As a matter of routine, deputy directors had a car and driver at their disposal, but Doyle drove his own, a BMW, this evening. He was shook up and he drove fast and erratically.
“Tell me that was a simple act of terrorism and you happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“They had a tap on my phone, so they knew Jacqueline and I would be there. The Bureau found a file with part of the phone intercept and a half-dozen pictures of me.”
“Did you recognize them?”
“No,” McGarvey said. “They might have been Japanese: at least that’s the Bureau’s thinking. No fingerprint records. All their IDs were good fakes. So it wasn’t a simple hit-and-run; they were professionals, they knew what they were doing, except for the one mistake.”
Friday night traffic was heavy on Constitution Avenue as they passed the Ellipse, the front of the White House illuminated in the distance.
“The general wants to see you as soon as possible,” Doyle said. “And IA has already opened a file.” He shook his head. “We got word from the hospital that Elizabeth is going to be fine.”
“Have a guard put on her room, would you, Tommy?”
“As soon as we heard, we sent a couple of people over from Security. They’ll stick around for the duration.” Doyle glanced over at McGarvey. “How about you?”
“I’ll be fine.” McGarvey hoped that they’d send someone else after him. One on one. He’d give almost anything for the opportunity to have a heart-to-heart chat with one of them. Next time he would be thinking a little straighter than he had on the Canal Bridge.
“Sorry about Ms. Belleau. From what we hear she was on the way out and took the brunt of it.”
“Yeah,” McGarvey said softly. He was reliving the exact moment the package dropped at her feet. He was on the deck with Liz, the table overturned, and Jacqueline was just turning around, her mouth opening as if she was about to say something. Then there was the flash and bang and she was gone.
“Do you want me to drop you off at your place?” Doyle asked. “You look as if you could use a couple hours sleep.”
“I need to get back to the hospital.”
Doyle shook his head. “What’s your take on it, Mac? Someone from one of your old operations gunning for you? The Japanese have no love for you, that’s for sure.”
“I hope it’s that simple.”
“Because if it isn’t, then someone wants you dead because of the DDO thing,” Doyle said. “And that would lead to some pretty heavy-duty places that none of us would care to go.”
“You’d better start putting together a list of everyone who knows I’m being put up for the job.”
“Won’t be much of a problem on our side of the river, but there’s no telling who on the President’s staff knows. They’re planning on ramrodding your name through the Senate, so there’re a few key people on the hill who already know. Lots of opportunity for a leak.”
“You only have to look for two factors. A connection to the Japanese, or to me. Could be something we missed during one of my past assignments.”
“I don’t understand,” Doyle said.
“If they know me well enough, they might guess I’d go through operations with a fine-toothed comb if I signed on as DDO. Could be we missed something the first time around that has them frightened now.”
“No telling what old wounds we’ll dig up,” Doyle said.
“Nobody’s closet is totally clean.”
“Throw a stick into a pack of dogs, and the one that yelps is the one that got hit.”
“Except some of these dogs have teeth, and they might bite.”
“Again,” McGarvey said.
“Right,” Doyle agreed morosely. “Again.” He glanced over at McGarvey. “Are you taking the job?”
“I don’t know.”
Dick Yemm from the Office of Security in the Directorate of Management and Services was seated outside the door to the ICU on the fifth floor when McGarvey got off the elevator. Despite the overheated corridor he wore a dark windbreaker. He got to his feet, his compact motions fluid and sure. He looked dangerous.
“Good evening, Mr. McGarvey.”
McGarvey couldn’t place the man’s face. “How’s she doing?”
“They’re not saying much, except that they expect to move her upstairs to a private room about eight. I’ve got someone up there now checking it out.”
“Anyone give you a hard time about being here?”
“No, sir,” Yemm said, a faint flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth as if the idea were ludicrous.
“Has my ex-wife shown up yet?”
“No, sir.”
“She’ll be here sooner or later. Do you know what she looks like?”
“I’ll recognize her,” Yemm said. “Now, if you don’t mind me saying so, Mr. McGarvey, they’re not going to let you in there to see your daughter, and anyway you look like shit. So why don’t you go up to her room — it’s six-oh-two — and catch a few hours sleep. If anything changes I’ll get word to you.”
McGarvey took out his cell phone and called the night duty officer at Langley. “This is Kirk McGarvey. Do you know who I am?” His eyes never left Yemm’s.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m at Georgetown Hospital. DM and S sent someone over to keep an eye on my daughter.”
“Yes, sir. Dick Yemm. He’s a good man.”
“Pull up his file and describe him.”
“Don’t need his file, Dick’s a friend of mine. Short, dark, skinny, ugly as hell with a big mouth. That about cover it, sir?”
“Thanks.” McGarvey broke the connection.
Yemm cracked a slight smile. “I was wondering if you were slipping, or if everything I heard about you was a crock.”
McGarvey returned the smile. “Keep a close eye on her.” “Will do, sir.”
McGarvey went upstairs to the sixth floor, explained to the floor nurse who he was and went back to the room Liz would be brought to in the morning. Peter Weisse, the second security officer from Langley, was seated outside the room.
“There are two beds, Mr. McGarvey, you might as well take one of them,” Weisse said respectfully.
“If anybody shows up let me know.”
“Will do, sir. Do you want me to have one of the nurses get something for you?”
“No,” McGarvey said. Weisse closed the door behind him, so that he didn’t see McGarvey walk to the window and take a cigarette out of the pack with hands that shook so badly the simple task of lighting it was almost impossible.
McGarvey came slowly awake as the first light of dawn began to tinge the windows red. For a moment he wasn’t sure where he was, but it all came back to him about the same time he turned and saw his ex-wife standing at the window looking outside. Her head was bent, her narrow shoulders slumped, and her normally perfectly coiffed blond hair a mess. He hadn’t realized how much he needed her until now.
“Hi, Katy,” he said.
Kathleen McGarvey turned slowly to face her ex-husband. She’d been crying, something else out of character, and her makeup was a mess. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ll live,” McGarvey said, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Did they let you see Liz?”
She nodded. “They weren’t going to at first.” She looked away for a second. “She’s a mess, but her doctor says she will heal.”
“They’ll be bringing her up here later this morning.” McGarvey got a cigarette. “I’m sorry it took so long to get a message to you.”
“I was with friends in New York.” She was tall and slender, with sharply defined features, high, delicately arched cheekbones, full lips, brilliantly green eyes and a classic beauty. She was fifty, but could pass as an haute couture fashion model anywhere in the world.