Joshua`s Hammer (41 page)

"He'll keep his mouth shut, if that's what you still want. But this time it's serious, nothing to fool around with. There could be a lot of bad stuff going on inside of your head, could end up making you permanently blind, maybe paralyzed, probably scramble your brains." He gave McGarvey a critical look. "Have you had any dizziness?"

"No," McGarvey lied.

"Darkening of your vision?"

"No, a little blurring, but that's all."

"Disconnected thoughts, mood swings, memory loss?"

McGarvey shook his head, and Mattice shrugged skeptically.

"Maybe we're lucky and I'm wrong. But I want to see the CAT scan."

"What if you're not wrong?"

"Your condition will get worse, like I told you."

"How soon?"

"What the hell aren't you telling me?" Mattice demanded.

"How long, Mike?"

"From the onset of the first serious symptoms maybe a few days, a week. There's no way of telling until we get some pictures."

"Assuming the worse, what then?" McGarvey asked. He'd known that something was seriously wrong with him, but there was too much at stake now for him to simply walk away from his job unless his own situation was desperate.

"We go in, fix the bleeder, drain the blood and put you back together."

"How long would I be out of commission?"

"Six weeks," Mattice said evenly. He glanced at the wall clock. "I want you up there by three. Do you have someone who can go with you?"

McGarvey hopped off the table. "Not this afternoon, maybe later in the week."

"Not good enough--"

"I'm briefing the President on something at three, and there's no way in hell I can miss it. We're facing too much shit right now."

"I could call your boss."

"And violate doctor-patient confidentiality?"

"Hell, I'm a good Catholic but I'd lie to the Pope to save a patient," Mattice said with a rueful smile.

"It's going to have to wait for a couple of days, Mike."

"Dammit."

"That's the way it has to be."

Mattice got up and helped McGarvey with his jacket. "The first sign of dizziness or darkening of vision, I want you back here. And I want your word on it."

"I'll do the best I can."

Mattice started to object, but McGarvey held him off again.

"If you're right, it's my life on the line, and I won't screw around by taking unnecessary risks. But something bigger than you want to know about is going on right now and I can't back away from it."

A mask of professional indifference suddenly dropped over Mattice's eyes. "It's your choice," he said, brusquely. "Do you want something for the headaches?"

"They're not that bad."

Mattice picked up McGarvey's chart. "When you're ready for the CAT scan, call the desk and they'll set it up for you. In the meantime take care of yourself." He shook his head and walked out.

The White House

McGarvey managed to get back to CIA headquarters in time to ride with Murphy in the DCI's limousine to the White House. He'd driven himself over to the clinic and unless he'd been followed no one knew where he'd gone.

"It's going to be no use pointing fingers or jumping down Dennis Berndt's throat," Murphy said tiredly. "The situation is what we have and it's up to us to deal with it as best we can."

"I agree," McGarvey said distantly. In the morning he would sit down with Adkins and Rencke and go over the entire mission to find out how the bomb was getting here and how to stop it. Even if he did have the operation immediately, and was put out of commission for six weeks, he would at least be able to make some decisions during that time, unless his brain was permanently scrambled.

"I was informed that your briefing this morning was a good one."

"I told them what was coming their way, and what we needed to do to stop it."

"The President will want nothing less."

McGarvey looked over at Murphy. "He's going to get more than that, General, because bin Laden may be going after him specifically. Maybe his family too."

"The man's not that crazy," Murphy said, clearly disturbed.

"We were," McGarvey said.

"That was different."

McGarvey held back a sharp reply, the words almost immediately escaping him. The day had gotten dark, and his stomach was turning over. He laid his head back and closed his eyes, a bad feeling under his tongue, and his body suddenly in a cold sweat. He was seeing the dreamy, distant expression on bin Laden's face in the high mountain cave. The man was ill, and McGarvey could feel the sickness in his own body; the pain, the fear and the frustration that life was even more fragile and fleeting than you ever imagined it was.

"I said, what we did was different," Murphy repeated, but then he trailed off.

McGarvey was hearing the words through the noise of a waterfall, but for thirty or forty seconds he was unable to respond. He couldn't even think of what to say, nor could he move. Gradually the noise faded, however, and it seemed as if his thoughts came back into focus by degrees until he could open his eyes and sit up.

They had come to the west gate of the White House and the security people passed them through.

"Are you feeling up to this, Mac?" Murphy asked.

"I'm going to make it short, and then I'm going over to Katy's house for a stiff drink, some dinner and ten or twelve hours of sleep. I just can't seem to catch up."

"I know the feeling," Murphy said. "And if you want my advice, turn off the phones."

"I will."

By the time they pulled up to the west portico, and Murphy's bodyguard opened the limo door for them, McGarvey had recovered sufficiently to get out of the car and follow the DCI inside. His legs felt like rubber and he was still queasy, but he figured that he would get through this okay.

They were ushered into the Oval Office at three o'clock on the dot. The President was seated at his desk. With him, besides Dennis Berndt, were the Director of the U.S. Secret Service Arthur Ridgeway and the Director of Protective Forces Henry Kolesnik. Kolesnik had been at this morning's threat assessment briefing. His was the Secret Service division that watched over the President and his family.

"Welcome home, Mr. McGarvey," President Haynes said, rising and extending his hand.

McGarvey shook hands. "It's good to be back, Mr. President, but we have a bigger problem now than when we started."

"Kill bin Laden and our problem is solved," Berndt said. "Not this time," McGarvey disagreed. "Why not?"

"Because bin Laden has already left Afghanistan and has gone to ground somewhere. Finding him would take too much time, the bomb is already on its way here."

"You don't have any proof of that," Berndt objected angrily.

"Sit down, Dennis," the President said, somewhat irritated, and he motioned the others to chairs.

"I've already briefed the President and Mr. Berndt on the substance of your briefing this morning," Kolesnik said. He looked like a linebacker for the Minnesota Vikings, with broad shoulders, a thick neck and a very short haircut. His eyes were penetrating, and seemed to take in everything and everyone in the room all at once. He was not smiling.

"Good, it'll save us some time," McGarvey said.

"You'll get whatever resources you need," the President assured him. "The military, if you want them. Maybe Dennis is right. If the CIA can find out where bin Laden is hiding we can send the marines in after him. Whatever it takes."

"The bomb is already on its way here, and he might not even know where it is himself."

The President looked at McGarvey for a long moment. "I didn't have much of a choice. As far as we knew you were dead."

"I understand. But the point is we have a new situation now and we have to deal with it."

"Well, it certainly would help if we knew the intended target," Berndt interjected prissily. "Maybe if we kidnapped him we could get some useful information, whether he knows where the thing is or not."

"We know what he's going to try to hit," McGarvey said. "Or at least we've got a pretty good idea."

"What?" the President asked.

"You, Mr. President. And your family."

"How do you know this?" "You ordered the cruise missiles to his camp and killed his daughter. Now he's going to try the same thing in retaliation; to kill you and your daughter."

Berndt started to bluster again, but this time he thought better of it. Everyone's eyes were drawn to the photograph of Deborah Haynes on the desk. She was pretty, with a Siberian cast to her features, but with long, streaming blond hair and innocent eyes. "That's about what we figured," Kolesnik said. "But protecting the President and his family will be next to impossible unless they go to a secret location and stay there until we can find and secure the device."

"It's something to be considered."

"No," the President stated flatly, and before Kolesnik or Ridgeway could object, he went on. "Every President since Kennedy has been faced with the same decision. And they all made the same choice; they stuck it out. If I took your suggestion and headed for the hills there'd be a brand-new cottage industry springing up overnight. If you want a President out of Dodge City, just threaten to kill him and he'll run. How about congressmen, governors, mayors, hell your next-door neighbors?" The President looked again at his daughter's picture. "It's up to us to stop men like bin Laden, and every other lunatic out there who wants to pull us down to their level." He sat forward. "I made a promise to the American people that if they hired me for this job I would do whatever was necessary to take back the fear, and I'll be damned if I'll run."

"But you can minimize your risks," Murphy said.

"I appreciate the suggestion, General. But if the device comes in by air and is detonated over the city, say somewhere fairly close to where we're sitting at this moment, I wouldn't have much of a chance. Isn't that correct?"

"If we had five minutes' warning we could get you and your family downstairs," Kolesnik countered.

"What about the rest of Washington?" the President asked rhetorically, his voice soft. He shook his head. "This isn't an assassin's bullet we're talking about. Something aimed directly at me alone. We're talking about an act of terrorism. Something that could kill thousands."

"That's right, Mr. President," Murphy agreed.

"Then it's up to us to stop them before the bomb gets here."

"We'll try. In the meantime you'll have to curtail your schedule. At least try to make it easier for your people to protect you."

"No."

"Goddamnit, Mr. President, we'll do whatever we can to protect your life, but you're going to have to help us," Murphy said sharply. He was the only man in the office who could talk to the President of the United States like that and get away with it.

McGarvey shook his head. "Sorry, General, but the President is right. Cutting back his public appearances won't make a bit of difference unless he goes all the way and hunkers down in a bomb shelter. It's up to us to figure out exactly how they mean to hit him and get there first."

"Is there anyone else in this room who thinks this is crazy except for me?" Berndt asked.

No one answered him.

"The ball is back in your court, McGarvey," the President said. "What do you suggest?"

"Go on television tonight and tell the country what you've told us here."

"That would get bin Laden's attention," Kolesnik said. Obviously he was the only one who understood where McGarvey was coming from.

"It'd be like thumbing our noses at them," Berndt objected.

"That's right. It would make bin Laden and his people look like fools. They would have to make the attack, and the sooner the better."

"You're looking for them to make a mistake, is that it?" the President asked, "Drive them out into the open, make them take chances that they would not have taken otherwise?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wait a minute," Berndt broke in. "What are you talking about? What chances?"

McGarvey wanted to smack some sense into the silly bastard. Yet Berndt was very good at his job of advising the President on national security concerns. At least he was unless he was backed into a corner and was in danger of being made to look like a fool. Like now. Then he became an impossible ass.

"If they want to change plans in midstream because of what the President has to say on television tonight, they'll have to communicate with each other," Kolesnik explained patiently. "Probably by telephone, which the National Security Agency will be looking for."

"That's a little thin, isn't it?"

"It'd be a start, Mr. Berndt."

"Like poking around in the dark hoping for a lucky break."

"That's right. But there'd be a bunch of very good people out there doing the poking around."

"I'll go on television at nine o'clock," the President said.

"I'll call Tom Roswell with the heads-up," Murphy promised. Roswell was head of the NSA headquartered at Fort Meade. "We might know something as early as tomorrow."

"Good," the President said. "McGarvey, we'll try to work with you this time instead of against you."

"Thank you, Mr. President." Too little too late? McGarvey wondered. He and Murphy rose and they shook hands with the President. At the door he turned back. "You might want to consider something else, sir. Explain what happened in the cruise missile attack and apologize for killing his daughter. It'll probably cause a storm of protest, but you would have taken the high ground."

"That was my plan. I'm truly sorry that it turned out the way it did, and I'll say so. But it will have nothing to do with taking the high ground, as you put it."

It was about what McGarvey hoped the President would say. He and Murphy left the Oval Office and headed back to the west portico.

"He's a good man," Murphy said. "Maybe we'll come out of this in one piece after all." "As long as Berndt stays out of the mix we might just have a chance."

Murphy shook his head. "Not much chance of that, Mac. The man wants to be President."

Chevy Chase

McGarvey got out to his ex-wife's house a few minutes before seven. He drove himself in his Nissan Pathfinder despite the risk of his vision going haywire. He figured that he could pull off the side of the road if it happened again, but he wanted to be away from the CIA, if only for this one evening. It was something that was becoming more and more important to him.