Retribution (9781429922593) (12 page)

“I take it that you've already heard about the second killing,” Page said. “Police have it down as a robbery gone bad.”

“Bullshit,” McGarvey said, and he sat down next to Patterson.

“It would seem so, after the Florida incident,” the lawyer said dryly.

Page was angry. “I understand that you went to Germany to meet with an officer in the BND, and that there was an incident in which two men were killed. Were you involved?”

“Yes. It was a setup—four of them sent to take me down. Turks with connections to the drug trade.”

“And you let two live?” Patterson asked.

“I wanted them to take a message back to the people who hired them.”

“The bureau wants your passport,” Page said.

“Which one, Walt?”

Page sat back. He was clearly frustrated. “Why did you come to see me? What do you want?”

“Two of the twenty-four SEALs who took part in the raid on bin Laden are dead, along with their families. The one in Florida was murdered by a German who most likely works with a group of professional assassins for hire. The second one had nothing to do with a robbery.”

“Is this what the BND believes to be true?”

“Officially no. But they did send one of their officers to follow the Florida shooter. And we've learned that in the past several months two million euros have been paid into bank accounts belonging to the leader of this group.”

“It's up to the Germans to arrest her.”

“Not without proof. And possibly for the same reason that Marty ordered Pete Boylan to back away from the investigation.”

“What reason is that?” Page asked.

“The two million came from the ISI.”

Page held up a hand. “This stops now, Mac, and I mean it. No more of your running around on your own shooting anyone who gets in your way.”

“Who ordered you to leave Pakistan out of it?”

“This conversation ends now,” Page said. “Someone from the bureau will want to interview you, and I suggest that you cooperate this time.” He got to his feet, but McGarvey remained seated.

“Can you tell me what the navy is doing? Has the ONI at least given the other guys the heads up?”

“The Office of Naval Intelligence is not this agency's business.”

“Christ, what if I'm right? How many other assassinations are going to have to happen before you get your head out of your ass?”

“Get out of here.”

McGarvey got to his feet. “Have I ever steered you or this agency wrong?”

“A piece of advice?” Patterson asked.

“Sure,” Mac said. He hadn't thought that he would get very far this morning, but he was glad he'd come; the company was on notice.

“Whatever you do, stay as far away as possible from the Senate's Select Committee on Intelligence.”

“Anyone in particular?” McGarvey asked. There were fifteen members on the committee.

“I think you know the two or three I'm talking about.”

McGarvey nodded. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Director,” he said to Page, and walked out.

 

NINETEEN

At the Alt-Collner Schankstuben restaurant Pam Schlueter took one of the small tables on the sidewalk and ordered a Martini & Rossi red vermouth with an orange peel. It was the signal that she'd come in clear, which just now was a great puzzle to her. One of several she was faced with.

About a month ago she'd noticed that someone was following her, and it didn't take long to figure out that her minders—there were three on single shifts—were almost certainly BND officers. It was a BND officer who'd followed Dieter to Florida and gunned him down on the beach outside the UDT/SEAL museum. And Friedrich Heiser had had to lose another BND officer before he made the hit on the Ridder SEAL and his family.

And as of yesterday she was still being followed. But all of a sudden this afternoon, when she'd taken a test run to the Marx-Engels Plaza in preparation for tonight's meeting, she realized that her minders were gone.

For a couple of hours she wandered all over the city, sometimes on foot, sometimes by bus or taxi but no one was behind her. She'd even become so obvious as to suddenly stop and reverse direction or walk into a shop and go out the back way. But still nothing. Nor had there been anyone in front of the apartment she was using for the past several weeks or anyone to follow her here tonight.

Only a few diners were in the pub, and the small table next to hers had a reserved sign on it. Naisir came around the corner and sat down at the reserved table. “You had no trouble this evening?” he asked conversationally.

“No. But what the hell are you doing here?” Pam demanded, keeping her voice low. His calling her for this meeting was another of the puzzles.

A waiter came out and Naisir ordered a grilled ham sandwich and a beer.

“I can't eat like this in Islamabad,” the ISI officer said. “I've come to warn you that I arranged to have Mr. McGarvey taken out but the idiots who were to have done the job failed. In fact, McGarvey actually killed two of them.”

Pam had seen the back-page newspaper article about a disturbance in a parking garage just off the Ku'damm. The police had called it a robbery attempt, which was common these days. “I had the contract, I was waiting for you to tell me where he could be found, and now you're saying that he was here in Berlin?”

“Yes. It was thought to save you the trouble so that you could concentrate on your primary assignment. How are you progressing?”

“I still have Heiser and four other operators in the States, all of them in the Norfolk area.”

Naisir frowned. “If they're working together, they're bound to be noticed.”

“For now none of them knows of the existence of the others. They're each working independently. In fact, one of the DEVGRU operators and his family have already been eliminated.”

“Yes, I'd assumed that was your work. What about the others? There's been nothing in the news over the past twenty-four hours. You've not run into any trouble you're not telling me about?”

When Pam had realized that she was no longer being tailed by the BND she had debated keeping Naisir in the dark. But she depended upon him for up-to-the-minute intelligence, and of course for the money—one million euros up front, plus five hundred thousand for each SEAL assaulter taken down, plus an additional bonus if all twenty-four of them were eliminated.

“The BND is no longer following me,” she said.

“They're very good. You can't be certain.”

“But I am,” she said, and she told him about her activities this afternoon and evening.

Naisir's sandwich and beer came, and Pam ordered another vermouth. When her drink came and the waiter left, Naisir was actually smiling.

“Perhaps it's better that we let Mr. McGarvey return home unharmed after all,” he said.

“I don't understand.”

“Don't you see, my dear, the man has actually helped us—you in particular.”

“No, I don't see.”

“Why he became involved no longer matters. But he is, and his first step was to come here to talk to the BND officer who took your Herr Zimmer out. But the meeting took place at the private residence of Weisse's control officer, not at headquarters. Afterwards, the team tailing you was ordered to stand down. The same thing is happening at this moment in the United States. Only the local police are involved in the murders, but not the FBI or the CIA.”

“I'm still not following you,” Pam said.

“Mr. McGarvey has convinced the German intelligence service as well as his own CIA that the attacks on the SEAL Team Six assaulters is being orchestrated by us. By the government of Pakistan. To exact retribution.”

“Which is the truth.”

“Of course it is. But neither Berlin nor Washington could ever admit to something so monstrous. We provide the United States, and to a lesser extent the coalition forces, including Germany, with the right to do battle with the Taliban and al-Qaeda leadership. Of course we condemn the attacks publically, but we allow them.”

“Including the raid on bin Laden's compound?”

“Especially that one,” Naisir said. “And in return we are given money to help fund and equip our military.”

Pam understood perfectly. “India is a friend of the United States. So we're talking about a delicate balance.”

“An extremely delicate balance, one that neither Washington nor Berlin wishes to upset.”

“Stupid that they would allow their war heroes to be assassinated.”

“The actual reason for the balance is to prevent a nuclear war between us and India—a war that would almost certainly spread, perhaps to something totally out of control.”

“It's still stupid,” Pam said. Even through her deep hatred she could see it—a country not protecting the soldiers who served it.

“I agree. But they have McGarvey. He won't get any official help, but he's bound to come after your assassins and eventually you.”

“I thought you said that he's helped us.”

“Yes, he has. But just remember he will come after you, and when he does, you'd best be prepared to deal with him.”

“Unlike your clumsy effort.”

“I agree,” Naisir said. “Even I underestimated the man. Don't you make the same mistake.”

“When the time comes he will be eliminated for an additional fee.”

“Yes, one million.”

“Two million.”

“Agreed,” Naisir said without hesitation.

“Then the next step is to kill the remaining twenty-two SEALS.”

 

TWENTY

A young ensign in desert tan Crye Precision battle dress was waiting for McGarvey at the front gate of the U.S. Naval Special Warfare Development Group—DEVGRU—at Virginia Beach. He wore no name tag, only his insignia of rank and the SEAL Team Six patch. Slight of build, with long hair tied in a ponytail, he had the thousand-yard stare of the warrior who has seen close-quarters battle.

“Mr. Director, welcome to DEVGRU, I'm Ensign Mader. Captain Cole asked that I bring you up to his office.”

McGarvey parked his car in the visitor's lot outside the main gate and then got into a navy Hummer, with Mader at the wheel.

On the way up, the windows were down. Mac heard two sharp explosions and then a lot of small-arms fire in the distance through the woods, “Busy day.”

“Yes, sir.”

They stopped at an intersection to allow a pair of armored personnel carriers to pass. Seconds later a Black Hawk helicopter roared low overhead and disappeared toward the sound of the shooting to the east.

A few blocks later they passed the post exchange and the cluster of buildings normally associated with a military installation, finally pulling up and parking in front of a three-story building with a small signboard and an American flag in a grassy area.

“I'm surprised that your flag isn't at half mast because of the two operators you lost,” McGarvey said.

“That takes a presidential directive and we've received none,” Mader said sharply.

Inside they bypassed the elevator and took the stairs up to an office on the third floor, where a young clerk, also dressed in Cryes, picked up the phone. “The gentleman from Washington is here, sir.” He hung up. “Captain Cole will see you now, sir,” he said.

Cole's corner office looked down a long grassy slope to what appeared to be an urban setting of several two- and three-story concrete block buildings. Several battered cars and a couple of pickup trucks were parked on the street. Two men were spraying foam on one of the cars, which was on fire.

The captain, dressed in Cryes like everyone else McGarvey had seen this afternoon, got up from behind his desk. “Glad to finally meet you, Mr. Director,” he said, though his attitude and inflection said differently.

“I won't take up much of your time. I expect you're a busy man.”

“That I am,” Cole said, motioning to a seat. He was half a head shorter than McGarvey and lean, with a scar that ran down the left side of his weather-beaten face from just below his ear to the bottom of his chin. His eyes were narrow, as if he was getting ready either for bad news or for an attack.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No. I'll get directly to my reason for wanting to see you. It's about your ex-wife, Pamela Schlueter. Have you had any contact with her in the past few months?”

Cole got to his feet, furious. “Get the hell out of my office.”

“If need be I'll have you ordered to Washington, and we can conduct this in an ONI facility.”

Cole reached for the phone.

“I don't much care for men who beat up on their wives. Especially a man with your training.”

“Unproven allegations.”

“But not your presence on any number of porn sites,” McGarvey said. Otto had dug that up last night. “At least you have the good sense never to use government computers.”

“You can't prove a thing,” Cole said, no longer so sure of himself.

“I think you know I can.”

Cole sat down.

“Thing is, you're doing a damned good job down here. Five to go for your thirty years, though you've been passed up twice for your star. It's possible that a recommendation from the CIA might help the next time around. Especially if we prove that your ex is involved with the people who murdered the two SEAL Team Six operators.”

“Can't be her,” Cole said.

“Why not?”

“She was from Bad Aibling, a small town outside of Munich. She was a village girl when I met her and still a village girl when I brought her back to the States. I had a job at the Pentagon and she never fit in. Bitched all the time about the weather, the food, the traffic, the people. Nothing was right for her.”

“Including you?”

“Especially me.”

“Which is why you got rough with her?”