Authors: David Hagberg
Soldier of God (25 page)
“Continue.”
“With all due respect, Mr. President, that’s not likely to happen very soon because too much money is being made from oil. And it’s people like Salman, if he is Khalil, who are doing whatever it takes to keep us off-balance.” One of the reasons the CIA had tended to tell the administration what it wanted to hear was that presidents often got angry if they were proved to be mistaken. So instead of telling Lyndon Johnson that bombing Haiphong wouldn’t work, the CIA helped the Air Force work out targets. “We have all the evidence we need to suggest that Saudi money is behind al-Quaida and more than two dozen other Islamic fundamentalist and terrorist groups.”
“The Saudis have their dissident factions, just as we do,” Haynes conceded. “But men such as Salman, whose family is an integral part of the government, do not become terrorists. What sense does it make?”
“Salman’s family were Bedouins,” McGarvey said.
Haynes brushed it off. “So what?”
“They want Saudi Arabia cleared of everyone except true believers. If
they had their way, all the oil wells would be shut down, and the country would revert to the old ways. The same thing the Taliban tried in Afghanistan.”
they had their way, all the oil wells would be shut down, and the country would revert to the old ways. The same thing the Taliban tried in Afghanistan.”
“They failed miserably,” Beckett said.
McGarvey shrugged. “It’s not finished yet.”
Beckett started to protest, but the president held him off again. “All right, Mac, give me proof that the prince and Khalil are the same man, and we will take action,” he said. “But the CIA will not, must not, allow the Saudi government, the prince himself, or anyone else for that matter to get so much of a hint that such suspicions exist. Are you clear on this point?”
It was exactly opposite of what McGarvey wanted to try
. Khalil was an arrogant man who had not hesitated to kill anyone who got in his way—men, women, children, it apparently did not matter to him. If he and the prince were the same man, then putting pressure on Salman might force him to make a mistake and reveal his true identity.
. Khalil was an arrogant man who had not hesitated to kill anyone who got in his way—men, women, children, it apparently did not matter to him. If he and the prince were the same man, then putting pressure on Salman might force him to make a mistake and reveal his true identity.
“Yes, sir.”
“In the meantime, the CIA needs to work with the FBI and the military to come up with a solid plan to make sure that the transition into martial law goes without a hitch. The whole idea is to make attacking us a very risky proposition. Once we have the bastards, then we can get back to the rightful business of the nation. I want to know what the CIA will do.”
It was the wrong thing to do
, McGarvey thought. But he couldn’t really blame the president and his advisers for reacting this way. Saudi Arabia was very important to U.S. interests. Gas lines hadn’t been all that long ago, and the American public hadn’t forgotten them. And more than ever before, we depended upon foreign oil. Without it America would all but grind to a halt. On the other hand, the president had to do something about al-Quaida’s latest threat. September eleventh was still very fresh in everyone’s mind.
, McGarvey thought. But he couldn’t really blame the president and his advisers for reacting this way. Saudi Arabia was very important to U.S. interests. Gas lines hadn’t been all that long ago, and the American public hadn’t forgotten them. And more than ever before, we depended upon foreign oil. Without it America would all but grind to a halt. On the other hand, the president had to do something about al-Quaida’s latest threat. September eleventh was still very fresh in everyone’s mind.
“All our stations and missions have been buttoned up, and every reliable asset is being pushed to the limit for information,” McGarvey replied. “But there isn’t much we can do domestically, except continue to provide INS and the Bureau with warnings about people trying to get in who we believe have ties to terrorist groups. The same as we’ve been doing all along.”
“Very well. What about bin Laden himself?”
“We have nothing new about his whereabouts, but we have come up with something that might be helpful. It’s possible that he was wearing a disguise in his latest video.”
“What do you mean?” Berndt asked.
“His beard may have been fake, and he may have been wearing makeup to make us think that he’s sick. If that’s the case, it could mean he’s not in the mountains between Afghanistan and Pakistan. He could be almost anywhere.”
“That’s just great,” President Haynes grumbled. “What you’re saying is that we may never find him.”
“Not without finding Khalil first.”
Haynes’s eyes locked onto McGarvey’s. “That’ll have to wait. For now we need to do whatever it takes to stop the next attack.” He shook his head. “That does not include going after innocent people.”
The past couple of years had been something of a journey of discovery for McGarvey. He had discovered what was most important to him, and it was not worrying about the past; it was about helping people. Making things right, as simple as that sounded. Stopping the bad guys from hurting the innocents. When he met bin Laden face-to-face in the mountains of Afghanistan, before 9/11, the man maintained that there were no innocents in this war. It was the same garbage that spewed out of Khalil’s mouth when he killed the woman and her infant child.
But there were innocents, and they had to be protected at all costs.That was what civilization was all about.
“I’ll send a courier over this afternoon with my letter of resignation,” McGarvey said. “I suggest you appoint Dick Adkins as acting DCI; he’s done the job before, and he’s a good man.”
The president stepped back as if he had been physically staggered by what he’d just heard. “What are you talking about?”
“I quit.”
Haynes shook his head. “I won’t accept your resignation. This country needs you. I need you.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. President; I truly am. But it’s time for me to take care of my family. It’s a duty I’ve neglected for too long.”
“You can’t be serious, Mac,” Beckett said. “If you want out, okay, no
one blames you. But wait until we get past this mess we’re in. You can’t bail out now.”
one blames you. But wait until we get past this mess we’re in. You can’t bail out now.”
McGarvey had no idea this would happen this morning. But it seemed to be the only move he could make. As director of the CIA he was too visible a presence. He had no real freedom of movement. Too many people were answerable to him. If being president had more to do with administration and grand visions than with power, then being DCI had more to do with administration and less with spying. Spies, by their very nature, had to be under the radar.
Assassins had to be chameleons, invisible to what they really were.
“Martial law is not the answer, Mr. President,” McGarvey said. “We won’t stop them that way.”
The president’s face was hard. “As a private citizen you will not pursue your investigation of Prince Salman. That, Mr. McGarvey, is a direct order from me. One that I shall put into writing. If you take it upon yourself to continue despite my warning, you will be arrested and prosecuted for treason. Are you clear on this?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” McGarvey said. He was in pain. He’d given his entire life in service to his government, and now he was defying the president.
Treason was a powerful concept to McGarvey. But the murder of innocents was worse.
He nodded to the president and the others, then turned and left the Oval Office, his mind already on the steps he would have to take to protect his family, to ensure that the CIA did not miss a beat by his departure, and then to find Khalil and bin Laden and kill them.
Berndt was the first to recover, although the resignation of Kirk McGarvey now, of all times, had hit him like a pistol shot between the eyes. It would be interpreted by the public as cowardice, yet no one could possibly accuse Mac of treason. Overstepping his charter. Disregard of direct orders. Arrogance. Conceit. All those, but not treason.
“What do you want to do, Mr. President?” he asked.
Haynes gave his NSA a bleak look. “Get Herb Weissman over here on the double.”
The Lake Lucerne chalet had two small bedrooms and a bathroom in the loft over the kitchen and master bedroom. Liese had taken the east bedroom for herself because of its skylight that looked toward Salman’s compound. She’d only managed to get a few hours sleep in the past forty-eight, but she was so keyed up that each time she lay down and closed her eyes she saw Kirk McGarvey in a Swiss jail cell, pacing back and forth like a caged wild animal. The vision was so intolerable that she couldn’t sleep.
She was supposedly chief of this operation, which meant that she needed to oversee her mission staff. It did not mean she had to remain here 24/7, though in practical terms either she stayed or the operation would be taken away from her.
It was 3:30 in the afternoon, and Liese was lying fully clothed on the narrow daybed, trying to get some rest when Gertner came to the door, his face puffy and red. Ever since President Haynes’s martial law speech the night before, Gertner had been beside himself.
They’re all cowboys.
The lot of them.
They’re all cowboys.
The lot of them.
“Liebchen,
it’s him. He’s on the phone for you.”
it’s him. He’s on the phone for you.”
Liese’s heart skipped a beat. Shakily she opened her eyes and sat up in bed. “Who is it?”
“Your Herr McGarvey.”
Liese got up, slipped on her shoes, and followed Gertner down to the great room where LeFevre handed her a cup of tea, black with lemon just as she preferred it. She hated that all of a sudden they were treating her with kid gloves, but Gertner was afraid of her. They all were. The trouble was that she was just as frightened of what Gertner and the people in Bern were capable of doing. They had finally backed her into a trap that she didn’t know how to evade.
Ziegler seemed impressed as he held out the chalet’s encrypted phone to her. “He asked for an encrypted channel.”
“He knows what we’re doing here,” Liese said. She took the phone, then turned away and looked out the window toward the Salman compound across the narrow bay. The weather was overcast and too windy for sailboats today. “Hello, Kirk. Thanks for calling—” She almost said, “my darling.”
“Hello, Liese, it’s good to hear your voice again,” McGarvey said, and she could hear the stress in his voice. “How are you?”
“It’s I who should be asking you that, after Alaska and then President Haynes’s speech last night. It’s happening again for you.” She could see Gertner’s reflection in the window glass. He was wearing a headset, listening to every word. What Kirk could not say was that he was going to be in Monaco, because the only way he had of knowing that Salman would be there in two days was if they were working together, as Gertner was mad to prove. It was Gertner’s stupid contention that McGarvey would try to throw off the Swiss investigation into Salman’s activities. Almost anything he said now would be twisted in one way or another to prove the case. But Monaco would practically be the coup de grace.
“My people told me that you called while I was away,” McGarvey said, no warmth whatsoever in his voice. “You wanted whatever we had on Abdul Salman. Why?”
Liese’s heart was breaking. This was nothing more than the director of American intelligence wanting to know what the hell a Swiss cop was doing bothering him. But there was nothing for Gertner to use. “We’re investigating the prince—”
“For what?”
“I can’t say at this moment, except that it has to do with national security .”
“Swiss national security,” Kirk responded, sharply. “But you mentioned Darby Yarnell, which tells me that someone in Bern has gotten to you. Why, Liese? Because you were once in love with me?”
Liese turned and looked at Gertner, who had the good grace to at least lower his eyes. “Something like that,” she told McGarvey. “But it was my superiors who came up with the connection, not me. They thought that you would remember me as a … friend.”
“Is he there now?”
“Yes.”
“Liese, this is important. Was he there all last week?”
Liese got an immediate lift. If Kirk had to ask about Salman’s whereabouts last week, then he could not be working with the man. But her spirits immediately sank when she realized that Gertner would simply take Kirk’s question as a sign that the CIA director was trying to throw them off.
“No, he wasn’t here,” she said. “As a matter of fact he’s been gone for the better part of three months. We wanted to know if the CIA had been tracking his movements.”
“Why, Liese?”
Liese shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I’m not authorized to say. This is nothing more than a personal request.”
“I’m coming over. I can be there first thing in the morning.” Gertner frowned. He shook his head.
“You wouldn’t be allowed to enter the country.”
“Okay, I’ll send my daughter. She works for us.”
Liese was frustrated and frightened. She didn’t know what to do or what to ask him, because whatever he was going to say would be damning in Gertner’s eyes. “What do you want here, Kirk?” she asked in desperation. “What is the prince to you?”
“We have a very high confidence that Salman is the al-Quaida terrorist Khalil. He was in Alaska to grab Shaw, and now we think he’s behind bin Laden’s latest threat.”
A look of triumph crossed Gertner’s face. He motioned for Liese to cover the phone.
“Just a moment,” she said, and she held a shaky hand over the phone.
“Tell him that there has been a change in policy that you just learned about. He can come here after all.”
“So that you can arrest him?” she demanded, shrilly. She shook her head. “This proves nothing.” She turned back to the phone. “We think you might be right,” she blurted. “But sending your daughter here would be a moot point. Salman is leaving for Monaco the day after—”
The connection was cut.
Love or loyalty?
She had asked herself the same question ten years ago when Kirk was here in Switzerland and she had fallen in love with him while working as a Swiss undercover cop whose duty it was to spy on him. Her answer now was the same as it had been then.
Other books
Reign of the Favored Women by Ann Chamberlin
A Reason to Live: A Shadowdance Variation by Mark Wooden
Hometown by Marsha Qualey
A Bad Man: Joey by Jenika Snow
Yonder Stands Your Orphan by Barry Hannah
The Summer the World Ended by Matthew S. Cox
The Price of Freedom by Every, Donna
The First Victim by Lynn, JB
The Proposal Plan by Charlotte Phillips
The Supernaturalist by Eoin Colfer