So far, whoever was directing the attacks had a good source of intelligence, so they knew where the lighthouse was located. If someone was coming, it would be at night.
“We’re sticking together,” he said.
“You think it’s going to happen tonight?”
“Yes, before we get a chance to settle in.”
Pete looked down at the bay, beautiful and peaceful just now, and she shook her head. “They’ve got some goddamned good intel and a lot of balls to come after us,” she said. “But who and why?”
McGarvey phoned Otto, who answered as usual on the first ring. It was just before noon in Washington.
“How are you guys?”
“We’re at the lighthouse having supper. But I think whatever’s going to happen will be tonight. The question is, where the hell are they getting their intel? Has Lou come up with anything? Even a hint?”
“To this point, she has a fairly high confidence, near 60 percent, that whoever is behind this shit has access to a government-level intelligence source. She’s actually lowered Hammond’s probability because she doesn’t think even someone with his money would have that kind of a connection.”
“What does it smell like?”
“The GRU,” Otto said without hesitation.
“Then let’s take a look at Hammond’s business connections with anyone in Russia. Especially business deals that have gone bad in the past—in which case, someone might owe him a favor—or business deals in the making that could make use of Hammond’s connections anywhere in the world outside Russia’s borders.”
“That could take a while, but I’m on it,” Otto said.
Pete held up a hand.
“Hang on,” McGarvey told Otto.
“You’re assuming that Hammond is behind this thing,” Pete said. “But we don’t have a shred of direct evidence. So you guys had better not narrow your vision so that you ignore something else that might be staring us in the face.”
“Did you hear that?” McGarvey asked.
“Yes, and she’s right,” Otto said. “And it’s my fault. I’ve given Lou too short a leash. She’s not completely AI yet, which means she tends to interpret everything literally. I’m going to have to do a major tweak to her programming to let her think outside the box, but without getting swamped by minutiae like what’s always bogged down the NSA’s telephone intercept programs.”
“My bet is still on Hammond,” McGarvey said. “Just a gut feeling.”
“I’m on it,” Otto said. “In the meantime, what’s your plan for tonight? Are you guys going to bunker in and let them come to you?”
“No. We’re going out into the field after dark and set up our own ambush.”
SIXTY-TWO
Twenty minutes out from Athens International Airport, Bender got a phone call from his boss, Harold Kallek. It was around five in the afternoon local, which put it at eleven in the morning in D.C.
“Clarke, do you want to tell me what the hell you’re doing?” the head of the FBI demanded. He did not sound happy.
“Good morning, Mr. Director,” Bender said. “We’re following up on a couple of leads that I felt had to be done in face-to-face interviews. Has Mr. Thalley complained that I commandeered one of his agents?” Morton Thalley was the New York SAC.
“No. But I just got off the phone with one of Thomas Hammond’s attorneys, who wanted to know why the hell you were harassing his client.”
“I asked him for information on the death of his employee who’d apparently been working with a Russian diplomatic aide who was murdered the night before.”
“Not your case.”
“No, sir. But my real reason for interviewing the man was to find out if he knew Mr. McGarvey.”
“And?”
“He said—his words: ‘The son of a bitch screwed me out of a significant amount of money a couple of years ago. And it pissed me off.’”
“We already knew that,” Kallek said.
“Yes, sir. But I wanted to know if he still harbored any resentment. It’s obvious he does.”
“It doesn’t rise to the level of a conspirator. From what I understand of the man, he’s a ruthless bastard, but not a murderer.”
“I don’t know, sir. But I got the distinct impression that if he’d had a gun in his hand and McGarvey were standing in front of him, he wouldn’t have hesitated to pull the trigger.”
“Right now, it’s a moot point. We have no chain of evidence linking Hammond to the attempts that were made on McGarvey’s life.”
“No, sir, but I have established a motive.”
“A possible motive,” Kallek said. “Where are you at this moment?”
“We’ll be landing in Athens in a few minutes, and from there, we’re going to take a helicopter out to Serifos.”
“McGarvey will send you packing if he doesn’t shoot you.”
“I don’t think the latter is a real possibility, sir.”
“Of course not, but he’s not likely to cooperate with you. So what do you hope to gain?”
“His reaction when I tell him about our interview with Hammond.”
Kallek was silent for a beat or two, and when he came back, his tone was measured. “I want you to hear me, Mr. Bender. Are you and Mrs. Sherman armed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Under no circumstances will you remain on the island after your interview. As a matter of fact, I want you to have the helicopter service hold until you’re finished, and return you immediately to Athens International, where you will come home.”
“That was my intention. Just the interview to gauge Mr. McGarvey’s reaction.”
“After which, you will leave. Am I clear?”
“Perfectly, Mr. Director.”
Hammond and Susan came up from the beach before six to change for an early dinner. He wanted to walk over to the casino and play some high-stakes baccarat. They had talked a little about the game and the players usually found around the tables these days—mostly Russian and Chinese megarich who had replaced Arabs after oil prices had dropped to drastically low levels.
They had avoided discussing the visit by the FBI agents at the hotel earlier until now.
