“Anything else?” McGarvey asked, holding his anger in check.
“No, sir,” the clerk said. “Shall I have your bag taken up?”
“Yes, please do,” McGarvey said tightly, and he took the room key card from the clerk.
He handed the bellman ten dollars and made his way across the lobby past the piano player, and down two stairs to the nearly empty coffee shop. He spotted Gloria seated in a corner booth, and it was all he could do not to turn on his heel, retrieve his bag, and check into another hotel before he got her killed. She had no idea of the magnitude of her foolishness following him here. And he was disappointed in Otto for allowing this to happen, because without him he didn’t think she would have made it this far.
She looked up as he approached, a big smile on her face that faded almost immediately when she saw his mood.
He didn’t sit down. “Let’s go, dear,” he said.
The waiter came over. “May I bring you something, sir?”
“No,” McGarvey said. “We’re leaving.” He stepped aside for Gloria to get up, then took her elbow and propelled her out of the coffee shop and across the lobby to the elevators. He knew that he was hurting her arm, but she didn’t say anything, or try to pull away. They didn’t speak on the way up to the tenth floor, nor did he release his grip.
No one was in the corridor when they got off the elevator. McGarvey let them into the suite, and secured the safety chain. All the lights were on, and the only sound was from a slowly moving ceiling fan, but before Gloria could say anything he motioned for her to hold her silence.
He took his pistol out of the leather case, checked to make sure that it was ready to fire, then laid the case on the hall table before he hurriedly checked out the large sitting room, huge bedroom, two palatial bathrooms, and closets. His B4 bag was laid out on the king-size bed, and Gloria’s bag was hanging in one of the closets.
It was possible that since Gloria’s arrival had probably been unexpected there’d been no time to plant bugs in the suite, something he’d hoped might happen. He’d planned on giving some disinformation to whoever was listening, which wasn’t likely now.
He walked slowly back into the sitting room, where Gloria had remained in the entry hall. “What are you doing here?” he asked. He laid his pistol on the coffee table, and pulled off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the big sectional.
“I’m your backup in case something goes wrong,” she said, coming into the sitting room. “There’s beer in the minibar.”
“You’re leaving first thing in the morning,” he said, going to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked toward the parliament building and courthouse complex. From this vantage point it could have been any large city at night; anonymous and therefore safe.
“Otto thought me coming over was a good idea.”
McGarvey looked at her reflection in the dark glass. “Otto’s smart but naïve and you’re a beautiful woman, you could have convinced him of anything.”
“I resent that,” she flared. “I’m a damned good field officer, and I don’t need to use sex to get what I want.”
“Perhaps not, but you do try,” McGarvey said. He turned back to her. “What exactly do you think you can do for me by being here? You’re not my wife, and the opposition knows that, so they’ll have to guess that you’re a CIA agent.”
“That’s right. If I can get them to watch me, you can make an end run.”
“Is that what you were taught at the Farm?”
“Sleight of hand? Yes. It works.”
“Not in the real world,” McGarvey told her. He was tired already, and he had the rest of the night ahead of him. “I want you to stay here in the room tonight, and first thing in the morning you can take a cab out to the airport, catch the first flight out. But I don’t want you to say anything to anyone here in the hotel. As far as anyone here is concerned, you’re Mrs. McGarvey heading out to do some shopping.”
Gloria’s eyes were suddenly bright. “Are you going out tonight?”
McGarvey was having a hard time believing she wasn’t a complete fool. “Yes, but you’re staying put.”
“I can help—”
“You’d get us both killed.”
“¡Hijo de puta!” she shouted. “I want to help you.”
McGarvey was across the room to her in three steps. He shoved her down on the couch, his knee between her legs, and he held her there against her struggles, his face inches from hers. “I work alone,” he said harshly.
She tried to push him away, but he was too strong.
“You have no idea what I’m capable of doing. How easy it is for me to kill.”
“You’re a soldier—”
“No, goddammit. I’m an assassin. A thing that my own country can’t acknowledge. Something my wife despises. Something that if my neighbors knew would send them running away from me in absolute terror. Something that each time I recite the Pledge of Allegiance I have to skip the words ‘under God,’ because I’m not a hypocrite, too. Because of me my wife has been kidnapped, beaten, tortured, and nearly killed. My daughter was nearly killed when she was pregnant. She lost that baby and can’t have others. All because of me.”
Gloria was looking up at him, her rage gone as quickly as it had come. “Kirk,” she said softly. “I’m in love with you.”
McGarvey released his hold on her and got up. “Go home.”
“I love you.”
“Before you get me killed like you did your partner.”
FIFTY-FOUR
It was shortly after ten in the evening on the surface when the Russian-built Foxtrot Class diesel-electric submarine, drifting slowly at a depth of one hundred meters, began to pick up a sharp increase in traffic. They had passed Europa Point, most commonly known as the Rock of Gibraltar, four hours ago and from their present position it was less than fifteen kilometers farther to the west before they would clear Cape Spartel on the African continent and finally be out into the open Atlantic.
Graham stood in the passageway around the corner from the control room from where he could look over the shoulders of his two sonar operators, and still issue orders to his fire control crew.
“Are you picking up any military traffic?” he asked the Libyan operator who was even better than the Iranian officer who’d come off the DistalVolente.
“It’s hard to tell, sir, with all the clutter up there,” Ensign Isomil answered respectfully. Ever since the incident yesterday when Graham had punished the young operator for insubordination, and had sidestepped al-Abbas’s attempt at mutiny, everyone aboard the boat had sharpened up. The transformation had occurred even sooner than Graham had hoped it would. For the first time he was beginning to think that they had more than an even chance to succeed.
“I’m less interested in the ship types than I am if you’re hearing any active sonar. Especially at the western end of the strait.”
The Libyan officer looked up, and shook his head. “Nothing so far, Captain. Do you think they are looking for us?”
“It’s a possibility,” Graham said. “But once we clear Spartel we should be home free. So I want you to pay special attention to any target that might even hint at being military.”
“That would mean they knew we didn’t scuttle our boat, and that we’re still alive,” the sonar operator said.
Graham’s Iranian sonar man looked up as if to say that the Libyan had no idea what they were facing, and Graham nodded.
He had his crew and now he meant to keep them sharp through the strait and all the way across the Atlantic. His Iranians knew that their chances for survival were slim, but they were fanatics for the cause, unlike the Libyans who were merely following orders. It was one of the reasons he had promoted Captain Ziyax to work as his XO rather than kill the man. It did his arrogant Iranian crew good to take orders from a Libyan, whom they considered inferior, as well as an infidel who scarcely rated any consideration.