Retribution (9781429922593) (19 page)

“I imagine something new has come up, otherwise you wouldn't have asked for this meeting,” Page said. He'd been the CEO of IBM before the president had tapped him to run the company, and by all accounts he was the best in a lot of years. But he was a strictly by-the-book DCI. He and McGarvey had formed a truce of sorts over the past year.

“Yes, and before I head to Islamabad I wanted to bring you up to speed,” Mac said.

“I'm not going to listen to this,” Page said sharply. He was suddenly angry. “If you make an attempt to reach Pakistan you will be subject to immediate arrest. I think I made that perfectly clear just a few days ago.”

“The situation has changed, Mr. Director.”

“This meeting is over,” Page said. He started to rise, but Patterson motioned him back.

“Perhaps we should hear him out. He's almost always over the top, but he's never been wrong.”

“Outside the law, in a word,” Bambridge said. He and McGarvey had never gotten along.

“There was another attempt on the SEAL Team Six guys in Norfolk. We think that there were four assassins, at least one of whom we know for a fact was an ex-KSK German commando by the name of Steffen Engel. Had they been successful, they might have wiped out at least ten of the guys plus their families.”

“You were there,” Patterson said.

“Yes.”

“Extraordinary.”

“How many people did you kill this time?” Bambridge demanded.

“None,” McGarvey said. He hoped that Bambridge would be included in the meeting; he wanted to get a few things out in the open with the deputy director. “We wanted to stop the attack and I wanted at least one of them alive.”

The DDO smirked. “We?”

“Doesn't matter for the moment—”

“It goddamned well does, mister.”

“The German commando?” Patterson said mildly. He was an old man, and he'd been around the company through a half-dozen directors. His was one of the most respected voices in the OHB.

“I managed to take him down before he could make the hit. He had a cell phone, which I thought he and his teammates would have been given in order to communicate with their boss, the Schlueter woman.”

“The one you say was married to a SEAL officer. A still-serving SEAL officer,” Patterson said.

“That's right,” McGarvey said. “I used the phone to call her, and told her that it was over and to go home.”

“What about your prisoner?” Patterson asked.

“He's in an isolation cell at Gitmo.”

“Martinez is involved again?” Bambridge asked, fuming. “The son of a bitch needs to be fired.” But then something else dawned on him. “You were in Norfolk, so you flew with your prisoner not directly to Guantanamo Bay, but to Miami to see your old pal. And to do what?”

McGarvey wanted the DDO to figure it out on his own.

“You got his name, but you apparently got a connection to Pakistan. Christ.” Bambridge looked at the DCI. “They took him to Little Torch Key,” he said. He turned back to McGarvey. “Didn't you?”

“Not only that, Marty, we waterboarded the bastard. And we got a name.”

“Torture has never been a reliable source of information. Everyone knows it except you.”

“Save it for CNBC. We didn't give him a name and ask for confirmation; he came up with it on his own.”

“Who else was there besides you and Martinez?”

“That doesn't matter. What does is the name.”

“It matters to me,” Bambridge practically shouted.

It was exactly the reaction McGarvey had expected.

“The name?” Patterson prompted.

“Ali Naisir. He's a major in the ISI's directorate of Joint Intelligence Miscellaneous.”

“Rencke,” Bambridge said. He was beside himself.

“I would tread with care, Marty,” McGarvey said.

“No one is above the law. Not you, not Martinez, and certainly not Otto Rencke.”

Everyone was silent for what seemed like a long time. McGarvey bided his own, letting all of them, especially Page, work out the ramifications.

It was finally the DCI who spoke. “You believe this information is reliable?” he asked.

“It all fits. Pam Schlueter, who had an unsuccessful marriage to one of our naval officers, apparently hatched a plan to strike back at him. But she wanted to do it in a very big way, and for that she needed some serious muscle, which these days costs serious money. I think she approached the ISI with her scheme to kill the SEAL Team Six guys who violated Pakistan's airspace to take out bin Laden. Nothing the government in Islamabad could do about it, except swallow its pride. Which had to hurt like hell. Schlueter gave them salvation. She would organize a team to take out the SEALs—all of them—but as an operation totally independent of Pakistan. And they bought it because she had the motive and they had the money.”

“Has Otto found any traces of the money trail—any link no matter how small back to the ISI?” Page asked.

“Not yet. But he's working on it.”

“The man needs to be reined in, Mr. Director,” Bambridge said.

Page ignored him. “You want to go to Islamabad to talk to him, nothing more?”

“If the connection exists—and I'll ask him in such a way that he'll tell the truth—it means that Pakistan is killing our people. Not just the SEAL operators who took out bin Laden but their families as well.”

“The proof?”

“I'll find it.”

“Pakistan is the Wild West,” Patterson said. “Have you ever considered that you'll get yourself killed one of these days?”

“All the time,” McGarvey said.

“Marty, Carleton, leave us, would you please?” Page said.

Bambridge was startled, but he and Patterson got up and left.

Page went to his desk and dialed a number. “It's me,” he said when someone answered. “It's the McGarvey situation. It's come to a head as we thought it might. I'm bringing him over to brief you.”

 

THIRTY-ONE

McGarvey had never met John Fay, the president's new adviser for national security affairs. When he and Page were shown into the NSA's West Wing office, the man got to his feet and shook hands.

“I've heard a great deal about you, Mr. McGarvey, and I've wanted to meet you for some time.”

He was a very lanky man, over six eight, but unlike many tall men he did not slouch. On the way over in the DCI's limousine Page had explained that Fay had been a center for the Rutgers basketball team—long before the coaching scandal, of course, but he still took the mess personally. He was a proud man.

“The man is a fixer,” Page said. “It's why the president picked him. He knows the international situation like the back of his hand, and for three years he acted as a special adviser to Congress on all the major intelligence-gathering agencies in the world, including ours. He told me not so long ago that he loved to read spy novels.”

“I hope he doesn't believe what he reads,” McGarvey had said. “Anyone who gets their intel from novels gets the intel they deserve.”

“He's anything but that sort of a fool,” Page said. “In fact he's one of the smartest men to ever hold that position, and he's liable to ask you some penetrating questions. I suggest that you give him your honest assessments.”

“I always do,” McGarvey had said.

“Would either of you like some coffee, or perhaps a soft drink?” Fay asked, motioning them to take a seat.

“Not for me,” McGarvey said.

Page waved it off. “The situation with the SEAL Team Six continues to develop, and in fact Mac came to me with a couple of disturbing events and a recommendation that, frankly, I find problematic.”

Fay was instantly troubled. “My God, don't tell me there was another shooting?”

“A near miss,” McGarvey said. And he explained in detail the events in Norfolk, only leaving out Pete's and Wolf's names.

“You actually spoke with this woman on the phone?”

“I told her it was over.”

“How'd she sound?” Fay asked. “Mad, surprised, confused?”

“Determined. She said that it was only over for now.”

“You're suggesting that despite what happened in Norfolk, and the fact that you and the agency know what she's trying to accomplish, she won't give up?”

“Yes,” McGarvey said. “Because there's most likely a great deal of money at stake and she's carrying out her own personal vendetta.”

“She was briefly married to a still-serving SEAL officer,” Page explained. “It was about as bad as it can get, and apparently she's been nursing her hatred ever since the divorce.”

“Is this officer aware of what she's trying to do?”

“I told him, but he didn't believe she was capable of something like that,” McGarvey said.

“Did he tell you why he was skeptical?”

“No.”

“There is still some passion there, you think?”

McGarvey had thought about it. “He might think that he's somehow responsible.”

“What does he suggest?”

“He's buried his head in the sand. It's easier for him.”

Fay nodded thoughtfully. “What do you suggest? How do we stop her?”

“Cut off her source of money,” McGarvey said.

“Who is her paymaster?”

“The ISI.”

“Oh,” Fay said. “I see. In retaliation for Neptune Spear.” But then he had another thought. “Do you have proof that the Pakistanis are financing her? Do you have a direct link, a name, anything?”

“Major Ali Naisir.”

“And you got this name how, exactly?”

Page had warned that the NSA would ask penetrating questions. “We took the man I captured down to a facility in the Florida Keys, where we waterboarded him until he gave up the name. We've done some research since and came up with Naisir's position within the ISI, which is consistent with this sort of an operation.”

“Where is he at the moment?”

“Gitmo.”

“I meant Major Naisir.”

“Islamabad.”

McGarvey's reply hung on the air.

President Langdon, in shirtsleeves, his tie loose, appeared at the door. “Gentlemen,” he said mildly. “Is this something I need to be in on?”

Fay looked up. “No, sir. Not at this moment. We're still in the preliminary stages of a what-if exercise.”

“We're not committing any assets or considering committing any?”

“Nothing important, Mr. President.”

The between-the-lines was huge. The president glanced at McGarvey, whom he'd never really gotten along with, then back to his NSA. “Keep me in the loop if and when the time comes.”

“Of course,” Fay said, and the president left.

“How deeply has he been briefed?” McGarvey asked after a long beat.

Fay almost laughed. “Are you kidding me? This isn't another Neptune Spear. If you go over there looking for this major, you're strictly on your own. Deniability, Mr. McGarvey. Especially if something goes wrong. Do you understand?”

“No,” McGarvey said. He'd faced this kind of crap nearly his entire career. We lamented the Pearl Harbors and the 9/11s, but beforehand, when we could have done something to stop the attacks, we sat on our hands. We looked the other way. It was the fair thing to do. It just wasn't right. Not the American way.

“Bullshit,” Fay said. “You occupied Walt's office, you know how delicate and necessary our relationship with Pakistan is. Without its cooperation we have absolutely no chance of defeating the Taliban over there.”

“So we allow them to finance the assassination of all the guys and their families?”

“Of course not, nor will the navy sequester them on some base somewhere, even if they'd go for it. There'd be no telling how long they'd have to stay cooped up.”

And McGarvey did understand. He stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Fay. I'll keep you posted.”

“Do.”

 

THIRTY-TWO

They sat drinking beer at the kitchen counter in the Renckes' McClean safe house. Mac and Pete seated, Otto and Louise standing across from them, and Wolf, bag in hand, at the door. He had been ordered back to Germany.

“I don't know how much help we can give you,” Mac said.

“I'll get a letter of reprimand in my personnel file, but it won't be the first or last. Anyway I think it's for the best that I keep an eye on Schlueter. It's a sure bet she's not done.”

“It's too bad you can't take her into custody,” Louise said.

“She's done nothing wrong on German soil. But if the CIA or FBI were to make an official request, we could do something.”

“Won't happen,” McGarvey said. “Fay made it perfectly clear that I was on my own, and if something went wrong I would be cut loose. And Walt told me the same thing.”

“Wouldn't be the only time politics got in the way,” Otto said.

“No. So that issue isn't on the table. But I'm going to need some help from you guys. Wolf will keep an eye on Schlueter, and if she makes a move back here, or if she simply disappears, I'll want to know immediately.”

“I don't know how much manpower I'll have at my disposal, but I'll do my best.”

“In the meantime I want to make Naisir sit up and look over his shoulder.”

“Is that such a good idea?” Pete asked. “If he knows that you're coming he'll just order your arrest and they'll stick you in a jail cell somewhere and you'll disappear. That is, if you're not shot trying to escape.”

“I don't think so,” McGarvey said. “He'll probably have someplace to go to ground. But he'll be just as constrained as we are. His government will deny that there ever was a deal between one of its ISI officers and a German terrorist group.”

“That won't matter. They'll treat you as nothing more than a rogue spy—maybe an independent contractor on your own vendetta but with absolutely no connection to Schlueter.”