
“All you have are the names of a number of American patriots who love their country enough to form a club, just like Kiwanis or Rotary.”
“Except Rotary wasn’t involved in Mexico last year or in Pyongyang a few months ago. Rotary hasn’t involved the Chinese in some kind of plot.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” Whittaker practically shouted, but he was rocked to the core. He knew what McGarvey was capable of. He had tried to warn Foster and the others, but none of them would listen, and now it was too late, unless McGarvey could be killed.
“There never was any polonium in Mexico, and none ever came across the border in Arizona. And we know that the shooters who took out the Chinese general in Pyongyang were South Koreans working for a Russian expediter in Tokyo who’d been hired by Howard McCann. And Howard was getting money from your club of patriots.”
Schilling switched off the living room lights and those in the stair hall. He was armed with a Franchi SPAS-12 automatic shotgun capable of firing four rounds per second. It was a devastating weapon at close range. “Stay in this room,” he said, and he disappeared into the darkness in the stair hall.
“Even if what you’re telling me was only partially true, it still proves nothing. How do we know this flash drive you mentioned was Remington’s?”
“I think Otto could make a case for it,” McGarvey said. “The only thing we haven’t figured out yet is what you people are really up to. Whatever it is involves the Chinese, of course. But to what purpose?”
Whittaker said nothing.
“So here’s what we’re going to do. If Mr. Boberg manages to kill me in the next few minutes, you will have won. But if I survive, I’m coming inside and you and I and Foster will have our little chat. Fair enough?”
Whittaker broke the connection. “He wants us to let him in so he can ask us about China.”
Foster was unfazed. “Fine.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Whittaker said, and he speed-dialed the CIA’s on-duty security officer, and he didn’t give a damn if McGarvey’s freak friend Otto Rencke was somehow monitoring his call.
The number didn’t answer until the fourth ring. “Security, Donald Briggs.”
“This is David Whittaker. I want someone to go up to my office right now, and check my computers.”
“Somone’s already on the way up, sir.”
“Why? What’s happening?”
“I’m not sure, Mr. Director. But one of the watch officers called and said there might be a security issue.”
“What sort of an issue?”
“Unknown.”
“I’ll hold,” Whittaker said, but then he knew what the issue was, and he knew that it had been his own sloppiness that made it possible. “Have there been any visitors to the building tonight. Within the past half hour or so?”
“Other than Mr. Adkins, I don’t know. But his passes were all still valid. I’ll have to check the log at the Reception Center.”
“Is Adkins still in the building?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Well, find out, you idiot! And if he’s still there, arrest him!”
“I’m on it, sir.”
Whittaker broke the connection. “Dick Adkins was in my office and it’s unlikely, but possible, he managed to get into my private laptop.”
Foster nodded. “Anything that would hurt us?”
“Names, dates.”
“No manifesto, I would hope, David.”
“No.”
“Well then, I think it’s time we telephone our friends at the FBI and the Marshal’s office,” Foster said. “Let them know that Mr. McGarvey is here to assassinate me, and that you came to warn me, and protect me. With your life, if need be.”
SEVENTY-ONE
McGarvey was crouched in the shadows on the west side of the house from where he had a good sight line all the way along the front wall, and down the hill toward the woods.
“Did you get any of that?” he said into his comms unit.
“Yeah, I managed to tap into the cell phone you took from the chopper pilot,” Otto replied. “It’s one of ours, standard issue for housekeeping and security. But Whittaker also called Campus security and he knows about
