Authors: David Hagberg
Soldier of God (31 page)
McGarvey encountered no one in the corridor or in the emergency stairwell, which he took to the service level one floor below the lobby. This area of the hotel was busy with white-coated waiters, some pushing serving carts for room-service suppers; maids in black with white frills; and supervisors in formal cutaways scurrying along the broad, unadorned corridors and using the several service elevators, some of them speaking urgently on walkie-talkies as the evening began to ramp up.
He had kept himself alive all these years in part because of his tradecraft, but in a large measure because he trusted almost no one. If someone had been monitoring Liese’s call, they might be waiting for him to emerge from the hotel’s front doors. He would make an easy target.
He buttoned his jacket and stepped out of the stairwell. No one gave him a second look as he walked back to the large kitchen and passed directly to the pantry and delivery area that opened outside to the loading dock. The area behind the hotel was slightly below the level of the central plaza, and it was concealed from the street by a row of palm trees and a concrete wall on which grew a profusion of bougainvillea and other flowering vines.
He walked up the ramp, paused at the top as a cab sped past, then walked around to the Place and blended with the early evening crowd, all of his senses alert for any sign that something was out of place. If Liese was right about Salman extending an invitation to sail to Corsica, then McGarvey figured that the white Mercedes would be parked in front. But when he came around the corner the car wasn’t there.
Crossing the street, he made a pass in front of the hotel and the sidewalk café where Liese was supposed to be waiting. He didn’t spot her at first—she was seated two tables from the sidewalk in relative darkness.
At the corner he waited for a break in the heavy traffic, and then skipped across the street, coming back to the café from the direction opposite to the one he would have come from had he left the hotel from the front.
Liese was sipping a glass of wine, her attention directed toward the hotel.
She was wearing a black leather jacket over a white tee, her purse on the table in front of her. In profile her face was narrow, with high cheekbones and a delicately upturned nose; her blond hair was stylishly short and on just about any other woman would look masculine. But the past decade had been very kind to her. When McGarvey had left Switzerland for the last time, Liese had been a kid in her mid-twenties, with a big mouth, and the skin-and-bones figure of a runway model. From what he could see from where he stood twenty feet away, she had matured into a beautiful woman.
She was wearing a black leather jacket over a white tee, her purse on the table in front of her. In profile her face was narrow, with high cheekbones and a delicately upturned nose; her blond hair was stylishly short and on just about any other woman would look masculine. But the past decade had been very kind to her. When McGarvey had left Switzerland for the last time, Liese had been a kid in her mid-twenties, with a big mouth, and the skin-and-bones figure of a runway model. From what he could see from where he stood twenty feet away, she had matured into a beautiful woman.
McGarvey studied the street scene for another moment or two, but he couldn’t detect anyone lingering in front of the hotel; no one was seated in a parked car, no windowless van was in position.
When he turned back, Liese was staring at him, her face an expression of relief mixed with fear and something else. She nodded her head very slightly toward the hotel, asking if he thought he was being followed, and he shook his head no.
She half rose from her seat and raised her lips to him as McGarvey reached her. He kissed her lightly on the cheek and sat down next to her, his back to the interior of the café. Her scent was the same as it had been ten years ago, and it brought back instant memories of the young Liese Fuelm who’d thrown herself at him from the moment she’d been assigned by the Swiss Federal Police to keep watch on him. She’d never made it a secret that she was madly in love with him, and wanted nothing more in life than to have him make love to her.
At the time McGarvey had been living with Marta Fredericks, another Swiss watchdog sent to find out why a former CIA assassin had come to Switzerland. And even Marta had once suggested that the best thing might be for Mac to sleep with Liese. Maybe it would cure the girl of her puppy love.
McGarvey hadn’t taken Marta up on the suggestion, and shortly after that he’d left Switzerland, and a year later Marta was dead. But looking into Liese’s eyes now, he could see that nothing had changed; she was still in love with him, her feelings open and easy to read, her disappointment that he had merely kissed her on the cheek obvious.
“It’s good to see you again, Kirk,” Liese said. She touched his hand, and again it was as if the past ten years had never happened.
McGarvey withdrew his hand. “What are you doing here? You didn’t
come in an official capacity. And by now you have to know that I resigned, so I’m not here officially.”
come in an official capacity. And by now you have to know that I resigned, so I’m not here officially.”
Liese couldn’t hide her disappointment. “I’ve come to warn you that Prince Salman means to kill you.”
“What do you think I’m doing here?”
“Obviously you believe that the prince and Khalil are the same man, and you’ve come here to prove that, then to kill him not only for what he did in Alaska, but also because he’s almost certainly involved with the new bin Laden threat.” The waiter came. McGarvey ordered a café express, and Liese ordered another glass of
vin blanc ordinaire.
“But there are people in Switzerland who don’t believe it’s that simple.”
vin blanc ordinaire.
“But there are people in Switzerland who don’t believe it’s that simple.”
McGarvey wasn’t surprised. “Because of the Saudi oil connection.”
Liese glanced over toward the hotel, and McGarvey followed her gaze. But he still couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. She was waiting for someone or something.
She looked back at him. “That, and the fact you missed in Alaska. You don’t have many friends in Switzerland, but everybody respects your abilities. And some of them are afraid of you.”
“That’s nothing I don’t already know, Liese. Otto said that you called while I was out of Washington, wanting to talk to me about Salman. You’re running a surveillance operation on him. Your people think that he’s Khalil. But that was
before
Alaska. Why did you try to reach me?”
before
Alaska. Why did you try to reach me?”
“Because it’s not only the prince who we’re investigating. You’re a part of it.”
“Yes, because we need oil and the Saudis have it.”
Liese’s mouth compressed. She was frightened. “It’s my immediate superior, Ernst Gertner. He’s nothing more than a Kantonpolizei director, but he has powerful friends and he considers you his enemy. He means to destroy you any way he can.”
This wasn’t making any sense. McGarvey had never heard the name. “Why does he have a beef with me?”
Liese lowered her eyes. “He was in love with Marta when you and she were living together in Lausanne. He thought that when it was over he would be there to pick up the pieces for her.”
“But she came running after me in Paris and got herself killed,” McGarvey
said. “Is that it, Liese? He thinks I was responsible and now he’s gunning for me?”
said. “Is that it, Liese? He thinks I was responsible and now he’s gunning for me?”
Liese nodded. Her eyes were moist. It was obvious she was frightened, and that she wanted McGarvey to take her into his arms and tell her everything would be fine. “That’s part of it, but there’s more.” The waiter came with their order, and when he was gone, she squared her shoulders as if she had made a difficult decision. “He thinks he has proof that you and Salman are actually working together.”
McGarvey was irritated. She was going around in circles. “The Saudi thing, you’ve already said that.”
“I don’t mean Salman as a Saudi royal; I mean Salman as Khalil the terrorist.”
McGarvey had to laugh. “He can’t be that stupid.”
“Salman slept with your wife ten years ago, and yet you’ve done nothing about it,” Liese blurted. “He thinks it’s proof enough that you’re protecting him. You didn’t kill him in Alaska, and there are people from the cruise ship who said you could have done it at the end. And here you are now in Monaco. And you even went aboard his yacht this morning.”
McGarvey’s mind recoiled. He had to wonder how many people
didn’t
know about his wife and Salman all those years ago. But that wasn’t as important as the fact that Liese knew he’d been to the yacht. “How many people do you have here watching me?”
didn’t
know about his wife and Salman all those years ago. But that wasn’t as important as the fact that Liese knew he’d been to the yacht. “How many people do you have here watching me?”
“I don’t know. Probably none of our people. Gertner has a lot of friends with Interpol and the Sûreté. So it’s probably the local cops on your tail.”
“That’s just great,” McGarvey said. Because of the Swiss interference his hands were effectively tied here in Monaco and anywhere in France. He wasn’t exactly a welcome guest of the French, who considered him a dangerous man. And any enemy of France was automatically an enemy of Monaco. As long as he was here under a work name and as long as he caused no trouble, his presence would be tolerated. But the moment he so much as sneezed in public without first covering his mouth, he would be arrested and put on the next flight back to the States. “How do you know Salman is going to Corsica?”
“We’re monitoring his telephone calls. We’ve got a pretty good decryption team and Arab speakers. He’s been talking to someone—we can’t figure out who, just yet—in the royal palace in Riyadh. This morning
he told his contact that he was going to his compound at Bonifacio. And he wanted it made
fully ready.
His words.”
he told his contact that he was going to his compound at Bonifacio. And he wanted it made
fully ready.
His words.”
“Your boss is convinced that if I show up in Corsica it’ll prove that Salman and I are working together?”
Liese nodded. “That’s why I had to come here to warn you in person. Nobody thinks that bin Laden’s threat is an empty warning. Al-Quaida will try to hit you just like 9/11, and not too long from now.” She looked away for a moment. “That’s the other reason I came.” She turned back to face McGarvey, a defiant, resolute expression on her face. “I’ll help you kill him. No one can say that both of us were here to protect him.”
It was about what McGarvey figured she would say. He shook his head. “Not a chance, because nothing’s going to happen here in Monaco. I’ll take the ferry from Nice in the morning, and you’re returning to Lucerne.”
“I’m not going back.”
“Don’t be stupid, Liese. Gertner assigned you to investigate Salman and me, because you and I have a history. And you can bet that if Gertner has people watching me here, they’ve already told him that you showed up.”
“He believes that I’m still in love with you. He’ll think I’m here to throw myself at you.”
“Then that’s exactly what you’re going to do,” McGarvey said. He laid some money on the table to cover their drinks, then leaned over and kissed Liese on the lips. “We’re leaving.”
Liese’s eyes were wide, her face flushed with pleasure. A dream for her had suddenly come true. “Where?”
“The hotel. You’re staying with me tonight.”
Khalil had hacked into the hotel’s computer and downloaded the key code to McGarvey’s suite onto the electronic card key he’d been issued for his own room on the third floor. Standing now at the door to room 204, the corridor empty for the moment, he reached inside his jacket for the handle of his SIG Sauer P226 pistol with his right hand, while with his left he slid the key card through the slot. The mechanism flashed green, and the lock released with an audible click.
If you come face-to-face with the man, kill him. He will not give you a second chance. Osama had been very specific. And very respectful.
Nothing stirred inside the suite as he eased the door open with his toe, nor were there any lights, except the lights from outside on the brightly lit Place filtering through the floor-to-ceiling French doors covered with diaphanous sheers.
The security chain wasn’t in place, but a man such as McGarvey might not feel he needed the extra protection.
“Service de chambre,”
Khalil called, pleasantly.
Khalil called, pleasantly.
He waited for a moment, and when there was no reply from within, he checked over his shoulder to make sure no one had gotten off the elevator. Then he drew his pistol, pushed the door the rest of the way open, and stepped inside.
He checked behind the door, then closed it. To the right was a small half bath for guests. Straight ahead, past an elaborate wet bar on the left, the chamber opened to a large, expensively furnished sitting room. Moving through the shadows without noise, he crossed the sitting room and checked the equally expansive bedroom, dressing area, palatial bathroom with a sunken Jacuzzi on a raised platform, and separate shower-stall bathroom.
McGarvey’s shaving things were laid out at the double sinks, and his tuxedo was neatly pressed and ready on the bed.
Khalil studied the arrangement for a second or two. McGarvey was
planning on going to the casino tonight. But not until later. For some reason he’d left his room, perhaps to have a drink at the bar or an early supper, but he would be back to dress.
planning on going to the casino tonight. But not until later. For some reason he’d left his room, perhaps to have a drink at the bar or an early supper, but he would be back to dress.
The tension that Khalil had initially felt—that somehow McGarvey knew that he was coming and had set a trap of his own—subsided. Walking back into the sitting room, he was slightly irritated with his foolish fears. McGarvey was simply one man. An imaginative and capable fighter, especially when he was defending his wife or trying to save women and children—people who Americans almost universally thought of as
innocents
—but for all of that one man who would be entering a killing chamber when he walked through the door.
innocents
—but for all of that one man who would be entering a killing chamber when he walked through the door.
He went to the double French doors, and careful to keep out of sight of anyone looking up from the Place, parted the curtains and studied the busy street scene. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. Mostly tourists were going about their business; some of them he expected were Americans, enjoying themselves while Mohammed’s sword once again hung over their country.
It amused him to wonder if any of them would feel the least bit of guilt for being here when the attacks happened in a few days. There’d been little or no media coverage about the Americans who’d been vacationing when the World Trade Center and the Pentagon were hit. Yet nearly every human being on the planet knew exactly where they were and what they had been doing that day.
They would remember again.
The French doors opened onto a narrow balustraded balcony. From this point there was no view of the street directly below because a palm tree came up almost even with the balcony, and the broad fronds were in the way.
He unlocked the doors and eased one of them open a crack. The sheers immediately billowed into the room, and he could hear the street sounds and smell the night sea air. He took a very brief look outside before he ducked back out of sight. The balconies off the rooms adjoining this suite were about two meters apart, a manageable distance. The hotel’s stonework had joints that were deep enough and well placed so that a man, even in a hurry, could easily climb up to the floor above or even to the roof, if need be. And the palm tree was within reaching distance.
He closed the French doors, but left them unlocked.
He walked across the sitting room to the corridor door, then turned and looked into the room, seeing what McGarvey would see when he first walked in. Like anyone standing in front of the French doors, McGarvey would be silhouetted by the light from outside for just a moment before he reached for the light switch.
Khalil turned and examined the wall between the corridor door and the door to the half bath. There was a panel with three switches. One of them probably controlled the bathroom light, while the other two were for the entry hall light and probably one or more of the table lamps inside the sitting room.
McGarvey would come in, see or hear nothing out of the ordinary, then half turn to his right to turn on the lights.
At that point Khalil would shoot him dead from the shadows beside the French doors. It was a distance of perhaps twelve or fifteen meters. Not a difficult shot, especially since the target would be well lit.
Once McGarvey was down, Khalil would have two avenues of escape, the primary one being through the corridor, downstairs, and then out of the hotel. But if someone were in the corridor, he would leave via the balcony and make his escape either left, right, up, or down. The overnight bag he’d left in his room was empty, and he had sanitized his computer, trashing the hard disk and wiping the entire unit down for fingerprints, so there was nothing to go back for.
Khalil took the pistol out of his shoulder holster, and as he walked back to the French doors, he took the Vaime silencer from his jacket pocket and screwed it on the end of the Sig’s threaded barrel.
Below on the Place the traffic was increasing. It was well after eight o’clock, and by ten, when the serious gambling and partying got into full swing, it would be like a carnival on the streets.
No one would hear or see a thing. And certainly no one would notice the pudgy man in the cheap dark suit going about his business, probably a minor functionary at the hotel on his way home after his shift.
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