“Could be that bin Laden is trying to get his family back into the good graces of the Saudi royal family,” Adkins said.
“I’ve asked Jeff Cook to beat the bushes in Riyadh to see if he can pick up anything at all,” David Whittaker said. He was the deputy director of operations, a stern, upright man who could have played the part of a Presbyterian minister on any pulpit and be convincing. “But that might take a day or two.”
“Keep on it,” Adkins said. “In the meantime, we’ll have to beef up our liaison staff with the FBI and INS. We can pull them from Security, but they should be Ops people. Any odd bods you can spare, Dave?”
“We’re stretched to the limit as it is,” Whittaker said. “Except for trainees.”
“We could put the Farm on hold, and use the instructors,” Adkins suggested, looking to McGarvey for approval since the move would involve the DCI’s daughter and son-in-law.
McGarvey nodded. They were good people, and they deserved the truth from him every bit as much as he demanded it from them. Yet he could not involve his people in what the White House might consider a personal vendetta. An operation strictly forbidden by the president himself. “Pair a couple of trainees with each instructor, and if you need more, pull them from Management and Security. But I’ll be assigning my daughter and her husband to a special operation.”
Rencke, who had not said a word, suddenly sat up straight as if something had just occurred to him. “Oh wow, Mac, you quit,” he blurted.
McGarvey was almost glad that Rencke had guessed the truth and had brought it up first. It would save time. “Yes, I have,” he said. “I told the president this morning, and I’m telling all of you now. My resignation is effective immediately. This morning.”
There was a stunned silence around the table. No one knew what to say. What McGarvey had sprung on them was unthinkable under the circumstances.
“There’ll be no media releases from here. That’ll be up to the White House. In the interim, Dick will take over as DCI, and Dave can double up as his number two.”
“Bullshit,” Adkins said. “You’re not just walking out, not now of all times. What’s going on?”
“You don’t want to know—”
“You’re going hunting,” Rencke interrupted. “Bang-bang, shot in the head. Bang-bang, you’re dead. Look out Mr. Khalil.”
Everyone started talking at once, and McGarvey let their voices roll around him. Their reactions were the same as the president’s. It was as if the general decided to quit in the middle of a crucial battle. He was letting his people down. It was something they would never forget, or forgive him for.
Adkins held up a hand for silence, and the clamor died down. “Is Otto right? Are you going after Khalil?”
McGarvey tried to think of a way out for his people. He owed them that much. But he also could not lie. It was a fine line. “I don’t want the Company involved. What I’m going to do will be as a private citizen. Do you understand?”
“No, I don’t,” Adkins replied angrily. “None of us do. But if you’ve identified Khalil and you mean to grab your pistol and go back out in the field after him, one-on-one, mano a mano, I’m telling you that you’re wasting your time and talents. You’re needed right here. If we know who the bastard is, we have any number of teams we can send after him. If you don’t want him arrested because of what he did to your wife in Alaska, we’ll understand—” Adkins looked to the others for approval. “We won’t even try to arrest him. We’ll find him and kill him on the spot.” Adkins spread his hands. “Whatever you want, Mac. You call the shots, and we’re here for you.” Again he looked to the others for approval, and they all were nodding. They were behind their director no matter what. “But you can’t walk out the door on a personal vendetta. You can’t.”
McGarvey took a good look around the table. It seemed as if he’d spent half his life turning his back on the people who most needed him, but this time was different, he told himself. This time his departure was necessary. He closed the bin Laden folder, shoved it across the table to Adkins, and got up.
“I’m sorry, but there’s no way around it for me. I’m assigning my daughter and son-in-law to help take care of my wife for the next few days. I don’t think the situation will last much longer. I’ll keep in contact as much as possible through Rencke’s office, but I don’t want anyone trying to track my movements. I’ve had my GPS tracker removed.”
Adkins was beside himself with anger. “For Christ’s sake, Mac, don’t do this to us.”
“The president will want to see you this afternoon. Try to stall him until morning if you can; I’ll be clear by then. But don’t put your neck on the block. He’ll want to know where I’ve gone, and you won’t have to lie to him about not knowing. He may ask you to find me, and that decision will be up to you. But the Company has its hands full. Your top priority still is to find bin Laden.”
McGarvey reflected for a moment on what else he could say to his people to ease their burden before he walked out the door. But there was nothing that he could tell them, except that he had changed his mind and would stay on as DCI. That was no longer a possibility. He was going after Khalil, and nothing on this earth could stop him.
He turned to Rencke. “Have you come up with anything new?”
Rencke shook his head. “Not since last night.”
“I’ll keep in touch then,” he told them. “Work the problem, people. It’s what you do.”
He left the conference room and went back to his office to break the news to his secretary.
THIRTY-FIVE
McGarvey could sense the change within himself as he rode home in the back of the DCI’s limousine. His staff’s reaction had been troublesome — they felt he was deserting them — but his secretary had not seemed surprised that he was quitting as DCI so he could have the freedom of movement to return to the field. He’d told his staff to work the problem because that’s what they did. His secretary understood his decision because, in her words, It was what he did.
National Guard troops were stationed at the Beltway’s entrance and exit ramps. A national hysteria was tightening its hold on Americans. Nobody wanted another 9/11, and they were willing to accept whatever it took to stop the terrorists once and for all.
Already he was transforming from a deskbound administrator/politician to a field officer. A greatly heightened sense of perceptions. Accepting the possibility that every situation he found himself in had the potential to be deadly. Trusting no one. Carrying no excess baggage. Accepting that in the end it would be only his finger on the trigger.
The limo pulled into McGarvey’s driveway a couple minutes before noon. Julien came around and opened the back door. “We’re home, Mr. Director.”
McGarvey looked up at his bodyguard, and he had a fleeting thought about Jim Grassinger, whose funeral he would miss, and about Dick Yemm before him, who was killed out on the street just a few yards from here.
His heart slowly emptied of nearly every emotion except the almost overwhelming drive to kill the terrorist Kahlil.
It had been the same when he’d been hunting VC officers in the jungles of South Vietnam.