Authors: David Hagberg

Countdown (15 page)

BOOK: Countdown

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THEY'D SWITCHED PLANES at Paris's Orly Airport and as on the first leg of the trip, Lorraine Abbott maintained an uneasy silence. They traveled first class, and crossing the Atlantic she managed to get a few hours' sleep or at least pretended to.

She was angry that she had been pulled into this situation against her will, and now it would probably mean that her career would be sidetracked. The moment they got home, she'd told him even before they'd left the ground at Lod, she would go directly up to the NPT Inspection Service's office at the U.N. in
New York, make her report, and then try her best to forget the ugly incident had ever occurred.

The pilot switched on the 747's no smoking and fasten seatbelt signs, and McGarvey gently nudged her. Her eyes came open immediately, and she glared at him.

“We're coming in. Put on your seatbelt,” McGarvey said.

She glanced out the window before she did as he told her. He studied the back of her head for that moment. She had a right to be angry, he thought. He had placed her life, and certainly her career, in jeopardy. Even though she was an NPT field inspector whose job it was to find out such things, her knowledge of what was really happening at En Gedi placed her in danger. He was going to have to ask Trotter to have the Agency do something for her. At least until this business was taken care of.

At least she had called the general before her arrest. It's what had started the wheels in motion.

Potok had not returned, but an hour after he had left, McGarvey's personal belongings had been returned to him, and he had been driven directly to the VIP lounge at the airport. They'd picked up his bag from his hotel. About his gun no one would comment.

Lorraine had shown up a couple of minutes later, just as surprised to see him as he had been to see her.

“Are you all right?” he had asked when they were alone for just a second or two.

“No thanks to you,” she'd snapped, her eyes straying to the thick bandage on his head.

“What did you tell them?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Because that's exactly what I know.” She turned away.

It was just two in the afternoon when they touched down at Dulles Airport, and McGarvey went with Lorraine down the jetway into customs. A young man in a three-piece suit directed them away from the counters, and through a door that led directly out into the terminal.

“We have a car waiting for you,” he said. “Will either of you be needing medical assistance?”

“Who are you?” McGarvey asked pointedly, before Lorraine could say anything.

“Oh, sorry, sir,” the young man said. He dug out his Agency identification. His name was Stanley Barker. “Mr. Trotter sent me out to pick you up.”

“That's just fine,” Lorraine said. “Now if you will just excuse me, I've got to see about a flight to New York.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” Barker said, a little embarrassed. “But my instructions were to pick up both of you.”

“I demand â¦”

“Ma'am, Mr. O'Sheay is waiting for you. He asked me to assure you that all of your questions will be answered.”

“Mark is here, in Washington?”

“Yes, ma'am. In the area. I have a car just outside.”

She looked at McGarvey, a smug little grin of satisfaction on her lips. McGarvey figured she was going to get her answers, but they probably would not be ones she would care to hear.

Crossing the terminal McGarvey spotted at least three men who were probably FBI surveillance people, and he allowed himself to relax for the first time since they'd left Israel. All the way across he'd gotten the uncomfortable feeling that the operation had been too loose. They had simply been kicked out of the country and left to fend for themselves. Considering the nature of his assignment, and the fact that they were carrying around in their heads the literal future of Israel, he had expected to be shadowed. But until now he had picked out no one.

Outside, a dark gray Taurus pulled up. Barker got in the front, and they got in the backseat. McGarvey spotted at least two surveillance cars, one in the rear and one in the lead.

Barker turned in his seat as they pulled away from the curb. “Your bags will be brought along shortly, not to worry,” he said.

“Where are we going?” McGarvey asked.

“Falmouth.”

“What?” Lorraine asked, sitting forward. “That's in Virginia.”

“Yes, ma'am, about fifty miles south of here.”

“Goddamnit, you said that Mark O'Sheay would be meeting us.”

“He's down there waiting for you,” Barker said. “Believe me,
Dr. Abbott, this is for the best. You'll understand once it's explained to you.”

“Has anyone been spotted coming in?” McGarvey asked.

Barker looked at him through lidded eyes. He finally shook his head.

“We don't think so. Leastways, we haven't spotted any unusual activity. If they're there, they are good.”

“You can count on it,” McGarvey said, relaxing back in his seat and lighting a cigarette.

Lorraine had followed the exchange. “What's going on?” she cried. “You bastards, someone tell me what's going on.”

“Yes, ma'am, as soon as we get there.”

“And stop calling me ma'am,” she screeched.

FALMOUTH

The safehouse was on a ninety-acre farm a few miles outside the small town, the Rappahannock River bordering the property to the south. The house itself was a two-story colonial built on the crest of a hill with a clear view in three directions. The access road wound up from a secondary highway through a thick stand of trees that at times formed a canopy over the narrow road. General Accounting actually owned the place, but the FBI's Witness Protection Program had been the most recent users.

They parked in front and went up the sloping pathway to the broad porch. Before they went inside McGarvey turned and looked back down the road. The cars that had come from the airport with them had peeled off and were nowhere in sight. The afternoon was warm and lovely. The countryside seemed peaceful.

Inside the foyer they were met by a well-dressed man with startlingly blue eyes and a slightly disdainful expression. McGarvey had never met him, but he pegged the man almost immediately as a lawyer.

“Any trouble?” he asked Barker.

“No, sir.”

From somewhere McGarvey thought he could hear the murmur of a conversation. A bulky man in a khaki shirt and trousers, hunting boots on his feet, stood at the head of the stairs. When McGarvey looked up at him, he moved off. He was armed with an M16 and he looked serious. Whatever had happened or was about to happen here, they were definitely taking it for real.

The blue-eyed man spoke. “I'm Howard Ryan, general counsel for the Central Intelligence Agency, and you must be Dr. Abbott.” He stuck out his hand, but Lorraine ignored it, her right eyebrow rising slightly.

“Would you mind telling me what is going on here, Mr. Ryan?” she demanded. “If it's no trouble, that is.”

“Of course,” Ryan said smoothly. “Would you like to freshen up before we get started?”

“No. Is Mark O'Sheay here?”

Ryan nodded. “Yes, he is. If you'd like we can go in now. They are waiting for you.”

“It's been a long trip, don't screw with me,” Lorraine said crudely.

Ryan's gaze shifted to McGarvey. “You can wait in the living room, we'll be with you in a half hour.”

“I don't think so,” McGarvey said.

“That's an order, Mr. McGarvey â¦” Ryan started to say, but Trotter had come to a doorway at the end of the stairhall.

“It's all right, Howard. We'll see them both.”

McGarvey and Lorraine went back to the study, where Trotter was waiting.

“Hello, Doctor, I'm John Trotter, I'm also with the Agency. We have someone here whom you know.” He stepped aside.

A fat, academic-looking man with pince-nez was just rising from his seat at a long table.

“Mark?” Lorraine gave a little cry and she went in.

McGarvey was right behind her. He could see that O'Sheay was angry and disturbed.

“Now,” Trotter said, coming in with Howard Ryan, who shut the door and locked it. “We have a lot to talk about, and very little time, I'm afraid, to do it in.”

THE SAFEHOUSE

NOW THAT SHE was with at least one familiar, friendly face, Lorraine Abbott had regained some of the confidence she had lost when she'd been arrested in Tel Aviv. “What's going on here, Mark?” she asked her boss. “Have they told you yet?”

“If you'll just have a seat, Dr. Abbott, we can get started,” Trotter said. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

“I will not,” Lorraine snapped at him. “Mark, can we get the hell out of here? Now?”

O'Sheay shook his ponderous head. “Not just yet,” he said. “Listen to the man.”

McGarvey had remained standing by the door. She shot him an angry look. “I've listened to about as much as I want to listen to. My lab will be expecting me.”

“We have taken the liberty of informing them that you are on an extended assignment with the NPT,” Trotter said.

“You what?”

“Please, Dr. Abbott, if you will just have a seat, I'll explain everything to you.”

“Goddamnit â¦”

“Sit down,” McGarvey said. “The man is trying to save your life.”

“I don't â¦” she started again, but then she nodded and sat down, O'Sheay next to her, and Trotter and Ryan across the table. McGarvey remained standing.

“Before we begin, it is my duty to inform you, Dr. Abbott, that these proceedings are being videotaped, and that the subjects that will come under discussion are classified top secret. You may not divulge what has happened here with anyone outside of this room unless you are instructed to do so by proper authority.”

Ryan passed a single-page document and a pen across to her. “If you have understood what Mr. Trotter has just told you, please sign this; it outlines the penalties for noncompliance under the National Secrets Act.”

The color left her face.

“I've already signed it,” O'Sheay said.

“But the NPT â¦”

“Has been cut out for the moment. Just sign it, Lorraine.”

She did it, and pushed the paper back to Ryan, who put it in a file folder. She was subdued. McGarvey felt a little sorry for her. She was a smart, beautiful woman, but she had been playing an amateur's game until now. Her education wasn't going to be pleasant to watch.

“On June ninth of this year you were dispatched by the Non-Proliferation Treaty Inspection Service to investigate an incident at the En Gedi Nuclear Research Station,” Trotter began.

Lorraine nodded.

“Along with a British scientist, Scott Hayes, you did so. Mr. Hayes was apparently satisfied with what he was shown. We have seen his report. But you were not. Can you tell us why?”

Again Lorraine appealed to O'Sheay for help, but he nodded for her to answer the question.

“I felt they were hiding something,” she said. Her voice had lost its harsh edge.

“Hiding what?”

“Mr. McGarvey has already briefed me.”

“We'll get to that, Doctor. What did you think the Israelis were hiding?”

“I didn't know at the time, but the man who met us at the gate was Lev Potok. I happen to know that he is a major in the Mossad.”

“After your inspection tour was completed, why didn't you return home and make your report?”

“I talked to Mark and told him that something funny was happening, and asked him to send out whatever material he could on the research facility. Construction and start-up information, that is.”

“You were looking for something specific?”

“Yes.”

“Could you explain that to us,” Trotter gently prompted.

“I thought there was a possibility that the Israelis were hiding fissionable material somewhere within or beneath the facility. Specifically weapons-grade material. There is certain equipment â¦ certain things they would have to have done in order to maintain such a depot.”

“Did you find anything in your document search?”

“I wasn't sure at the time. There were certain airflow installations that supposedly were to be used in a reactor room emergency. I thought it was possible they could be used for something else.”

“The equipment is there,” McGarvey said.

Lorraine looked up at him. “You saw it? You were actually inside?”

“Not in the weapons vault itself. But the laminar airflow equipment
was there, laid out about the way you said it might be. And the air shafts are deep. Perhaps three hundred feet.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Judging from their reaction, you must have struck a nerve.”

Trotter hadn't turned to look at McGarvey, he'd kept his eyes on Lorraine. “Your conclusion then, Doctor, from everything you've seen and heard concerning En Gedi?”

She glanced at Mark. “If you mean to ask, do I believe the Israelis are storing nuclear weapons at En Gedi, I can't answer you. If you want to know do I think it's possible, I do. Very likely, in fact.”

Now Trotter turned around to face McGarvey. “The good doctor says you briefed her, Kirk.”

“I told her everything,” McGarvey said.

“Everything?” Ryan snapped.

“Yes.”

“Well, that tears it,” Ryan said in disgust. “You had no goddamned brief â¦”

McGarvey overrode him. “Her ass was hanging out on the line. I was either going to tell her nothing, or I was going to tell her everything. And that, Counselor, was my studied decision as a field officer whose own ass was on the line.”

“Under the circumstances I have to agree with Kirk,” Trotter said.

Lorraine's eyes were bright. “Why am I getting the feeling that I'm not going to like what's coming next?”

“It's for your own protection, Doctor,” Trotter said. “Believe me, if there was any way, any way at all of doing this any differently we would.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You are going to have to stay here, for â¦ a few days, perhaps a little longer.”

“Bullshit,” she snapped, jumping up. “I'm not going to be kept a prisoner in my own country. In the first place I've done nothing wrong, and in the second place I have two research grants and two teams I'm currently supervising.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Mark, for God's sake,” she cried.

But O'Sheay was again shaking his head. “There's not a thing
I can do about it, Lorraine, I'm sorry. I'd rather do without your company for a few days or even a month than forever.”

“And they will kill you if they find you, Dr. Abbott,” Trotter said.

“Who is they?”

“That isn't necessary to know at this moment,” Ryan said.

“The Russians,” McGarvey interjected.

Ryan thumped his fist on the table. “Listen here, mister, I've had enough of your prima donna crap.”

McGarvey ignored him. “It will be the same people who reprogrammed the Pershing to strike En Gedi. They know what's there, and they won't stop.”

“Trotter!” Ryan hissed.

“Let's step outside for a moment, Kirk,” Trotter said. “Please.”

“I'll talk them into getting you a computer, maybe flying some of your programs out here, if that'll help. But no matter what, you're going to have to remain here out of sight for as long as it takes.”

She was shaking her head in amazement. “I don't believe this.”

“Believe it,” McGarvey said. He turned, opened the door, and went out into the stairhall where he lit a cigarette.

Trotter and Ryan were right behind him, and Ryan was fuming.

“That was quite a performance in there!”

“Counselor, why don't you stick to counseling and let me stick to spying,” McGarvey told him. He turned back to Trotter. “They're there, John. I'm as convinced as I can be without having actually seen the weapons themselves.”

“Are you all right?” Trotter asked.

“Just fine. She saved my ass by getting to the general before they picked her up. She's got fine instincts.”

“She'll be okay here, Kirk. You're coming back to Washington with me this afternoon.”

McGarvey shook his head. “Leave me a car, and I'll drive in tomorrow morning. It's been a long forty-eight hours. I can use a few hours' sleep.”

“Everything is all right here,” Trotter said.

“I'm sure it is. I'll be even more sure in the morning. What are we going to do now? Baranov won't back off, and Kurshin is still floating around out there somewhere.”

“You're going after FELIKS,” Trotter said. “We'll brief you in the morning.”

“Have your people developed a short list?”

“Not as short as we'd like, but you'll have a decent head start.”

“I'll see you in the morning.”

“Sure,” Trotter said. “We'll leave you the Taurus.”

Ryan had held his silence, listening to the exchange. “I think it would be better if you came back with us now, McGarvey.”

“I don't,” McGarvey said, starting to turn away.

“What, are you fucking her already?”

McGarvey swiveled smoothly on his heel, grabbed a handful of Ryan's shirt front, and half lifted him off his feet. “That's the second time I've been asked that question, and frankly I'm getting tired of it. Have you seen my dossier, Counselor?”

Ryan was able to do little more than squeak an affirmative.

“Then you know what I am,” McGarvey growled. “And didn't your mama ever tell you not to piss off a killer?”

It was nearly midnight. The light wind had died and the evening had become warm and humid. McGarvey stood on the side porch in the shadows watching the gravel road as it disappeared down into the woods toward the highway.

Trotter had left four FBI officers here to watch after Lorraine Abbott's safety. So far he had picked out three of them. One in an old pickup truck just down from the barn, another just off the road, a flash of his white face briefly visible in the starlight, and the third had actually lit a cigarette farther down in the woods.

“I want to thank you,” Lorraine Abbott's voice came from the open window just behind him and to the left.

“Go to bed, Doctor,” McGarvey said.

“The name is Lorraine.”

McGarvey smiled to himself. “I thought your friends called you Dr. Abbott.”

“None of them have any balls.”

He had to laugh. “Now you sound like one of the boys.”

“Did you ever know a physicist who wasn't?”

“Not one who looks like you.”

BOOK: Countdown

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