Retribution (9781429922593) (22 page)

“I'm really counting on you,” Gloria said, and Pam could hear the desperation in her voice.

“I know,” she said.

She called Naisir and left a message on his voice mail, but it wasn't until twenty minutes later after she'd booked her flight to Islamabad and had begun packing that he called back.

“Do you have news?” he asked.

“Yes. McGarvey showed up there with a woman—most likely a CIA operative. I think he's there to meet a guy by the name of Chopra who's probably a CIA NOC.”

“Where the hell did you get this?”

“Never mind that part. But I think that they must have taken Steffen alive and made him talk. It's possible he knew your name and gave it up.”

“Bitch,” Naisir said softly. “Which would mean McGarvey, the woman, and the other bastard are here to take me down.”

“Are you aware that McGarvey and his broad are staying at the Serena in a suite adjoining Chopra's?”

“We think Chopra is an arms dealer working out of Karachi.”

“Do you have him under surveillance?”

“No one has actually seen him. All we have to go on is one photograph.”

“Let me guess—it came from the CIA,” Pam said.

“Yes.”

“It's a setup. Killing you on Pakistani soil could have a lot of unintended consequences for your people as well as for me and the operation. But if you were somehow to be discredited, maybe link your name with Chopra's and maybe the CIA, you could be taken down by your own directorate.”

Naisir was silent for a long beat. When he came back he sounded unsure. “It may already be happening. Chopra made four calls—three to my home and one to my office.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“No.”

“Are your people monitoring your telephones?”

“We got it from the CIA, who say they're after Chopra as well, because the stuff he's selling to the Taliban is being used to kill American ground troops as well as Pakistanis.”

“I'm on my way,” Pam said. “I can be there sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Naisir practically shouted.

“We're going to set a trap for the three of them. Who knows, maybe the CIA will give you a medal. Crazier things have happened.”

 

THIRTY-SIX

Wolf was on suspended duty with pay pending an investigation into his actions in the United States and here in Germany. He'd been required to turn in his credentials and his weapon, but he'd not been restricted to his apartment in the quiet neighborhood of Dahlem, which was known as the university district—nor, so far as he'd been able to determine, had a tail been placed on him.

He sat in his VW Jetta parked a block from the Schlueter woman's apartment where he'd been forced to move when one of the woman's goons had shown up and went inside. The man, who Wolf was pretty sure was a guy named Volker, had stayed less than twenty minutes.

He'd probably come for orders, not trusting the phone, which could mean that the operation against the SEAL team was still in play.

Wolf lit a cigarette, a habit he'd taken up when his wife Renate had left him six months ago—for the second time—because she couldn't live with his constant nights out and mysterious trips abroad for which he could give her no explanation. She'd discovered his pistol and several diplomatic passports in different names when he'd stupidly forgotten to close and lock his floor safe for just a few minutes when he went to take a shower after a trip.

“Are you some kind of a spy, then?” she shrieked, holding up the weapon and documents.

He'd taken them from her without a word and locked them in the safe.

“You bastard, answer me or I'll take the boys, walk out the door and never come back.”

“I can't,” he told her. “And you're never to mention anything about this ever again.”

“Or what?” she shot back.

“My life could depend on it.”

She'd packed a bag that night, and moved in with her sister down in Potsdam. Three days later she'd called to apologize for her outburst and promised that she would never breathe a word about what she'd found.

“Then come back,” he said. “I miss you and the kids.”

“I can't. I'd be forever listening for the phone to ring, someone calling to tell me that my husband had been shot to death by some unknown gunman in some unknown city in some unknown fucking country. Can't you see, Wolfhardt, that I'm frightened?”

“Yes,” he'd said. “Can't stop me from loving you.”

“Or I you,” she said. “We can still be friends. Maybe.”

“Of course. Dinner once in a while?” he'd asked, and she'd agreed.

This evening was to have been one of the dinners, but he'd canceled. He'd heard the disappointment and resignation in her voice, which had actually given him some hope that they might still get together again.

“Give me a call when you get back from wherever,” she said. “And take care of yourself.”

A taxi passed Wolf's car and pulled up in front of Schlueter's apartment. A moment later she came out carrying a small green overnight bag and got in the backseat. The cab immediately took off and Wolf followed it, not at all surprised twenty minutes later when it took the Stadtautobahn highway exit to the Tegel Airport, where it pulled up at the Terminal A departures entrance.

Wolf had kept his police placard, which he placed on the dash and parked across from where Schlueter got out.

When the cab left he hurried across the street and into the terminal, in time to see Schlueter queue up at the Air Berlin counter. He held back, but the line was short at this hour of the night. It took less than five minutes for her to reach one of the ticket machines and only two minutes to get her boarding pass. She headed down the broad hall to the gates.

He followed her at a discreet distance, pulling up when she showed her boarding pass and passport to the security agent and went through the screening process. As soon as she had disappeared down the corridor, Wolf pulled an envelope from his pocket and, cutting ahead of everyone else, rushed to the security agent.

“The woman with the green bag who just came through here forgot this,” he said.

The agent, an older man, shook his head. “May I see your boarding pass and identification, sir?”

“You don't understand. I'm not flying tonight. But she needs this information.”

“I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot let you pass.”

“Damnit, you don't understand.”

“I'll have to call security.”

“How do I get this to her?”

“Go to the airline ticket counter; perhaps they can help.”

“But I don't know which gate she's boarding from,” Wolf said. He half turned away. “I'll be skinned alive,” he muttered.

“Green suitcase?” the security officer asked.

Wolf turned back. “Yes.”

“Twenty-six. Have them send it there.”

“You just saved my life,” Wolf said, and he turned and headed back the way he had come, stopping at the first overhead monitor he came to that was out of sight of the security entry. Twenty-six was an Air Berlin nonstop flight to Abu Dhabi; it left in thirty-five minutes.

Outside he called McGarvey's cell. It was answered on the third ring.

“Yes?”

“It's Wolfhardt. I have some information for you.”

“Are you in Berlin?” McGarvey said.

“Yes, at Tegel. Schlueter is taking a flight to Abu Dhabi that leaves in a half hour. I think she's on her way to Islamabad. Maybe you should contact someone there to watch out for her.”

“Pete and I are already here.”

“Could be that she and Naisir talked. And it could mean they've bought into the Chopra legend.”

“We've not seen any sign of it yet. But we're going down to his safe house in Rawalpindi in a few hours, to see if anyone sits up and takes notice.”

“Don't underestimate her and her people. One of them showed up tonight, and within a half hour she was out the door and on her way to the airport. Whatever he told her had to be significant. And I think she's probably on her way to help Naisir.”

“With what?”

“I think she might know that you're there, and why you're there, and I think it's possible that she's been hired to deal with you, if for no other reason than retaliation for what you messed up in Norfolk.”

“If she knows that we're here, she has to have an intel source in the CIA. No one else knows we left.”

“It could be anyone. Your rep is your worst enemy at this point.”

“We'll look out for her,” McGarvey said. “In the meantime, you're still a part of this operation as well. You took out one of her operatives in Florida, and if they have your name, they're likely to come after you before they go ahead.”

“I hope someone tries. I want my creds back.”

“Watch your back,” McGarvey said.

“You too,” he said, and then pocketed his phone. As he stood waiting for the traffic to clear so he could cross the road to his car, he thought about laying everything out for Colonel Mueller. But he knew damned well that there'd be no chance of getting orders to go to Islamabad to help Mac. All that was left at this point was to do what Mac had advised, and watch his own back.

He took the Stadtautobahn back into the city and drove directly to Schueleter's apartment building. As he pulled up at the curb a figure loomed up from the back floor and the muzzle of a pistol was placed almost gently on the back of his head.

“I thought you might come back here,” Volker said.

Wolf looked at the man's face in the rearview mirror. “It's a pretty big deal killing a federal cop. There'd be no hole deep enough for you to hide in. Except maybe a grave.”

“You used your cell phone at the airport. Who did you call?”

“My mother. It's her birthday.”

“As you wish,” Volker said. “Let's go then.”

“Where?”

“The parking garage at the airport where I left my car.”

Wolf slammed the gas pedal to the floor and took off with squealing tires. He figured his speed and erratic driving would make Volker hesitate to shoot and sooner or later attract the attention of some cop.

Squealing around a corner he narrowly missed a parked car when a thunderclap burst inside of his head.

 

THIRTY-SEVEN

Naisir stood on the balcony of his inner sanctum looking toward the park; there was very little traffic at this hour of the morning. He was nursing a Rémy and deep in thought, so when Ayesha came up behind him and brushed a finger across the nape of his neck, he practically jumped out of his skin.

“You scared me half to death,” he said, turning to her.

“I heard the phone. Who was it?”

“Schlueter. She knows that McGarvey's here.”

“What's her source?”

“She wouldn't tell me, but she knows about Chopra. Thinks he's a CIA NOC.”

Ayesha thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “If that's to make any sense it would have to mean that the CIA is running some sort of an operation. Possibly against you because of the SEAL operation.”

“I thought the same thing. Problem is, I don't have the proper resources to monitor McGarvey's movements.”

Ayesha looked at him. From the beginning she'd had the ability to read his thoughts: from the expression in his eyes, she'd explained. “What else?”

“Schlueter is on her way here. She wants to help me set a trap for them.”

Again his wife hesitated a moment, lost in thought. “That also could make some sense, if it's handled correctly. Afterward you could get rid of her.”

“The SEAL operation is still on. I'm not going to drop it now.”

“Kill her and hire someone else. Her people have only managed to take out two of the twenty-four, and you said yourself that they bungled the operation in Norfolk. There're others out there willing to do the job.”

“But none with her motivation.”

“Allah save us from motivated people. They're the ones who strap on suicide vests, which doesn't make them exactly sane. Given the right push they could turn around and bite the hand that feeds them.”

“My orders are to eliminate Chopra even if he does work for the CIA.”

“Then do it.”

“He and McGarvey know each other. They're in adjoining suites at the Serena.”

Ayesha turned and looked at the hideous German grandfather clock one of her sisters-in-law had given them. It was four. “Most of the hotel's guests are asleep at this time of the morning. Go over there now, get a universal key from the night manager, and take care of the Indian. No one on the hotel's staff will complain about letting on ISI officer in, nor will the death of a guest receive any publicity. And you won't be in any trouble at work because it was exactly what you were ordered to do.”

“McGarvey's right next door. And he brought another officer with him—a woman.”

“He's an entirely different issue. But I have an idea that we can use the Schlueter woman to do the dirty work for you.”

“Killing two CIA officers in the hotel would be something entirely different.”

“I agree. Which is why you'll lure him to the safe house. Use your contacts on the street. Someone who could help. And if by some chance he does manage to escape it will be because he and his woman have murdered two agents of the government of Pakistan in their pursuit of a woman who was responsible for the deaths of two American SEALs.”

“You're devious,” he said, with admiration.

“It's the years of business training from my father and uncles. Know your goal and do whatever it takes to achieve it. All other considerations are without merit.”

They went back to their bedroom where she laid out his jeans, a white shirt and black blazer. He loaded his 9mm Steyr GB, holstered it beneath his jacket, and pocketed the silencer tube, all in under fifteen minutes.