“Glad to have you back, David,” the DDO said, shaking hands. He dismissed the two minders, who drove off.
“It’s good to be back even though I walked away from a developing mess,” Haaris said. He left ambiguous what developing mess he was talking about, the one in Pakistan or the one here on his desk because of Pakistan. He wanted to get Bambridge’s reaction. But the DDO missed it.
“Under the circumstances — we’re all terribly sorry about Deborah — no one could blame you. Though you did leave us in something of a lurch.”
They rode directly up to the seventh floor, which surprised Haaris. “I thought that the director would have waited until after my debriefing to see me.”
“He has a few questions first, we both have. Since your trip and your disappearance, you have become operational, under my purview.”
“Has my desk been taken out of the DI?” Haaris asked. The DI, or Directorate of Intelligence, was where the analysis of most incoming information was performed. The DO, or Directorate of Operations — most often called the National Clandestine Service these days — did the work in the field. It was tasked with all kinds of spying, including the administration of the NOC program — the spies in the field who worked without official cover. It was their deaths the stars on the granite wall downstairs in the lobby represented.
“At least until what we’re facing has been resolved.”
The DCI’s secretary told them to go directly in.
Walt Page was leaning against his desk, saying something to Carlton Patterson and an attractive woman in jeans, a white blouse, the sleeves rolled up above her shoulders, and a pink baseball cap.
It took just a moment for Haaris to realize who she was because he’d not expected to see her here. He managed to cover the lapse by walking directly to Page and shaking his hand. “Quite a mess, Mr. Director. But not completely unexpected.”
“Welcome back,” Page said.
“Thank you,” Haaris replied. He turned to the others. “Carleton. And Miss Boylan, I’m surprised to see you here this morning.”
“Why’s that, Dave?” Pete asked.
“Just surprised, nothing more.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee or anything before we start?” Page asked. His body attitude was of a man wanting to have a little chat and nothing more. He was saying that this was not to be an inquisition.
It was more than Haaris had expected. “No. I’d like to get this over with so I can resume work. My people have a lot to catch up with.”
“They’ve been holding the fort,” Bambridge put in, and Page shot him a look.
“Where’ve you been all this time?” Page asked. “Boyle says you told him Paris and Istanbul, but we haven’t been able to find any traces.”
“You wouldn’t have. I’m good at my job.”
“What were you doing all this time?”
“Grieving, in part, and coming to accept my condition,” Haaris said. “But before you ask, I am not the Messiah. I’ve not been anywhere near Pakistan since I got free from the Taliban. And I only hope that you put a contract on his life. He is directly responsible for the mess we’re facing. If we can take him out, we can start to repair the damage he’s caused.”
“You warned us,” Pete said.
“Yes.”
“I’m just wondering why.”
“It was relatively easy to predict a unifying voice such as his to show up.”
“I meant, why were you so adamant about warning the president that she would have to act? She ordered McGarvey to go over in disguise and kill him. You didn’t mention the unintended consequences, whether or not Mac was successful.”
“Was he? The Messiah has evidently disappeared.”
Marty started to say something but Pete held him off. “We lost touch with him.”
“He was there in Islamabad?”
“Yes,” Pete said. “And I think you were there too.”
Haaris sat back, suppressing a smile. He had them. “You still think that I played the role of the Messiah.”
“Yes.”
“Your proof? Or is it just wishful thinking? Blame this on me, perhaps because of a less than lovely childhood? British public schools do have a reputation. Well deserved, I can assure you, from direct knowledge, though the education they offer is first rate.” He looked at the others. “But why, Miss Boylan? Why would I have put everything at risk to pull off such a fantastic scheme?”
“You were dying. One last hurrah, thumb your nose at us and our cousins.”
“Something like this would have to have been planned for years. I only just found out about my cancer last week.”
Pete didn’t respond, and he thought that she looked confused, her lone argument shot down so easily.
“If you want to find out his real identity, where he’s disappeared — unless Mr. McGarvey’s mission was a success — and the way out of the mess that we ourselves made, then let me get back to work.”
No one said a thing.
Haaris got to his feet. “I’ll get my people headed in the right direction, and then I’d like to go home for a shower, something to eat and a change of clothes. At some point I’ll need to brief the president.”
“First we’ll need to debrief you, David,” Pete said, her voice soft, almost silky, somehow bothersome.
“Then let’s get it over with.”
Pete got up. “Good.”
“Mr. Haaris, a question first, if you please,” Patterson said, his voice also soft. “Of course we’re all off-base here, about your being the Messiah, but we’re just trying to do our jobs.”
“I understand.”
“When the dust has settled, so to speak, do you contemplate bringing suit against the Company? Taking us to court and all that? Perhaps a memoir you’d refuse to allow us to vet? It’s been done before.”
“Heavens, no,” Haaris said. “I’ve been an American from the beginning and always will be.” He smiled. “Truth, justice and the American way. Is that how it goes?”
No one returned his smile.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Otto went with McGarvey over to Saul Landesberg’s studio in Technical Services, at the same moment Pete was walking out of the DCI’s office with Haaris. They’d heard everything over an in-house audio feed that Otto had set up. No one else except Pete knew about it, especially not Page, and certainly not Haaris.
“He held his own,” Otto said.
“No one accused the man of being stupid,” McGarvey said.
“Gentlemen?” Landesberg asked, looking up.
“We were talking about someone else, not you,” McGarvey said. “Especially not you.” He paused. “The ISI had me for a few hours, during which I was waterboarded.”
“What’s it like?”
“Sporty. The point is, your makeup job survived.”
“Of course it did,” Landesberg said. He sat McGarvey down and took the earbud out and handed it to Otto. “Won’t work in here. We’re shielded against everything except actual human presence. What happens in this room — how it happens — stays in this room.”
“Interesting problem,” Otto said, grinning.
It had taken Landesberg a little more than two hours to complete McGarvey’s disguise but less than twenty minutes to restore his hair color, uncover his natural features and bring back his complexion.
“Nothing else I can do about your hair, but it’ll grow back in a few weeks. Nobody recognized you, not even close up?”
“Just Pete Boylan.”
“No shit?”
“I’d give you a tip if I knew what you charged,” McGarvey said.
“On the house, Mr. Director. And if you ever need me again, I’ll be here.”
Outside, the section secretary had a phone call for McGarvey from Page.