“We will continue our surveillance operation here, of course, but what else is it that you would like me to do?” Liese asked. She knew what he was going to tell her, but she didn’t care. She did not want to be pulled off this assignment so long as it involved Kirk.
“I would like you to place a telephone call to Mr. McGarvey. You are an old friend who is somewhat nostalgic for the old days. Maybe you called simply to chat. You are lonely, and have been handed a very troubling assignment.”
You bastard, Liese thought. To them she was nothing but a pain-in-the-ass woman, a thing to be tolerated, no more. But they were afraid of Kirk. And as they had done with Marta, they wanted to provide him with another Swiss whore. A man would say anything when he was in bed with his lover, or nearly anything if the prospect of going to bed with a young woman was dangled in front of his nose.
But they didn’t know Kirk. Nor did they know her.
“It’s midnight in Washington,” she pointed out.
“If he’s not out and about somewhere, he’s sure to be at home and not at his office.”
“I’ll make that call now, sir,” Liese said.
“Liese?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Record the call, please,” Gertner instructed. “All of it.” He hung up the phone.
Liese was seething. Never in her life had she been treated this way, though she’d been expecting something like this to happen. But now that they had used her sex as a lever against her, she had no idea how to fight back. She looked up at the ceiling for a moment and closed her eyes. God help her, but after all these years she was still in love with Kirk McGarvey. There never was another man like him, nor could there ever be. The thought that somehow he was involved in the 9/11 attacks and was in collusion with Prince Salman was ludicrous. But if Gertner thought such a thing were possible, then others would think so too. It was up to her to prove them wrong.
She dialed Kirk’s home number in Chevy Chase from memory, though it was the first time she’d ever let it go through. It rang twice before it was rolled over to what Liese thought would be an answering machine. She was about to hang up when a man with an oddly pitched voice, as if he were lifting something very heavy, answered.
“Oh, boy, what could the Swiss police be wanting at this hour? Especially calling from Lake Lucerne. Are you in a house or on a boat?”
“I’m sorry; I must have the wrong number,” Liese said, and she tried to break the connection, but could not; the line had been seized.
“I don’t think you have a wrong number, so don’t leave. And you have a pretty voice.”
“Who are you?”
“Otto Rencke. Does that name tinkle any little bells in your head? I’ll bet you’re pretty too. Odd for a Swiss cop.”
Liese checked the number showing on her phone’s display. It was Kirk’s home phone, which meant her call had been rolled over, probably to an operations officer at Langley who had the CIA’s computer system at his fingertips.
“No, your name isn’t familiar to me. I’m trying to reach Kirk McGarvey. He’s an old friend. I thought I might catch him at home.”
The line was dead for a moment. “Oh, boy, you’re Liese Fuelm,” Rencke said. “Am I right or what?”
A fist clutched at her heart, but she recovered fast. “If that makes you happy, sure,” Liese said. “Can you tell me how I could reach Mr. McGarvey?”
“Oh, don’t get mad. I’m an old friend, just like you,” Rencke said, apologetically. He sounded like a big kid. “But Mac is out of town right now; it’s why his number showed up here.”
It’s not what she wanted to hear. She closed her eyes again. Everything seemed so screwed up. “Can I get a message to him?”
“Nope, he’s on vacation, and I wouldn’t bother him even if it was the second coming, ya know,” Rencke told her. “But listen, is there something you need? Maybe I can help. I’m Mac’s special assistant, ya know. I can find out things.”
Talking to Rencke was like dealing with an overgrown, exuberant puppy. It had to be an act, but the number she’d called was correct, and only an organization such as the CIA could trace and seize her line so quickly, and then come up with her name. “Just say hello when he gets back.”
“Who are you surveilling?”
“I have to go now. Release my line, please.”
“I can find out, you know. You’re at the lake house owned by Heide Rothberg. I’ve got that much; though his name doesn’t come up in any of my serious databases, I’m sure I can get something on him. And I can take some good angle satellite shots of your location within twenty minutes that should give me some line-of-sights. That’d probably eliminate all but a few nearby locations. Somebody in one of those spots is of interest not only to the Swiss Federal Police, but maybe to the director of Central Intelligence. A blast from the past. Is that it?”
“Look, Mr. Rencke, I can’t tell you that—”
“Otto,” Rencke said. “Please. We’re practically family. He still wonders about Marta Fredericks from time to time, ya know.”
“How are you coming up with this information? It’s nobody’s business.”
“I won’t say anything to anybody, nohow, never, except Mac. Honest Injun!”
“Prince Abdul Salman, he’s a—”
“I know who he is,” Rencke said, his aw-shucks manner suddenly gone. “What do you have on him?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why did you call the director of Central Intelligence to ask about him?”
“I didn’t call the DCI; I called an old friend,” Liese shouted. She was frustrated and frightened now. She was getting in over her head. “Release my line.”
“Give me what you have, and I’ll pass it along to Mac,” Rencke said, gently. “Look, if it’s any comfort to you, we’re interested in the man too. Mac will probably want to share intel on this one.”
“The prince spent some time in Washington about ten years ago. He was one of Darby Yarnell’s crowd.”
“I see,” Rencke said after a beat, and he seemed almost sad. “I’ll have Mac call you. And in the meantime I’ll take a quick peek at what we have. I might be able to come up with something.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t let them get to you, Liese. They can be bastards, sometimes, but mostly we’re all on the same side.”
There was no need to ask who they were, or what he was talking about. He had figured out who had suggested she make the call and why. “Just say hello,” Liese said, “and give him a hug.”
“Sure,” Rencke said, and he released her line.
Liese realized that she had not pushed the Record button, but she didn’t care. “Hell,” she said, softly, and she began to cry.
NINE
The expression on Kirk’s face was caught like a photographic flash image in Katy’s head.
She got up and helped Karen Shaw get her husband seated. He was nearly out on his feet, and for the moment, at least, he didn’t seem to know what was going on around him. The terrorists had all dived for cover, except for the one wearing the balaclava who’d struck Donald Shaw in the head. He seemed to be the leader, but he apparently hadn’t counted on meeting any resistance because he was exhorting his men to get to their feet. Or at least that’s what it sounded like to Katy. She thought he was speaking Arabic, which was no surprise. But how they had gotten aboard the cruise ship without detection was a mystery. According to Kirk, the ship’s crew and passengers had passed complete background checks.