Joshua`s Hammer (42 page)

A gray Chevy van was parked across the street from Katy's house. As McGarvey turned the corner he phoned the special operations number that rolled directly over to the van. "This is McGarvey, I'm coming up the block."

"Gotya, sir," the security officer said.

"Any activity tonight?"

"It's been real quiet so far, just a little local traffic is all," the officer said. "Sir, where's your driver?"

"I gave him the night off," McGarvey said, pulling into Kathleen's driveway. "And I'm putting out the Do Not Disturb sign, so the phones will be off. If you come knocking on my door it better be real important."

"Yes, sir," the officer said. McGarvey broke the connection, then switched the cell phone off and laid it on the passenger seat.

The day had been warm, and when Kathleen came to the door she was wearing shorts and a tee shirt, nothing on her feet. Her hair was up in a wrap. A momentary flash of irritation crossed her face, changing immediately to one of relief and concern. She never liked being caught unprepared, especially when it came to her appearance.

"Hi, Katy," he said, coming in. He kissed her on the cheek, closed the door with his foot, and then took her in his arms and held her very close. She was shivering. "I was worried about you," she whispered urgently.

"I know. But I'm back now."

"Elizabeth let the cat out of the bag. She told me where you'd gone and what you were trying to do. Then we heard that something had gone wrong with your chip and I didn't know what to think." She studied his face. "You look pale, Kirk. Are you in pain?"

"Some bumps and bruises, but no bullet holes this time," he said. Kathleen looked worn out. "Can I stay the night?" he asked. "No phones. I even switched off my cell phone,

and I told the mounty outside to mind his own business."

Kathleen smiled. "The boss give you the night off?"

"Something like that," McGarvey said. "Do you have anything in mind? Or do you want to hold off for a little while to figure out if you really want to get back to being a CIA wife?"

She touched his cheek. "I love your face," she said. "Fact of the matter is that I never stopped being a CIA wife. But this time I'll try to be a little less demanding." She was wearing his mother's ring, the one he'd given her at Jake's.

"How about if I fix myself a drink while you go up and take a shower?" McGarvey said. "I'll shower when you're done. The President's going to be on TV at nine, and we want to see him."

"Is he going to talk about bin Laden and the attack on his camp?"

"He's going to tell everybody that we missed bin Laden and killed his daughter by mistake. The President's going to apologize for it."

Kathleen's hand went to her mouth. "My God. He's going to come after us now."

"The President knows the danger to him and his daughter, and they're not going to take any chances."

"I meant us," Kathleen said. "You and Elizabeth."

"We'll get to him first," McGarvey promised her with more assurance than he felt. "We know what's coming and we know all about his contacts and networks. Our people are on a worldwide alert, and every law enforcement agency in the country has started an all out manhunt."

"It didn't help Alien Trumble and his family, and those other people."

"This time we know that it's coming, so he can't take us by surprise again."

She reached past him and turned both locks on the door, and then activated the alarm system. "Where's Elizabeth?"

"She's still at work. She and Otto are running search programs."

"Does she know what's coming our way?"

"Yes."

Kathleen thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "I'll shut off the upstairs phones, and you can catch the ones down here." She gave him a wistful look, as if she knew that he wasn't being completely honest with her, yet wanting to believe that he was. "Why don't you cut up some onions. We're having stroganoff, so if you want mushrooms, cut those too." She smiled. "Unless a DDO is above such mundane household chores."

"As long as you don't let it out," McGarvey said. He patted her on the butt, and headed into the kitchen reasonably at peace for the first time in weeks. The mood wouldn't last, he knew, but for now the problem of bin Laden would hold.

In the quiet darkness of the night McGarvey went downstairs, got a Coke from the refrigerator and stepped outside to smoke a cigarette by the pool. The sprinklers on the golf course were running, and combined with the clean smell of fresh-mown grass, the evening was perfect.

McGarvey was content. He and Kathleen had always been good together in bed, but tonight their lovemaking had been particularly warm, tender and satisfying. Afterward he had held her in his arms and watched her go to sleep.

The sky to the south was aglow with the lights from Washington, but in the opposite direction, over the golf course, the sky was filled with stars. The night sky was something that he'd not paid much attention to until Afghanistan. They were the same stars, yet here the sky was familiar and friendly, while over there the constellations themselves looked foreign, cold, indifferent, dangerous.

He had to wonder how they could possibly understand each other if even the same sky overhead looked different. Talking with bin Laden in his high mountain cave they had spoken English, and although he understood the meaning of the words that the Saudi terrorist was using, he did not understand what they meant to bin Laden. A common language, but without a common understanding.

There wasn't even a common understanding about their daughters. It was the one point that McGarvey thought he and bin Laden could connect with. But they might as well have been from different planets, the incident with Mohammed and Sarah on the way up proved that. Yet McGarvey was still certain that if the missile attack had never happened he and bin Laden could have come to some sort of an agreement.

He couldn't help but think about Sarah and Elizabeth, and compare them. They were both naive in their own way; Sarah about life in the West, and Liz about life with a man. They were both filled with energy. They were stubborn, willful, yet they had warm, giving and loving natures. Had the circumstances of their births been reversed, McGarvey had little doubt that both women would have fit well in their reversed roles.

They were daughters of driven men.

The President had said something about bin Laden's daughter on television tonight, but for the life of him McGarvey couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Something about terrorism.

He laid his cigarette in the ashtray and glanced to the south, but the lights of Washington had been turned off, or at least lowered. He had to squint to make out the end of the pool. He was sick to his stomach, and suddenly extremely dizzy and weak. He managed to hold onto the edge of the patio table and slump down in a chair, his head spinning so fast to the left that he had to look up to the right in order to stop himself from pitching to the patio bricks.

The night was black, and had become silent except for the sound of his own rapidly beating heart in his ears. Something smelled bad, like the open sewer he'd crossed somewhere--he couldn't remember where, though he knew that he should be able to.

He lowered his head and gripped the edge of the table so hard that the muscles corded in his right forearm. His breathing was shallow, and for a minute or two he wasn't even aware of where he was.

Gradually, however, the dizziness and nausea began to subside, his mind began to clear, he began to smell the grass and water smells, and see the night sky again. But he was left weak and shaken, his heart still pounding.

"Kirk?" Kathleen called from the patio door.

He turned as she came outside, her body clearly outlined beneath the thin material of her nightgown. "Here," he said, and she came across to him.

"What's the matter, darling, can't sleep?" she asked.

"I was thirsty."

She sat down beside him and laid her hand on his arm. "I was dreaming about Elizabeth, but I don't remember what it was about except that I woke up." She looked at his eyes. "You weren't there and I got scared all over again."

McGarvey managed a reassuring smile, though he still wasn't a hundred percent. "I'm here, Katy." "Well you sound like you're half-asleep sitting there," she said. She took his hand. "Come on back to bed. Nobody's going to call, and I've not set the alarm. In the morning I'm going to make bacon and eggs, grits and my mother's biscuits and gravy. Damn the cholesterol, full speed ahead."

McGarvey smiled at her. "I love you, Kathleen." She returned his smile. "Katy," she corrected.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Chevy Chase Country Club

Nothing new had happened until the President's speech to the nation last night. Elizabeth McGarvey had not come to her mother yet, and the only reason Bahmad could think of was that there had been a delay in releasing the news of her father's death. The Taliban were often like that. By 8:00 a.m. the sun was already warm, and sitting on the country club's veranda drinking a cup of coffee before his tee time, Bahmad idly gazed up the eighteenth fairway in the general direction of Kathleen McGarvey's house, outwardly in perfect control, but inwardly seething. There could be little doubt that bin Laden had seen the President's broadcast, nor was there any doubt in Bahmad's mind how the man was reacting. Bin Laden would be filled with an insane rage. He would be beside himself that the President had not only mentioned Sarah by name, but that the United States had killed her. It would be viewed as an act of massive arrogance on the part of a White House that was completely indifferent to the plight of more than sixty percent of the world's population who lived in poverty. If, as a nation, you had the money to be an active trading partner, or if you had the oil or other natural resources necessary to feed a voracious economy that placed no restrictions on the conspicuous consumption of its citizens, then you could belong to Washington's elite club. If not, you were nothing but pond scum; interesting under a microscope, but of no consequence in the real world. Bin Laden would want to strike back and do it now rather than stick with their schedule. If he did something foolish it could jeopardize everything, especially their element of surprise.

It was midafternoon in Khartoum, the heat of the day. In bin Laden's condition he should be resting now, but Bahmad knew better. Bin Laden would be fuming, pacing back and forth in the compound's second-floor greeting chamber. He would stop from time to time to stride over to one of the windows, pull back the heavy drapes and look outside, half expecting to see ... what? Enemy tanks coming up the street for him? Guided missiles falling out of the sky to kill the rest of his family? The guards who were constantly at his side would be nervously fingering the safety catches on their rifles wondering where the enemy that their leader was so nervous about would be striking from. Would they be strong enough to give their lives for him without hesitation? Enter the gates of Paradise with clean souls?

In another part of the house, bin Laden's wives, especially Sarah's mother, would be dealing with their grief in their own way. Bahmad wondered if bin Laden had talked to them, tried to console them, or if he left them on their own? It was one part of bin Laden's life that he wasn't sure of. They had seldom talked about family matters except that Sarah had been his pride; his light; in many respects the reason for his existence.

The President's announcement last night meant nothing. Elizabeth McGarvey would come to her mother's house in due course, and she would die. Then, in the early fall as planned, Deborah Haynes would die. Bahmad could see every step in perfect detail. It was like a well-crafted machine, a thing of simple beauty. But its delicate mechanisms could be easily fouled with the wrong move now.

The men he'd been talking with when he'd first arrived at the club were out on the first tee and the foursome he'd signed up with hadn't arrived yet, leaving Bahmad temporarily alone and out of earshot of any of the other members.

He took out his cell phone and hit the speed dial button for the number of their relay provider in Rome. After one ring the call was automatically rolled over to a secret number in Khartoum. This was answered after three rings by one of bin Laden's young assistants.

"Ahlan, wa sahlan." Hello, he said, somewhat formally, which meant he wasn't alone.

"This is Bahmad, I wish to speak with Osama." Bahmad spoke in Egyptian Arabic, the universal tongue.

" "Aywa."

There was a chance that this call was being monitored by the National Security Agency. But Bahmad doubted that even the NSA had the ability to screen every single call made everyday around the entire world. The job would overwhelm even the most powerful computers. U.S. technology was fantastic, but not that good.

"You would not be calling unless there was trouble," bin Laden said, coming on the line.

"On the contrary, everything goes well. It is trouble that I wish to avoid." The Arabic sounded formal in Bahmad's ears after speaking English for several days. "Didst thou see the President's broadcast last night?"

"Yes."

Bahmad could hear the strain in bin Laden's voice. "You can accept the apology and I can withdraw. No harm will have been done."

"The harm has already been done. Irreparable harm to this family. Dost thou not understand?" Bin Laden switched to a slang Arabic used in a part of northern Afghanistan. "The daughters of the infidels will die like the pigs they are!"

"Then I shall proceed as planned."

Bin Laden hesitated, and Bahmad could hear his indecision in his silence.

"Thou must accomplish every aspect of the mission." "I understand," Bahmad said. "According to the timetable."

"There can be no mistakes."

"There will be no mistakes if we act in unison."

"There is very little time--"

"In Paradise there will be all the time of the universe."

Again bin Laden hesitated. He had never been a rash man. He thought out his every move, as he was doing now, for which Bahmad was grateful. "Do not disappoint me," he finally said.