“Calder?”
“It would be a hell of a coincidence if it weren’t him,” Otto said. “Blankenship wanted this to remain an internal matter, but I think Tom’s too smart for him. I gave the DC metro cops and Virginia state police the heads-up with Tom’s description and the car he’s driving — or least the one he left the gate with.”
“He knows we’re on to him, so he’s not going to stick around,” Alex said. “Have you checked Dulles, Reagan, and BWI?”
“Yes, but there’s nothing under Calder’s name.”
“Bertie always kept several sets of decent working papers within easy reach. Maybe something to change his appearance — a wig, different glasses. It’s not difficult.”
“I’ll call Blankenship and have him send people to all three airports,” McGarvey said. “We might get lucky. In the meantime, have the airport cops search the long-term lots for his car.”
“If I were Bertie, I’d have a spare set of plates,” Alex said. “Out of state, maybe even out of country, and not so easy to quickly trace.”
“It would help if we knew where he was going,” Pete suggested.
They were all strapped in because of some turbulence on their descent, and Alex looked out the window. “I have a wild-assed idea where he might be headed, but it’d be pretty tough, even for someone like him.”
“Where?” McGarvey asked.
She looked at him. “Kirkuk.”
“Why?” Pete asked, but then she got it just after McGarvey did.
“You said the idea was to explode the thing,” he said. “Make it look as if the Iraqis were trying some last-ditch stand. But that was more than ten years ago. No reason for something like that now.”
“Not in your mind, not even in mine, but we’re talking about Bertie Russell.”
“A seriously disturbed man.”
Alex nodded. “But not in the way you think,” she said. “He was a superpatriot — though we called him the Cynic because he thought our country was going to hell in a handbasket. He said we’d sold out to the Japanese and Germans after the Second World War, and now we were selling out to the Chinese because we were losing the economic war.”
“Sane people don’t go around chewing off the faces of people they’ve just killed,” Pete said.
“He was rabid about the Vietnam War. Said we had bungled it badly. The White House, starting with JFK, had screwed the pooch, and by the time it was Johnson’s and Nixon’s turns, they made things even worse. Bertie said if we had fought the war like the Montagnards had — like we had in the beginning — we wouldn’t have lost.”
“So he was willing to do something about Iraq,” McGarvey said. “Change things. But he couldn’t have done it alone. He must have help from somewhere.”
“A lot of the top brass over at the Pentagon were in love with him, or at least they agreed with him. He pretty much had free access to Iraq anytime he wanted.” Alex smiled a little. “But stuff like that is what makes a good NOC — the ability to make friends and set up contacts who can help you down the line when you need it.”
“Like now,” Pete said. She turned to McGarvey. “Would it be worth trying to find out who he’s been talking with over there lately?”
“We could try, but I doubt if anyone would give us anything worthwhile.”
“He liked Paris, so it could be he’ll start there,” Alex said. “So did George. One of the reasons I went there. That, and Mossad’s travel bureau.”
“I’ll scan every Paris-bound flight leaving from those three airports at any time today,” Otto said.
“You might want to stretch it out for a few days,” Alex said. “Could be he’ll go to ground somewhere close for the time being.”
“He could be driving west, maybe to Chicago,” McGarvey said. “Anywhere.”
“That’s right, but I think he’ll end up in Iraq one way or another,” Alex said. “One thing is certain: whatever he does will be a misdirection. He’ll get us looking one way while he slips off in another.”
“I’ll check every airline that leaves for Paris anywhere from the continental U.S. for the next three days.”
“Under what parameters?” Pete asked.
“That’s easy,” Otto told her. “I don’t think Calder was planning on going anywhere until after he came to my office and talked to me this morning. I’ll check reservations made starting then.”
“He knows how to backdate them,” Alex said. “Make it look as if he made the reservations last week, or last month.”
“I’ll find out,” Otto said.
McGarvey phoned Bob Blankenship at Langley, and when the chief of security answered, he sounded out of breath and very short-tempered.
“What?”
“Any sign of Tom?”
“I don’t know what the hell you and Rencke have cooked up, but I’m having a real hard time picturing Tom Calder as our serial killer. Christ, whoever is doing it has to be a nut case, and in the five years I’ve known Tom, no one could be more opposite. And Marty agrees with me.”
“Where is he? At home?”
Blankenship hesitated. “No. Maybe he has a mistress. Could be he stopped by to see her. We’ve all been under a lot of tension these past few days. Hell, I don’t know.”
“Have your people coordinate with the TSA guys at Dulles, Reagan, and BWI. Could be he’s trying to get out of the country. Maybe to Paris. Otto will be sending you a list of possible passengers. But, Bob, if he is our guy, tell your people to go with care.”
“Yeah,” Blankenship said, resigned.
Maggie came back. “The captain says we’re coming in on final, so it would help if you cut your call short until we’re on the ground.”
“Got to go, Bob,” McGarvey said. “Keep me in the loop.”
“Where are you?”
“Just landing at Andrews,” McGarvey said, and broke the connection.
The winds were gusting, but Roper was a pro and the landing was smooth. In five minutes they were taxiing to the hangar the navy used for its VIP flights.
“So, what now?” Pete asked.
“Nothing much for us until Otto or Bob comes up with something,” McGarvey said.
“No one left for him to kill.”
“It’s not over with yet,” Alex said.
“You?” McGarvey asked.
“I think he’s given up on me.”
“What then?”
“I don’t know. Something.”
They pulled into the hangar, and as the engines spooled down, Maggie opened the hatch and lowered the stairs.
At that moment Otto called.
“The son of a bitch is at the Farm,” he said. “He’s got Audie!”
“Get me a chopper!” McGarvey shouted to Roper.
SIXTY-EIGHT
McGarvey picked up the call on his sat phone as he got off the Gulfstream, Pete and Alex right behind him. “Switch the call over to me.”
“I need to stay on the line,” Otto said, just about beside himself.
Audie’s little voice came on.
“It’s your grampyfather. Are you okay, sweetheart?” McGarvey said, his heart aching.
“Oh yes. I’m a little tired, you know, but Uncle Tom is a nice man. He brought me some candy.”
“Where are you right now?”
“Oh, we went for a walk in the woods. I like it here.”
“Is Uncle Tom still with you?”
“Yes, I’m holding his hand.”
“Give him the phone for just a minute.”
“Okay,” Audie said.
“Good morning, Mr. Director,” Bertie Russell said pleasantly. “You have a lovely granddaughter. I hope you appreciate just how special she is.”
“You have her. Now what?”
“Why, a face-to-face meeting between us. At your earliest possible convenience. I’m sure you can arrange for a helicopter to get you down here within the hour. I think it’s time you and I got to know each other a little better. There’s so much I would like for you to understand.”