“How about Moscow station?” “Nothing above a grade three,” Newby said.
“I’m scanning. Are you looking for anything in particular, Mr.
Director?” “Just fishing.” “The SVR is asking Interpol for some help,” Newby said. The SVR was the renamed and slightly reorganized foreign section of the old KGB. “Evidently they lost track of one of their people, and they want him back. Probably cleaned out someone’s bank account and skipped the country.” “Do we have a name?”
“Nikolayev. Dr. Anatoli Nikolaevich. Would you like me to send his file over to you tonight?” “Not right now. But you can include it in the morning report. Anything else?” “Not from Moscow. The navy is asking for help in Havana, that just came over. And we’ve got the heads up on a possible operation in Mexico City. We’re passing both items to Mr. Whittaker right now.” Dave Whittaker was the DDO, and nothing escaped his attention. “Quiet night.” “Yes, sir.”
McGarvey was about to hang up, but another thought struck him.
“Have you already pulled Nikolayev’s file?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“Mr. Rencke asked for it yesterday.”
“Thanks, Jay. Have a good one.” McGarvey hung up and stood there, lost in thought for a few moments. Nikolayev was a name he hadn’t heard in a lot of years. If he had to guess he would have thought that the old man was dead, along with just about the entire Baranov crowd.
He had been the chief psychologist for Department Viktor. One of the handpicked few. A golden boy.
Now he was missing, and Otto was looking for him.
He went back to the kitchen as Kathleen was about to call him. She had put some soft jazz on the stereo, and they sat together at the counter.
She’d always been an elegant woman but something of an indifferent cook. Once they hired a new housekeeper the woman would cover that task. In the meantime Katys cooking had improved, though he figured that if he told her as much she’d probably quit and they would end up eating out every night or making do with TV dinners. The other problem was that before they hired any house staff the CIA would first have to do a background check, and that could take time. Her old housekeeper had been a good cook, however, and the chili and corn bread were her recipes. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said when he was finished.
Katy got up to pour them coffee, and he thought that a cigarette would be good right now. A Company shrink had told him once that among other things he was an obsessive compulsive “Do you want anything else?” she asked. McGarvey looked up at her, and at that moment he thought that he had never been so lucky in all of his life that they had come back to each other. All the wasted, terrible years they had spent apart, mad at each other, could never be regained. But that didn’t matter as long as they had here and now. She gave him a quizzical look. “A penny.” “I was thinking how lucky we are.” She smiled but then looked away. “I’m getting worried about Elizabeth. I think that something might be wrong.” “Physically? Mentally?” “With her pregnancy. But she won’t tell me anything.”
“She and Todd probably had a fight.” Kathleen shook her head. “I don’t think it’s that.”: “I’ll talk to her in the morning ”
“Tonight, Kirk. Please.”
Kathleen refused his help with the cleanup so McGarvey took his coffee into the study to call their son-in-law. Van Buren had been a hand-to-hand and exotic weapons instructor at the CIA’s training facility outside Williamsburg when Elizabeth took the course. She was a few years younger than Todd, but every bit as stubborn and willful.
They were madly in love with each other, but their relationship was complex and extremely competitive. No rookie field officer, especially not a woman, not even if she was the boss’s daughter, was going to tell him how to do his job. And no bullshit testosterone factory was going to hold doors and fight off the gremlins to protect the little woman tending the home fires for her. She had gotten pregnant last year, but lost the baby in the third month. The miscarriage devastated both of them until she got pregnant again. But more than that the ordeal had bonded them even closer than before. They were a single unit as flexible as a willow tree and yet as strong as bar titanium. But they still fought like cats and dogs. They lived down in Falls Church in a carriage house that belonged to the estate his parents owned. He answered after a couple of rings. It was an unsecured line so McGarvey’s number showed up on Van Buren’s caller ID. “Hi, Mac, you all set for tomorrow?” “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” McGarvey pulled the cover off his chair and sat down. There was classical guitar music in the background, and Todd sounded relaxed, even mellow.
“But at least it’ll be interesting.” Van Buren chuckled. “That it will be. Did you know that the pool is up to eight hundred bucks?” “I almost hate to ask: What pool?” “The exact hour and minute you take a shot at Hammond and he goes down in flames.” Th atM be about three minutes before Carleton Paterson has a heart attack.” “Two for one,”
Van Burean said. “How’s Mrs. M.?” “She’s a little worried about Liz,” McGarvey told him. “Is everything okay?” “If you mean her pregnancy, she’s healthy as a horse. She saw the doctor this afternoon and he gave her the thumbs-up. But I think that she’s going crazy on me.” “Pickles and ice cream?” “I wish it was that easy. She’s into conspiracies. It’s bad enough when a civilian goes looking for monsters under the bed, but it’s ten times worse when a CIA field officer does it, especially a pregnant one.” “Are you serious?”
“She’s got Otto convinced. They’ve been working on something for the past week or two. I can’t get it out of her, maybe you can.” McGarvey tried to decide how he should be taking this. His daughter was a trained CIA field officer, who, along with her husband, worked special projects for the Directorate of Operations. If she was working on a legitimate operation, there were certain procedures she was required to follow that would eventually come to his attention. He’d seen or heard nothing until now. On the other hand, McGarvey encouraged all of his people to take the initiative. Nobody would get cut off at the knees for following up on a hunch even if it led nowhere. “Keep an eye on her, Todd. I don’t want her going too crazy on us. But don’t tell her I said so.” Van Buren chuckled again. “I’m just her husband. What am I supposed to do if her own father is afraid of her? Do you want to talk to her? She’s in the shower now, but when she gets out I’ll have her call.” “Tell her to call her mother.” “Will do,” Van Buren said.
“Good luck tomorrow.” “Thanks.” McGarvey put the phone down and sat for a long time staring at the bare studs in the wall, but not really seeing them. The same nagging at the back of his consciousness had started again; like someone or something gently scratching at the back door in the middle of the night. He went back to the kitchen to get more coffee. Kathleen was just finishing up. She gave him an expectant look. “Liz was in the shower. Todd’s going to have her call when she gets out.” “Is everything okay?” “She saw the doctor this afternoon. Everything’s fine.” Kathleen was relieved, yet she looked like a startled deer caught in the flash of headlights, frozen in place but wanting desperately to run. McGarvey took her in his arms and held her. “It’s going to be okay. Not like the last time.” She looked up at him. “Promise?”
He smiled. “Scout’s honor.” Karhleen had a strong sense of social order and traditions and proper behavior. For her they were the distinguishing marks of civilization. She’d always felt that way in part because she was her father’s daughter. Walter Fairchild, until he killed himself, had been the CEO of a major Richmond investments and mortgage banking company. He’d been a Southern gentleman of the oldest tradition proud, arrogant, even vain. When his wife took off with another man, Kathleen was left in his care. She’d been twelve. For a long time she hated her mother and idolized her father. But those emotions had changed with time, and with her father’s death, left her with an overdeveloped sense of right and wrong; truth and lies; responsibility and commitment, fair play. But then she met Mac at a navy commander’s ball in Washington, D.C. He was a spy working for the Central Intelligence Agency. He was ruggedly handsome. He looked dangerous; there was even a hint of cruelty in his green eyes that she found devastatingly attractive, He was the opposite of the men she’d known in Richmond, the boys she’d dated in college and the men she worked for in the Smith Barney Washington office. In a week they were sleeping together. In a couple of months they were married. And in the first year Elizabeth was born. It was shortly after that when Mac began disappearing without explanation. Sometimes he was gone overnight; sometimes for days; and a couple of times for several weeks.