Dance with the Dragon (42 page)

McGarvey had seen stuff like this in ’Nam, especially Saigon. It had sickened him then as it did now. “All this in ten minutes?”

“I gave her a couple lines of coke. Her name is Sally, and she has a small tattoo of a red and green dragon on her inner left thigh.”

“Okay,” McGarvey said.

Gloria shrugged. “The kid is sexy,” she said. “Anyway, I suspect that if at some point you mention the dragon to him it might piss him off. Could be he’ll make another mistake.”

McGarvey made a mental note of it, but he wondered what she meant by
another
mistake. Coincidences were starting to pile up around her like dirty laundry.

“Let’s dance,” he said, getting up. He held her chair and they walked out onto the dance floor.

“Are we going to give him a show?” she asked as he took her in his arms. Her smile was wide and she was obviously enjoying herself. They began to dance.

“Just don’t give me a heart attack,” McGarvey said lightly.

She molded her body closely against his. “God, I hope you know how good you feel,” she said huskily, and she started moving her hips against his.

McGarvey felt himself responding, much sooner than he’d hoped. But she was a beautiful, desirable woman.

She looked up at him, a secret smile on her lips. “It’s okay, Kirk,” she whispered. “You do care, but I won’t make the first move. Honest Injun. It’s your call.”

She laid her head on his shoulder and they danced the next two songs without speaking. McGarvey had wanted to give Liu a show, and that’s exactly what Gloria was doing. She was acting like a woman in love, which in fact she was. It made her a prime target. Liu would have to figure that if he got to her, he would be striking back at McGarvey. And maybe through her he could put himself in a position to find out what the retired director of the CIA was doing messing around down here.

When the set finished, Gloria went to back to the ladies’ room and Liu’s girlfriend got up and followed her again.

A stripper came out onstage and began her routine to a nice rendition of “The Four Seasons” over the club’s sophisticated sound system, as the waitress came over.

“Would you care for another bottle of champagne, Mr. McGarvey? Compliments of the house.”

“Tell the general that I’m not interested in his hospitality.”

“No, sir, this is from Señor Roaz,” the girl said. “He told me to tell you that it was a peace offering. He wants you and your lady to have a good time this evening.”

He gave her a cool look. “That’s exactly what I intend doing,” he said. “Have my car brought up. We’re leaving.”

The girl started to say something.

“Now, if you please,” McGarvey told her.

She left, and McGarvey got to his feet as Gloria came back to the table. She was even more glassy-eyed than before, and a little unsteady on her feet. This time he didn’t think it was an act.

“We can’t dance to that,” she said, glancing at the stripper.

“We’re leaving,” McGarvey told her. “We’ve done enough for tonight.”

“Good,” she said tightly. “The son of a bitch sent his whore to invite me to a party at his house sometime. But she had the balls to warn me not to show up or I’d be sorry.” She chuckled. “I think I broke the bitch’s jaw. She won’t be giving any head for a couple of months.”

At the reception desk McGarvey signed his tab, adding a generous tip.

“We hope that you will join us again very soon,” the young hostess told him.

“Count on it,” McGarvey told her.

The crowd waiting to get inside had thinned out somewhat, but McGarvey suspected there’d be people standing in line until nearly dawn. He gave the valet a big tip and drove directly over to Gloria’s apartment up in Lomas Altas.

She was messed up, sometimes not very coherent. “Did we do good?” she asked.

“Very good,” McGarvey assured her. He felt rotten about tonight and what was still to come for her. “But tomorrow will be even better.”

“We’ll get the son of a bitch,” she said. “He and Roaz’s muscle killed a good man. He’ll pay through the nose for it.”

When they got to her apartment she was half asleep. He helped her out of her car and had to carry her down the walk, where he fumbled in her purse for the key.

Inside he took her back to the bedroom, threw back the covers, and laid her down. She’d been mumbling something, but as soon as her head hit the pillow she passed out.

McGarvey looked at her for a very long time, hating what he was about to do to her as much as he hated the necessity of it. Liu was an accomplished master of manipulating people, especially women, into believing in him. Unless Gloria was convinced in her own mind that a real relationship existed between her and McGarvey, Liu would almost certainly see through the deception.

He took off his jacket and laid it on a chair. Then he took off his tie, tossed it aside, and ripped his shirt open, popping most of the buttons, and pulled it off. Sitting on the bed beside Gloria, he wiped her lipstick on the front of his shirt and dropped it on the floor. Finally he took off her dress and tossed in on the floor on top of his shirt. She was naked beneath, and her breasts were perfect, her stomach only slightly rounded, and her dark complexion flawless. A tiny white rose was tattooed just above her shaved vagina.

“Kirk,” she suddenly called out, her eyes closed.

“I’m here,” he said softly.

He covered her with the sheet and comforter, put on his jacket, and let himself out of the apartment, the night very st-ll and very dark under a sky that had clouded up.

SEVENTY-FOUR

BENITO JUÁREZ AIRPORT

The same Gulfstream bizjet and crew that had brought McGarvey down from Andrews showed up a few minutes after nine on a gray overcast morning. McGarvey was waiting for it in the VIP hangar leased to the U.S. embassy. Rencke had assured him that the flight would be logged as a training mission, the crew and passenger list lost in DO red tape.

The aircraft pulled even with the main doors, and once the engines spooled down, the passenger door popped open, deploying the boarding stairs, and Toni Dronchi appeared in the hatch, brightening when she spotted McGarvey.

“Good morning, sir,” she said, stepping down. She looked around. No one else was in the hangar. “What about customs?” She was dressed in khakis and a dark blue windbreaker.

“This is a training flight. No one will be leaving the aircraft.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How was the flight down?”

“Long,” Toni said. “She bitched the whole way, especially when she realized where we were taking her. She’s scared.”

“I don’t blame her,” McGarvey said. “Get her out here and you can get back to Washington.”

“Are we done babysitting?” Toni asked hopefully.

McGarvey nodded. “For now, anyway.”

She took a small padded envelope from her jacket pocket and handed it to McGarvey. “Mr. Rencke said you wanted this.”

“Thanks,” McGarvey said.

“I’ll just go fetch her,” Toni said.

“You did a good job,” McGarvey said. “Thanks.”

She flushed with pleasure, and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

She went back to the aircraft and returned with Shahrzad and a hanging bag of clothing and toiletries that Toni had provided her with in Sarasota from a nonaccountable CIA fund. So far the woman was a nonentity as far as the official Company database was concerned, and McGarvey wanted to keep it that way for now.

“I’m telling you, I don’t like this one goddamned bit,” she complained, stepping down from the hatch. She was dressed in a short black skirt, a white frilly top.

“You came to us,” McGarvey told her coolly.

“What if I decide not to cooperate?” she demanded. “I could get killed. My life’s not worth it.”

“Well then, we’ll just get out of here,” Toni said. “Good luck.”

McGarvey took Shahrzad’s bag and loaded into the backseat of the Jetta as Toni got back aboard the aircraft and closed the door. The Gulfstream, its engines spooling up, headed to the taxiway. The pilot waved from the window, and McGarvey waved back.

“The bastards wouldn’t give me a drink,” Shahrzad said. “The least they could have done was—”

“Yes, you could get killed,” McGarvey interrupted. “But if you pay attention and do as you’re told, you’ll probably come out of this in one piece.”

She looked at him, a hand on her hip, her eyebrow arched. “Probably?”

“Yes,” McGarvey said.

She turned away and said something under her breath in Farsi. “I didn’t expect it to turn out like this, you know. Louis dead, and me alone.”

“It’s the hand you were dealt. Now you either play it or walk away.”

“What if I walk away?” she asked. “What do I get?”

“At this point it’s either Liu or us,” McGarvey said. “If it’s us, we’ll take care of you when it’s over.”

“I’ve heard that before,” she said bitterly.

“Your choice,” McGarvey said.

“I don’t want to be here,” she said plaintively. “I want to go back. I want Louis here. I want to move to the States. He promised me.”

“I’ll set you up at the Four Seasons for a week. I can get you a few thousand in cash and an airplane ticket to wherever you want to go. I’d suggest Paris, back to your family.”

“I can’t go back,” she cried. She looked at him. “I can never go back.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a goddamned whore,” she whispered. “I’m what my father made me. And for an Iranian girl it means no forgiveness. Never. You’re all I have.”

McGarvey’s heart softened. She’d never had a chance after her father had used her to seduce Baranov. Better one wayward son than a dozen devoted daughters. In places like Iran women were a burden, only to be used and then discarded if a husband willing to take on such a burden couldn’t be found.

“Then we’ll do this together,” he said. “And you won’t be alone.”

She thought for a few moments, but then nodded. “I don’t really have much of a choice, do I?”

“No.”

“Okay. What do I have to do?”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” McGarvey said.

SEVENTY-FIVE

MEXICO CITY

On the Avenida Rio Consulado into the city, McGarvey called Gloria’s apartment on his cell phone. Surprisingly, she answered on the second ring, and she didn’t sound hungover.

“Good morning,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Lousy,” she replied crisply. “Next question?”

“It was a difficult night.”

“Yeah,” Gloria said. “Maybe I’m in over my head, you know?” She hesitated. “Look, I’m sorry as hell.”

“About what?” McGavey asked.

“You know.”

“You finally got what you wanted,” he said harshly. “Don’t apologize.”

“But I didn’t want it that way.”

“What way is that?” he asked. He felt like a heel. But it was the business. He glanced over at Shahrzad hunched against the door. It was the season for that kind of thing.

“I don’t know,” she said miserably. “I don’t remember a thing except for the club, and then waking up in my bed—”

“Just leave it at that,” McGarvey cut her off. “You did a good job last night, and tonight we’re going to up the ante.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do,” McGarvey said. “Don’t fold on me now. I need you.”

Gloria was silent for a long time. When she came back she sounded contrite. “All right, darling.”

“We’re going out again tonight, only this time you’ll have some help.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m on my way to your place now from the airport.”

“It’s not one of McCann’s people, is it?” she asked.

“No,” McGarvey said. “Just hang on, and I’ll explain everything when we get there.”

“Whatever you say, Kirk. But I think that I’m afraid.”

“I know,” he said, and he broke the connection. Christ, what a lousy way to do things. This was something that he knew he could never explain to Katy or to their daughter, Liz. But then even Liz had no real idea what tradecraft was all about.

McGarvey glanced in the rearview mirror to see a dark blue BMW SUV switch lanes and tuck in behind a shuttle bus about five car lengths back. He was reasonably sure he’d spotted the beemer at the airport VIP terminal, but he hadn’t gotten a look at the tag numbers or the driver, so he couldn’t be sure it was the same vehicle.

When he had the opening he pulled over into the left lane and gradually began to slow down, letting traffic in the right lanes pass him. He glanced again in his rearview mirror.

Shahrzad realized that something was going on. “What is it?” she asked. “Are we being followed?”

“It’s possible.”

She started to turn, but he stopped her.

“Don’t,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I want to see what they do.”

The beemer did not switch lanes, and when it passed McGarvey, the driver, a Hispanic man in a white shirt and tie, did not look over. No one else was in the SUV with him.

“Well?” Shahrzad asked.

“It was the blue BMW,” McGarvey said. “I spotted it at the airport.” He checked his rearview mirror but could see nothing unusual, simply ordinary weekday morning traffic. Yet he would have bet almost anything that after last night’s performance Liu would have put a tail on him. He’d parked the car at the hotel, so it wouldn’t have been difficult to find him and follow him out to the airport this morning.

Unless Liu was playing some other game, almost as if he knew why McGarvey had gone out to the airport.

“Who was that person you called?” Shahrzad asked.

“An old friend.”

“CIA?”

“Yes, she is.”

Shahrzad didn’t seem surprised. “I’m supposed to help her with what, exactly?”

“You’re going to help each other bring Liu down, and for just about the same reasons.”

SEVENTY-SIX

LOMAS ALTAS

McGarvey turned onto the broad Paseo de la Reforma a few blocks from Gloria’s apartment, and Shahrzad suddenly sat straight up and gave McGarvey a wide-eyed look.

“What the hell do you think you’re trying to do to me?” she demanded.

“I don’t know what you mean,” McGarvey said.

“You damn well do,” she said, her voice rising. “This is the way to the Iranian embassy. If they get their hands on me they’ll send me back to Tehran for trial.”