The president finished his call, and ordered everyone except Berndt and Adkins out. When the door was closed he came around his desk. “What ecological disaster?”
“The sub was where McGarvey figured it would be, and he and a SEAL team managed to stop the attack, but the boat was badly damaged,” Adkins said. “The Coast Guard is on site to evaluate the situation, but at the very least there’s a significant diesel oil spill into the river. The media is already down there wanting to know what’s going on. Problem is that nobody other than us and McGarvey’s team has the answers.”
“What about nuclear weapons?” the president asked.
“At least one, possibly more,” Adkins reported. “Mac thinks there’s a good chance we’ll also be facing a nuclear materials spill, which we had to warn the Coast Guard about.”
The president turned and looked out the thick Lexan windows toward the Rose Garden. “Were any of our people injured?” he asked.
“One of the SEAL team members was shot to death,” Adkins said.
“How about the terrorists?”
“We’ve recovered three bodies so far, but everyone aboard the sub is dead,” Adkins said. He glanced at Berndt who had a strong feeling what was coming next.
“What about Graham?”
“Somebody escaped from the sub, got past Mac and the others, and stole the Special Operations boat the SEAL team borrowed from the navy.”
The president turned back. “Was it Graham?”
Adkins shrugged. “Unknown, Mr. President,” he said.
“How’d Mac and the SEAL team get back to the Farm?” Berndt asked. “It’s a long swim.”
“His daughter and son-in-law run the facility. Mac and the others swam ashore just above Yorktown and used a cell phone to call for help. They were picked up in a van and brought back to Camp Peary. It was the middle of the night and apparently no one saw a thing. That’s national parkland along the river there.”
“What about the boat?” Berndt asked.
“A Matthews County Sheriff’s deputy found it abandoned at a commercial dock between Newport News and Hampton.”
The president was surprised. “That’s just across from the navy base.”
“I think McGarvey was right about the Brit all along,” Berndt said, not surprised at all. “He did the same thing in Panama, abandoning his crew when the mission fell apart. By the time anybody realized he was gone he’d made his escape.”
“Well, unless he has help, he won’t get out of the country,” the president said.
“Don’t count on it, sir,” Adkins said. “The man has been ahead of us every step of the way.”
“But only one step,” the president said. “McGarvey’s stopped him twice.”
“There’ll be a third time, unless we get to bin Laden first,” Berndt said. He could feel it in his bones. No matter what else they would have to face in the near term, bin Laden was the key.
“I agree,” President Haynes said. “Will McGarvey go back to Pakistan and finish the job?”
“Mr. President, I don’t think any power on earth could stop him,” Adkins replied.
SIXTY-EIGHT
McGarvey got off the phone with Adkins a few minutes before ten, and walked across the compound from the BOQ to the five-bed field hospital housed in a World War II — style Quonset hut. It was operations as normal at the training camp, and so far no one had taken undue notice of him or the SEAL team that Todd had rescued early this morning.
A doctor had come down from Bethesda to tend to MacKeever’s and Ercoli’s concussion injuries. They’d started to swim aft toward the escape trunk hatch when the bow section of the boat had exploded. It was the only reason they’d survived. Both men had sustained damage to their ears and eyes, and Ercoli’s left hip and knee had been severely dislocated.
But that small bit of luck was nothing against Terri Jackson’s death and the growing probability that it was Graham who had escaped from the sub, sabotaged the escape trunk, and had made off with the SOC. The Coast Guard had found a small inflatable with Libyan navy markings drifting downriver. Whoever had locked out of the submarine had probably intended to use it to make their escape, but had seized the opportunity of taking the SEALs’ boat. The entire operation had Graham’s signature written all over it.
“The boat was found near Newport News,” Adkins had told him.
“Get an FBI team down there right away to look for trace evidence,” McGarvey suggested.
“The county cops found it tied up at a sightseeing dock, and from what I understand they found no evidence of a crime so they turned it over to the navy. Figured someone on base had gotten drunk and took it for a joy ride.”
“Get Puckett to run interference for Jackson and his people. I have a feeling they’re going to be in a tight spot as soon as they report in.”
“How’s Jackson taking it?” Adkins asked.
“I don’t know, Dick,” McGarvey said. He could put himself in Jackson’s shoes, he’d almost lost Katy on more than one occasion, but the man had become a blank slate from the moment McGarvey had brought Terri’s body back to the control room. There’d been no rage, no tears, no blame. Jackson had carried on as a fire-team leader, making sure that MacKeever and Ercoli were well taken care of, and then retreated with Dillon to write the end-of-mission report.
Nor had he been able to get a read on Dillon or the other two. They had pulled together as a unit, them against everyone else, including McGarvey.
“Well, you’d better keep them isolated for now,” Adkins said. “The Coast Guard has taken over just downriver from you, and they’re stonewalling the media. Won’t be long before some wise guy realizes that the Farm is less than five miles away, and they come knocking at our door.”
“I’ll give Todd and Liz the heads-up, but any minute now the navy is going to get real interested in talking to Jackson and Dillon.”
“I’ll talk to Puckett right away,” Adkins said. “In the meantime, the Bureau has put out an APB on Graham, but I have a feeling it’s already too late.”
“If it was Graham, and I’m betting it was, he had his escape worked out before he ever set foot on that submarine,” McGarvey said, but then stopped. The last word had caught in his throat. Suddenly he had it. He knew how Graham meant to escape and where he was going. “We might get lucky this time, as long as nobody gets in his way,” McGarvey added, not really believing it, or wanting it.
He needed Graham to escape. It was the only way now to get to bin Laden. The Brit was going to trade his life for the al-Quaida leader’s.
“How about you?” Adkins asked, apparently not catching the change in McGarvey’s voice. “The president sends his thanks.”
“And he wants to know if I’m going back to Pakistan to finish the job.”
“Something like that.”
“I’m coming up to the Building this afternoon,” McGarvey said. “Have Gloria Ibenez meet me in Otto’s office, and we’ll work it out.”
“It?” Adkins asked.
“I’m going after bin Laden again,” McGarvey said.
“I see,” Adkins had said, and he’d sounded like a man caught up in the middle of something that terrified him. “Do you know where he’s hiding?”
“No, but I know how to find out.”
Dillon was alone, nursing a cup of coffee in the break room, when McGarvey went in and sat down across from him.
“How’s FX?”
Dillon shook his head. “I thought I knew him pretty well, but I just don’t know. At any minute I expect him to blow sky-high. I would. But there’s nothing.”