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Authors: David Hagberg

BOOK: Critical Mass
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In the old days he'd convinced himself that it was a matter of honor, but in the last days he'd come to realize that he had no real idea what that word meant.
Carrara was waiting at the main entrance when McGarvey parked his car in the visitors' spot. “Do you pull this crap just to thumb your nose at the establishment?” the DDO asked angrily.
McGarvey had to smile. “Somebody has to do it, Phil. Otherwise you people would begin to take yourselves too seriously.”
MCGARVEY HAD TO SIGN IN AT THE MAIN DESK AND BE searched with a metal detector before he was allowed to go up on the elevator with Carrara. He'd disassembled his Walther and hidden it among his toiletries back at the hotel. He didn't think the pistol would be confiscated today, but he hadn't wanted to take any chances. He figured he'd be needing it soon.
“Your ex-wife is upset with us, and you,” Carrara said on the way up.
“Can you blame her? It was a dumb move, sending your people out there like that.”
Carrara looked at him. “Were you so sure that they were ours?”
“The only people in the world who wear plaid sport coats and have short haircuts are your Technical Services legmen. And maybe the odd used-car salesman.”
“Tom Lynch said he was quite explicit when he passed the general's orders along to you.”
“I'm not on the payroll, Phil. I don't take orders from Murphy. Besides, I had a few things to do in Europe first. And I did come here under my own power.”
“Where'd you go in such a hurry this morning?”
McGarvey ignored the question, and moments later the elevator opened on the seventh floor. McGarvey had to sign in again with security people, and this time he was subjected to a hands-on search as well as a metal detector walkthrough. Murphy's personal bodyguard waited in the outer office, and he carefully scrutinized both McGarvey and
Carrara when they were passed through by the general's secretary.
Murphy's office was huge, and very well appointed, with a large desk, bookcases, a leather couch and chairs, and a bank of television monitors and communications equipment. Large windows looked out over the beautiful rolling hills to the south.
Lawrence Danielle and Tom Doyle were seated across from Murphy, who was talking to someone on the phone. When Carrara came in with McGarvey he hung up.
“Welcome home,” he said.
“Thank you, General, but I don't know yet if it's good to be back. Or, how long I'll be here.”
“There are a few things I'd like to discuss with you, and then we'll offer you another assignment. If you're willing, and if you're up to it.”
“I thought as much,” McGarvey said.
Murphy motioned him and Carrara to take seats and he picked up his telephone and buzzed his secretary. “Ask Howard to step in for a moment, would you?” He hung up.
“I'm sorry about your two people aboard one-four-five,” McGarvey said.
Murphy nodded. “I understand your friend from Switzerland was also aboard. Quite an unhappy coincidence.”
“Just that. Nothing more.”
“Yes,” Murphy said. “We'll see.”
Howard Ryan, the Company's general counsel, came in and handed a thin file folder to Murphy. He avoided looking at McGarvey for the moment. Their animosity toward each other went back several years.
“Stick around, Howard. We might need a point of international law,” Murphy said. He extracted a printed form from the file folder and handed it across to McGarvey. It was a memo outlining the National Secrets Act and the penalties for divulging classified material to anyone not authorized. “Sign that and we can get started.”
McGarvey laid the memo back on Murphy's desk. “If I decide to take the assignment, I'll sign it.”
“You'll sign it now, or we'll have you in jail,” Ryan blurted.
McGarvey languidly turned to him. “On what charge, counselor?”
“Complicity in the murder of one hundred fifty-one crew and passengers aboard the Airbus, and a half-dozen assorted others on the ground.”
This was a setup, of course, to try to get him to inadvertently admit something. Murphy and the others were not interfering for the moment. It had always been the same. He'd been a pariah here since Santiago, yet he'd been recalled time after time to help out. They hated themselves for their dependence on him, and consequently they despised and mistrusted him.
“How do you figure that?”
“You knew that we had people aboard that flight, and you knew that an ex-STASI officer by the name of Karl Boorsch was at the airport—you can't deny that you were following him for one reason or another. And yet although you had every opportunity to give the warning, you failed to do so. Makes you a party to an act of terrorism.”
“I see,” McGarvey said.
“Well?” Ryan demanded.
“I deny the charge, although I admit I thought I recognized Boorsch, but only after I'd cornered him in the VIP lounge.”
Ryan started to protest, but Murphy held him off. “Why didn't you tell Tom Lynch about Boorsch? It was important.”
“Because I wasn't sure.”
“That you recognized him?” Ryan asked.
“I wasn't sure about Tom Lynch or the entire Paris station, which has had problems ever since our embassy was destroyed last winter.”
“You were going to tell us about him this morning?” Murphy asked dryly.
“Yes,” McGarvey said. “As well as my talk with Phillipe Marquand. You're familiar with that name?”
Murphy nodded.
“And the real reason you went first to Switzerland?” Carrara asked.
“That too,” McGarvey said. “Marquand told me that the STASI had formed a freelance group with bank accounts in Zurich and Bern. Boorsch was a member of the organization, and Marquand hoped that if I showed up in Switzerland the others might get nervous and come after me, exposing themselves.”
“What happened?”
“Absolutely nothing. I only got as far as Lausanne before the Swiss Federal Police arrested me and kicked me out of the country.”
Murphy and the others exchanged glances. “Howard?” the DCI asked the Agency counsel.
“What were you doing at Orly that morning?”
“Seeing an old friend off.”
“How'd you know we had people aboard that flight?”
“I didn't, although I knew they were there at the airport. I spotted their car out front. I thought they might be following me again. It's happened before.”
“And Boorsch?” Carrara asked.
“If you check my file downstairs you'll see that he and I had a couple of near-misses a few years back.”
“Are you saying that Boorsch may have recognized you as well?” Doyle asked, speaking for the first time.
“Almost certainly.”
“Which means it's possible that the others would know your face as well,” the Deputy Director of Intelligence said.
“That was Marquand's thinking. The French, by the way, don't feel as if we're cooperating with them.”
Murphy seemed to have made a decision. He turned again to the Agency's counsel. “Well?”
“Have him sign the memo before you proceed. But if you want my opinion, I say lock him up and throw away the key. He's a dangerously outmoded relic, and has been for some time. If we go ahead and use him again, we'll be just as guilty by association.” Ryan got to this feet.
McGarvey looked up, made a gun out of his forefinger and thumb, pointed directly at the man and let the hammer fall.
Ryan shook his head, turned on his heel and left the DCI's office.
Taking a ball-point pen out of his jacket pocket, McGarvey signed the Secrets Act memo, then sat back in his chair. “I'm assuming you want me to go after this STASI organization, and you believe that I'll have a better chance than you of digging them out because they'll recognize me.”
“Something like that,” Murphy said. “Your starting point, of course, will be their bank accounts in Zurich and Bern.” He turned to Carrara. “We'll have to get him back into the country. Do you foresee any problem?”
“I'll manage that on my own,” McGarvey broke in. “If and when I need help I'll ask. But as soon as I get started I'll answer only to Phil Carrara. Personally.”
Lawrence Danielle, who had sat silently through the entire discussion, suddenly looked to Murphy. “Do you think that's wise, Roland?”
“What's your point, McGarvey,” Murphy asked.
“No point,” McGarvey said. “It's just the way it's going to be.”
“Do you think there is a leak among one of us?” Danielle asked in his soft voice. He was nearing retirement, and he looked and sounded tired, but he was still a power to be reckoned with.
“I don't know. But when my life is on the line I've learned to keep very close tabs on exactly who knows what I'm doing and how I'm going about it.”
“Fair enough,” Murphy said after a slight hesitation.
“But before I start, or even agree to take this assignment, General, you're going to have to answer a couple of my questions. If I think you're lying to me, or not telling me the entire truth, I'll back out.”
Murphy nodded.
“Two of your people were aboard one-four-five. The STASI wanted them eliminated. Why? What were they involved with?”
“They were investigating the possibility that the East German group had targeted the Swiss firm of ModTec. One of their engineers, a man by the name of DuVerlie, claimed to have information about it. Phil will show you the file.”
“What were the STASI going for?”
“ModTec designs and builds a number of components for nuclear weapons,” Murphy said.
“The STASI may be after the technology, or perhaps even an entire bomb, is that what you're saying?”
“We don't know that yet,” Danielle cautioned.
“But it's possible?” McGarvey insisted.
Murphy nodded. “Yes.”
“Were they successful at ModTec? Did they get what they wanted?”
“We don't know,” Carrara said. “DuVerlie never had a chance to tell us.”
“Did you send someone else over there to find out?”
Carrara exchanged glances with Murphy before he answered. “Yes, we have a team investigating the company.”
“What about Tokyo,” McGarvey said, and the room suddenly went electric. He'd gotten their attention.
“What do you mean?” Murphy asked after a long moment.
“Marquand told me that payments into at least one of the STASI's Swiss bank accounts were in Japanese yen. Is there a connection? Have you gotten any indications from Tokyo Station that the Japanese might be interested in acquiring nuclear weapons technology?”
“God forbid,” Danielle said. He was old enough to clearly remember Pearl Harbor and the days that had led up to it.
“Phil?” Murphy passed the question to Carrara.
“At this point there doesn't seem to be any connection between the Japanese and the STASI group, other than the possibility certain payments may have been made into a Swiss bank account in yen. But that currency is strong just now. Wherever they got that funding from, either on their own or through a second party, using yen may have been simply a matter of expediency.”
They were lying, and it was so obvious from their faces
and sudden change in attitudes that it was almost ludicrous. But he'd learned what he'd come to learn.
“I'll stay clear of ModTec for the moment, and concentrate on the bank accounts. They'll want to protect their money. But if your people find out something, anything at all, I'll expect to be told about it.”
“Agreed,” Murphy said.
“I'll spend a day or two here in Washington, working with Phil and going through what files you can give me.”
“Whatever help we can provide you'll have. But you must understand that you're not on anyone's payroll. If you run into real trouble, we'll do what we can, but you will be denied.”
“It's never been any different, General,” McGarvey said, getting to his feet. “Not even in the old days, when I actually was on the payroll.”
CARRARA WAS AS HELPFUL AS HE COULD BE UNDER THE circumstances, but McGarvey believed that the man was working under constraints placed on him by Murphy, probably at Ryan's insistence.
They spent the afternoon together in operations territory on the third floor, going through the Agency's background information on the STASI. Ernst Spranger's name came up at the head of the list of ex-STASI officers whose whereabouts were presently unknown, as did the speculation that the group may have been based somewhere in the south of France.
The information was only useful to the extent that it verified Rencke's story. But Carrara was definitely holding back not only on the information about the STASI's bank accounts and possible connections with Japan, but about ModTec, and DuVerlie, the engineer who'd gone down aboard 145. The operational files in many cases had big gaps, especially on the time and contact sheets which should have outlined by time and date each contact made with DuVerlie or anyone else from the Swiss high-tech company.
Carrara offered no real explanation, nor did McGarvey question him too closely for the moment. Before he went back to Europe, however, he would have it out with the DDO. The last time McGarvey had worked with the man, Carrara had seemed open, and willing at least to try to help. This time he was definitely reticent.
It was six by the time McGarvey was ready to leave for the day. He figured there was little or nothing he could accomplish here for the moment.
“Where are you staying?” Carrara asked.
“Nearby,” McGarvey said at the door from the DDO's office. “Don't have me followed, Phil. If I spot one of your legmen, the deal is off. Clear?”
Carrara nodded.
“And, Phil, if we're going to get anywhere at all, you'd better convince the general to take off the leash. Tomorrow I'm going to want some answers.”
“What do you mean by that?” Carrara asked, his voice low.
“You understand,” McGarvey said. “It'll be my ass hanging out in the wind. I want to know the real situation.”
“You have it.”
McGarvey shook his head. “The next time you try to doctor your field officers' contact sheets you'd better think about filling in the blanks.”
Carrara smiled wanly. He sat back. “You don't trust anybody, do you?”
“In the old days I did.”
“No one to unburden your soul to now? No one to share your troubles with? No one to help out when you're stuck?”
“What's your point, Phil? Am I to kiss and make up with that pissant attorney of Murphy's? Or let bygones be bygones with Danielle, who, if you'll look in the history books, was lead man on the headhunters team that kicked me out? Is that what you're angling for?”
“Might not hurt.”
“It might get me killed.”
Carrara just looked at McGarvey for a long moment. “I guess you've had your share …”
“Yes, I have,” McGarvey interrupted, not sure exactly what the DDO was going to say, but not wanting to hear it anyway. “Talk it over with the general, and I'll be back tomorrow.”
“Take care of yourself.”
“I'll try,” McGarvey said, and he left.
 
After-work traffic was still heavy by the time McGarvey signed out, turned in his visitor's passes, and drove off. But
most of it was coming out of the city so he made good time despite doubling back twice to insure that he wasn't being followed. Carrara might show some restraint, but he didn't think Ryan would.
By 7:30 he had parked his car in a ramp three blocks from his hotel, had gone up to his room where he reassembled his pistol, took a shower and changed clothes, and was again out on the streets.
Any physical contact with Rencke was out of the question for the moment. Nobody's tradecraft was good enough to be one hundred percent sure of spotting a sophisticated surveillance operation. If Ryan or Murphy, or whoever, wanted him badly enough they had the capabilities and the resources to tail him without his awareness: High-flying spotter aircraft with backup ground crews was one way in which it could be done.
Well clear of the hotel McGarvey called Rencke's number from a pay phone at a service station. He still needed the man's help.
The number was answered on the second ring. “At the tone leave your name, or come up on the bulletin board, I'm monitoring.” The answering machine beeped.
“Is your line clear?” McGarey asked.
“Is the Pope Catholic?” Rencke answered, laughing. “You're in the file out there already, but only by number. They want to keep your involvement pretty much on the Q-T. Did you talk to Murphy's raiders?”
“I just got back, but I'm going to stay clear of you for a moment.”
“Good idea. What's up?”
“They want me to go after K-1, but the files they showed me were filled with holes. Which means they're holding something back.”
“Typical.”
“But there's no reason for it,” McGarvey said. “At least none I can see. I want you to get back into Operations and find out all you can about ModTec, and DuVerlie. There's
something going on over there that has the Agency walking on eggshells.”
“I'm in right now,” Rencke said. “Could be they're trying to hide something, though I'm getting no sense of what yet. But they've yanked a lot of their line numbers which is very atypical.”
“All right, keep on it,” McGarvey said. “But watch yourself.”
“I've always got Ralph in reserve. Not to worry.”
“One other thing. Take a look at Tokyo Station's operations. When I asked Murphy about a possible Japanese connection with the STASI because of the yen payments into their accounts, he damned near swallowed his tongue. They all did.”
“What do you want specifically?”
“I don't know,” McGarvey said. “But it's my guess that something's going on over there that's got them worried.”
“So, I'll go shopping.”
“I'll talk to you in the morning. But like I said, watch yourself.”
“I'm out of Twinkies.”
“I don't think it's such a good idea for me to come over there now.”
“Send them by cab,” Rencke said, and he hung up.
 
The service station McGarvey had phoned from sold bread and milk and other convenience store items. He bought out their stock of Twinkies, and a couple of blocks from the ramp where his car was parked he hailed a taxi.
“I want you to deliver this package to the caretaker's house in Holy Rood,” McGarvey said. He gave the driver the exact location and a twenty dollar bill.
“Twinkies?” the cabbie said. “This person weird or something?”
“Or something,” McGarvey said. “But friendly.”
When the cab was gone, McGarvey retrieved his car from the ramp and headed back up to Chevy Chase. Kathleen would be intransigent after what had happened this morning,
but he felt they both deserved another try. If for no other reason than their daughter Elizabeth, who'd been beside herself with joy when she'd learned that her parents might be getting back together. Liz was nineteen now, but that didn't stop her need for nurturing.
The sun had set but it was still dusk when he parked his car on the street in front of Kathleen's house. Something was going on at the country club. Cars were arriving in a steady stream. It struck him just then that this was Kathleen's life, but that it never could be his. Black tie dinners and receptions were tolerable once in a while, but not as a steady diet.
He almost got back in his car and drove off, but he wanted to talk to her. At least to apologize for this morning.
It took her a long time to answer the door, and when she finally did she was dressed in a thick terry cloth robe, a towel around her hair. She'd just stepped out of the shower.
“You,” she said, but she made no move to close the door.
“Did you get your car back?”
“Yes. The police were here this afternoon. There is a warrant for your arrest. Car theft.”
McGarvey shrugged. “I came to apologize for this morning. It shouldn't have happened.”
“What was that, Kirk? Your coming here, or the two Neanderthals who came to arrest you?”
She was beautiful, McGarvey thought, looking at her face and long, delicate neck. Even more so now than twenty years ago when they'd first met. In those days they couldn't keep their hands off each other. They made love in his apartment and in her apartment, in hotel rooms, in his car, in the woods, and on the beaches around the Chesapeake Bay. It had been glorious those first two years.
“I'm sorry,” he said, and he started to turn away.
“Two against one, and they didn't have a chance,” she said, her voice softening. “Are you in any danger?”
“No.
“You wouldn't tell me if you were, would you,” she asked rhetorically. “Not you. Ever the loner. Ever the stalwart soldier.” Tears formed in her eyes. “But how about the
stalwart husband? The stalwart provider? Where the hell were you during our marriage?”
“Doing my job …”
“What about me?” she cried. “What about my needs? Didn't you know how much I wanted you, needed you then?” She shook her head. “Hell, even now …” She turned away and took a few steps back into the dark stair hall.
McGarvey came after her, and touched her shoulder. “Katy?”
“What do you want here?”
“I wanted us to try to get back together.”
“It won't work,” she said. “It's impossible.”
“Yes,” McGarvey replied. “But I'm glad we at least tried for Elizabeth's sake.”
“My sake too,” she said, turning suddenly and coming into his arms. “I wanted to try too.”
“I know,” McGarvey said. It felt awkward holding her in his arms. Unnatural somehow. Wrong.
They remained like that for several long seconds, until she pulled away. She half-smiled up at him, the gesture wistful.
“The next time you hold a woman in your arms, Kirk, take off your gun first,” she said. “It dampens the spirit.”

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