Retribution (9781429922593) (37 page)

“About time you guys showed up,” he said. “I was thinking about shooting these two for the hell of it. Not really sure exactly who they are.”

“Lieutenant Kevin Hardesty and Chief Petty Officer Caroline Cyr,” McGarvey said. “ONI, here to take you into protective custody on Captain Cole's orders.”

“You have to be Mr. McGarvey,” Hardesty said. He was lean, built like a soccer player, with seriously dark eyes and a demeanor to match.

“Yes, and this is my partner, Pete Boylan.”

“First of all, we don't like people pointing guns at us,” Hardesty said. “Especially when we're here to help.”

“I don't like people barging in on me, unless you think I'm breaking some navy reg,” Rautanen shot back. His temper was flaring. “Anyway I'm no longer in the navy.”

“We're here trying to do you a favor. Captain Cole suggested—not ordered—that we come out to talk to you about a situation that Mr. McGarvey thinks might be coming your way.”

“There's no proof yet,” Caroline Cyr said.

“Don't be stupid,” McGarvey shot back. “Barnes and Ridder and their families were shot to death. How many more bodies do you guys want to see piled up until your bosses decide to stop covering their bureaucratic asses?”

Hardesty started to say something, but Caroline held him off. “We're not the bad guys, Mr. Director. And, yes, we were briefed on you and what you think has been going on. And we were sent here to try to defuse the situation by taking Chief Rautanen into protective custody until the situation stabilizes.”

“The situation won't stabilize. If they miss Ratman tonight, they'll go after the other guys.”

“What other guys?” Hardesty said.

“If you don't know that, asshole, what the hell are you doing here?” Pete asked.

“Following orders.”

“We're not. In fact tonight some people are going to die here, and we're going to kill them. Maybe you oughta call for reinforcements, or maybe call the cops on us, because it's not going to be pretty.”

Hardesty tried to say something, but Pete cut him off.

“Maybe if you guys had been on the ball the other two guys and their families wouldn't be dead now.” She was on a roll, her eyes flashing. “This isn't how we're supposed to treat the folks who go out there and put their lives on the line for the rest of us. Why don't you pick up a rifle and hump your ass off to the Anwar Province or someplace tropical like that.”

“Did you take their guns?” McGarvey asked.

“No, sir,” Rautanen said, grinning.

“Get out of here,” McGarvey told the two ONI officers. “We appreciate what you're trying to do, but more's needed. The attack on our guys stops tonight.”

The ONI agents got up, and at the door Caroline turned back. “You think that something's going down tonight?” she asked.

“It's possible,” McGarvey said.

“Is there anything we can do for you, short of sending reinforcements.”

“Tell me what your specific orders are, and who gave them to you.”

Caroline smiled and shrugged. “Ah, well, good luck, you guys. I wish there was something we could do, I really do.”

After they walked out Rautanen went to the window and parted the curtain. “I don't think the LT is real happy with his chief,” he said. He turned back. “They were here for show, no way in hell they wanted to take me in. Weren't even surprised when I jumped them out front. Didn't try to talk me out of anything.”

“I'm not surprised either,” McGarvey said.

Rautanen laid the shotgun on the coffee table and perched again on the arm of the easy chair. “So what's the op tonight? Who's coming after me, and why?”

“A group of German contractors hired by the Pakistani ISI, which wants payback for Neptune Spear.”

Rautanen broke out in a big grin. “No shit,” he said. “Are they after all of us?”

“With you it'd be three down, twenty-one to go.”

“Plus one.”

McGarvey shook his head. “Who?”

“The dog. Don't forget the dog. He was right there with us, man.”

McGarvey let it ride for a beat. “These guys are good. German KSK. They don't have a hard-on for you guys, but by the same token they don't give a shit. It's just another day at the office.”

“Good. Makes it professional. Nice and clean, nothing ambiguous. No second thoughts, no touchy-feelies, no hesitations. You see the shot, you take the shot.”

“Could get hairy,” Pete said, trying to bring him down just a little.

But Rautanen's grin broadened. “Good. So what's the op plan?”

“Tell me what you know about the apartments up the street. The layout, the people,” McGarvey said.

“No place you want to be,” Rautanen said. “Good people, most of them, but the kids are seriously pissed off, and I don't blame them. It's why I act crazy all the time, keep this place looking like a shit hole, so they'll stay away.”

“Has it worked?” Pete asked.

Rautanen grinned. “Here I am.”

 

SIXTY-SEVEN

When they checked in at what had been a Motel 6 on North Military Highway in Virginia Beach, the old guy who was the desk clerk gave Pam and Ayesha a knowing smirk. The place was run-down, in a seedy neighborhood, and attracted all kinds of clientele.

They drove back and parked in front of the end room. Ayesha held her silence until they got out of the car.

“What kind of horrible place is this? We could be in Rawalpindi.”

“We just were, remember?” Pam said. She had no sympathy for the woman, none whatsoever, but she had been telling the truth when she promised to make sure Ayesha got back to Pakistan in one piece. It was for self-defense if nothing else.

They carried the heavy bags inside and flopped them down on the twin beds. The room was reasonably clean, though the sink ran slow when Ayesha splashed some water on her face. The mirror was cracked and one of the fluorescent tubes was burned out.

“My four operators are in the next two rooms,” Pam said. “I'm going to get them together for their briefing. I suggest that you remain here until I come back for the equipment.”

“I'm not staying here alone.”

“Listen to me, bitch. I'm trying to carry out this op while at the same time keep you alive. These guys won't want to deal with you. For all they know you're a spy for the ISI who'll turn them in when this is all over. It'd be easier for them to kill you now so that they won't have to look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives.”

“Like you.”

“That's right. The ISI knows who I am, which is why I want to make sure that you get home safely.”

“Interesting,” Ayesha said. “They'll want me dead to save their own necks, and you want me alive for the same reason.”

“So stay here.”

“No,” Ayesha said. She hefted one of the bags. “Let's see how my money is being spent.”

Pam considered the woman for a long beat. Without her cooperation the money would dry up. Reestablishing a tie with the ISI would take time, even if it could be done now, considering the tense situation with India. And working with the devil you knew was almost always better than working with one you didn't.

“Put the bag back on the bed and stay here, I'll be right back.”

“I said I won't be left out of this.”

“I'll bring my people here. They'll have to find out about you sooner or later—might as well get it done now.”

“Don't ignore me. I have just as much reason for retribution as you do. Maybe more.”

Pam went to the next room and knocked discreetly on the door. “It's me,” she said.

The door opened on its safety chain. Volker was there with a shotgun. “Who is the woman you brought here?” he demanded.

They had maintained a lookout. It was something she hadn't thought about. To this point no one but she and the four operators—Volker and Bruns in this room and Woedding and Heiser across the hall—knew about this place. “Our paymaster from the ISI.”

“Get rid of her and then we'll talk.”

“Where'd you get the shotgun?”

“A little bar in North Carolina. No witnesses.”

“The gun will be reported stolen.”

“No,” Volker said. “Get rid of the broad.”

“If you want in on this op, it's on for tonight,” Pam said. “I'll see your ass next door in five.”

She went across the narrow corridor and knocked on 122. “It's me.”

Heiser opened the door a crack. “Is it time?”

“I'm in one-twenty-five. Briefing in five minutes.”

Heiser closed the door.

*   *   *

Volker left his shotgun behind, but he and the other three men kept on their feet, their body language tense. Fight or flight, they left their options open.

“The woman's name is of no importance; she is our paymaster and nothing more,” Pam said. She too was on her feet. The weapons were laid out on the bed between them.

Ayesha stood at the open bathroom door. She had the good sense to say nothing.

“She will not be on either assault team tonight, and before first light all of us will be long gone from here, in our separate directions, considerably richer than we are at this moment.”

“What guarantee do we have that when this is over she won't out us?”

“None, other than your own tradecraft and the money, which will allow you to go deep.”

“And if we don't wish to stay ‘deep', as you put it, forever?” Heiser asked.

At twenty-four he was just getting started. The thought of such an early retirement didn't sit well with him, hadn't from the beginning. It was something Pam had understood the first time she met him.

“That would be entirely up to you,” she said. “But once the dust settles, which it surely will—even 9/11 has faded in the minds of most Americans and Neptune Spear will fade in the minds of the Pakistani government—there will be other operations.”

“With you?”

“We'll see,” Pam said.

After tonight she would be faced with one last operation—hers personally, with Gloria's help—and she would go permanently to ground somewhere. Possibly in Germany, after some plastic surgery and some bulletproof identity documents, which a lot of money could buy. She would go back to being a small-town girl. Maybe buy a
Gasthaus
somewhere outside of Munich.

Or maybe she would set up in Frankfurt or Luxembourg or even Zurich as an investment counselor for a specialized clientele. A money laundress and financial expediter for guys like Heiser. It would be the dolce vita: nice clothes, nice cars, nice apartments, fine restaurants, vacations to the Caribbean or South Seas. A boy toy who wouldn't beat on her.

Anything was possible with money and retribution under her belt.

Volker looked at Ayesha. “If this goes bad and the ISI goons start coming for me, I'll get past them, and you will be my first kill.”

Ayesha shrugged. “Do you want the money or not?”

Volker nodded at length.

“Then do as you're told and keep your fucking mouth shut.”

The tension level in the small room rose palpably.

“Kirk McGarvey will be our primary target for tonight. The ST Six operators will be secondary.”

“He's here?” Bruns asked.

“Yes. At the home of one of the Neptune Spear operators, just a few miles from here. He knows we're coming, and he's offered the operator as bait.”

“Shouldn't be too tough for the four of us to take them down,” Bruns said.

“Tell that to Dieter and Steffen,” Pam said. “But they went in blind, something we won't do.”

“We're listening,” Volker said.

 

SIXTY-EIGHT

Sitting at the kitchen table in Rautanen's house, McGarvey methodically cleaned and oiled his Walther PPK. He unloaded and reloaded all three six-shot magazines of 9x18mm shells, making sure that the spring in each was not jammed. Finally he reloaded the pistol, jacking a round into the firing chamber, then removed the magazine to load another round, making his pistol a six-plus-one shot.

Pete sitting across from him watched in silence as he pocketed two of the magazines, holstered the pistol at the small of his back, and set the silencer tube aside.

“What can I say to talk you out of this,” she asked at length.

“We've come this far, and I sure as hell won't turn around and walk away.”

“I understand, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm just saying that we should call for backup.”

“They'd spot it and sit on their heels. Time's on their side.”

Rautanen had been watching the street from the living room window. It was finally dark. He came back to the kitchen and opened a Coke. “Nothing yet.”

“You up for this?” McGarvey asked.

Rautanen laughed but nodded. “You bet your ass, but I think that you're crazier than I am.”

“Tell him,” Pete said.

“Do you have anything other than the Ithaca and the SIG?” McGarvey asked.

“A KA-BAR, if it comes to that.”

“How many rounds for the guns?”

“Two boxes of double-ought shot, two of slugs for the Franchi, and a couple of boxes of hollow points for the pistol.”

Schlueter would be sending at least three or four shooters tonight, and after what had gone down in Rawalpindi he was sure that her primary target had changed from the ST Six guys to him. Once he had been eliminated they would go on with the op.

“How about you?” he asked Pete.

She nodded. “In for a penny, in for a pound, my dad always used to say.”

“No silencers,” McGarvey said. “I want this noisy.”

“But we don't know when,” Rautanen said. “Could be an all-nighter, and maybe not go down until tomorrow night or the next.”

“Unless we set the time,” McGarvey said. He phoned Otto, and put it on speaker.