“About how you’d suspect,” McGarvey said. Adkins shook his head. “I don’t know why the hell you put up with it. If it was me, I’d tell them to take the job and shove it where the light never shines.” He was bitter. “Murphy finally did, but at least he had a few friends up on the Hill. You don’t have anybody. They all want to see you dead.”
“Is that the consensus around here?” McGarvey shot back. He was getting irascible. His confrontation with Otto yesterday afternoon still weighed on his mind. Last night Katy had been in one of her dark moods because Liz hadn’t called her. Senator Madden had gotten under his skin. Even Yemm had sounded a bleak note of discord. And now, Adkins. “You know what I mean, Mac,” Adkins said, not backing down.
He looked like he wanted to hit something. “No, I don’t.” Adkins finally turned away. “Ah, hell. What’s the use anyway?” “What’s the matter? Is it Ruth?” “She’s made up her mind to go the radiation and chemo route, rather than a mastectomy. She’ll be sick as hell for months, but she wants to stay… intact for as long as possible, even though it might kill her.” “I’m sorry, Dick.” “Yeah.” “Do you want me to stick around for the weekend? Katy and I can go later.” Adkins shook his head. “You need the break worse than I do. I gotta keep busy, and you need to recharge your batteries for the big fight coming up.” “Do you think that the Senate is going to bounce me?” “Of course not. I meant keeping you alive once you’re sworn in. There’re a lot of people out there who could come gunning for you and feel like they were doing the world a big favor.” Sitting alone at his desk, McGarvey asked himself the same question that Adkins had posed: Why the hell was he putting up with the pressure? He had an inkling of what a newly sworn in president felt on his first day in the White House. Despite all the Secret Service protection he was given, he was still vulnerable to some nut with voices in his head.
But if someone decided to come after the Director of Central Intelligence, it would most likely be a professional. The kind of man McGarvey had been. Still was.
He turned and looked out the windows at the snowy countryside. If someone was coming, it would be a person out of his past. Someone with a grudge? he wondered. Or someone with a darker purpose?
It would have to be someone who knew about his habits, about his comings and goings. Somebody who even now was watching him. Waiting for him to make a mistake. Waiting for him to slip up; one lapse of caution; the one time he left the house without his bodyguard, or without a weapon.
He shook his head. Or most likely no one was coming. Paranoia was not just a field officer’s malady.
In the meantime the CIA needed help. A top-to-bottom reorganization that several directors before him had tried to do but failed. He was just egotistical enough to think that he could do it.
The President called on the direct line. “I think I’m going to recommend some remedial reading for you. Political science. You need it.”
“I’m not going to give them the answers they want, Mr. President,” McGarvey said. “And without that I’ll never get confirmed.”
The President chuckled. “You let me worry about that part. The budget bill is coming up, which gives me some wiggle room. So long as you stick to the facts, you’ll come out okay. But when you try to play their game, they’ll eat you alive.”
“I’m not a politician “
“Nobody expects you are. But as DCI you’re going to have to deal with the bastards whether you like it or not. So you might as well start practicing right now.”
“You’re right.”
“Of course I am,” the President said. “You can start by getting back on track with Hammond and especially with Madden. And before you jump up and down, hear me out. Those two are going to be on your back for as long as you’re the DCI. That’s a fact of political life. But Hammond wants to be president, so that’s something I can use against him. And Brenda Madden has a deep dark secret that causes her to be afraid of me and be pissed off at the same time. She’s dangerous, but she can be reasoned with, as long as you don’t try to score points off her. Go along with whatever she says. Answer her questions with direct answers. Eventually she’ll stick her foot in her mouth enough times so that Hammond will be forced to put a lid on her.” “Are you going to share the secret with me, Mr. President?” “Nope. Just take it a step at a time, and we’ll get through this.” I’ll do my best.”
“If I didn’t need you, if the Agency and your country didn’t need you, again, I wouldn’t have asked you to take the job. The CIA is in a mess. Fix it, Mac, or we’re going to find ourselves dead in the water as a nation.” “Does that mean I can’t shoot her?” McGarvey asked. The President laughed. “Anything but.” McGarvey had his secretary telephone his son-in-law. She got him on his cell phone. He and Elizabeth were on their way back from the Farm in Williamsburg. “How are the roads?” “Slippery,” Van Buren replied. “But we’re just a couple of miles from 495.” They lived in Falls Church, so they were less than ten miles from home. “If it doesn’t get any worse, how about coming over for dinner tonight?” “Good idea,” Van Buren agreed immediately. “Liz wants to talk to her mother, and she wants to get her skis. We’re going out to Vail for a long I weekend unless you need us in town.” “What’s the doc say?” McGarvey asked, alarmed. “He told her to take it easy, that’s all.” “We’ll see you in a few hours then.”
“Right,” Van Buren said. McGarvey phoned Yemm to tell him that Todd and Elizabeth were skiiing at Vail this weekend, so it would be just the two of them going down | to St. John. Next he tried to reach Otto, but Ms. Swanfeld found out that he was still in conference with Dr. Stenzel. McGarvey went downstairs and used his security card to gain access to the observation room. They no longer used | one-way mirrors; they were too obvious. Instead, they employed hidden cameras.
Rencke’s image was projected on the high-definition large-screen |
closed-circuit television monitor on the wall. Two of Dr. Stenzel’s assistants were monitoring the interview and taking notes. They started to get up, but McGarvey waved them back. “I just came in for a quick look. I thought the interview was supposed | to start at ten.”
“It did,” one of the assistant psychiatrists answered. “They’ve been at it ever since.” He shrugged. “For all the good it’s doing us.”
“Isn’t he cooperating?” “Oh, he’s cooperating all right, Mr.
Director. Trouble is we can’t make any sense out of what he’s telling us.” Dr. Stenzel sat back and lit a cigarette. His jacket was off, his tie loose, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows. He and Otto sat across from each other in easy chairs, a large coffee table strewn with files, computer printouts and coffee cups between them. They were in Stenzel’s office, a large book-lined room with a big window. Otto was sitting back, his legs crossed, his Nikes untied, a dark, but mildly condescending expression on his face. McGarvey had a momentary doubt that the man with Stenzel was Otto Rencke. Yet it was Otto. He knew it was Otto. “So, you’ve been fucking with me all day,” Stenzel said.
“What else did I expect?” He didn’t seem bitter, just resigned.
Rencke shrugged. “There are a lot of people in this building who are worried about you. Mr. McGarvey asked me to find out what’s going on in your head. But it looks as if that’s not going to be possible.
Leastways not today.” “Do you want me to take another test?” Rencke’s voice was flat, with only the vaguest hint of contempt. “You’ve taken them all.” Stenzel glanced at the papers on the coffee table. “I suppose that I could certify that you’re unfit for service. But hell, you’re probably just as sane, or insane, as the rest of us here.” “We all have our crosses to bear, Stenzel. Even me. Only I have a lot of work to do.” “So do I,” Stenzel said. “But if you go off the deep end on us, you could do a lot of damage.” Rencke laughed. “If you mean to the Company’s computers, you’re right. But I wouldn’t have to be here in the building to do it.” “The one thing that’s clear in the mess that you’ve created for me is that you’re depressed. Whether it’s clinical depression or just the garden-variety blues, I can’t tell.