High Flight (62 page)

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Authors: David Hagberg

BOOK: High Flight
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He slit the seam at the bottom of the first repeater with a razor knife and carefully peeled the paper back, exposing the plain cardboard. Clipping the paper aside with a clothespin, he slit the glue joint at the top edge and lifted the cardboard top away from the old battery, which looked like a black plastic credit card with no markings except for a gold stripe at each end. Holding the cardboard aside, he lifted the battery away from its bed with a pair of tweezers and inserted a fresh battery in its place. Reversing his steps he reglued the cardboard top and refastened the paper covering. Next he switched on a field-strength meter, which he placed next to the repeater, and then keyed the encoder and trigger generator. A few milliseconds later, an audio tone went out, and the repeater kicked out a duplicate of the signal, but piggybacked on the same VHF-FM frequency that the seven airport noise-reduction research units they'd targeted were using.
He looked up. Mueller and Reid had come down again to watch. “It works.”
“How long before you're finished?” Mueller asked.
“With this batch a couple hours. I'll do the rest later.”
“What about the closed-circuit camera shunt?”
“It's ready,” Louis said. “I'll show you how it works as soon as I'm done with these. Now get out of here.”
“No mistakes.”
“None. Leave me alone.”
Reid and Mueller went back upstairs.
“His brother's death hasn't affected him as much as I thought it would,” Reid said when they got to the living room.
“In California he depended on his psychologist. Here
on his brother. But now he's transferred his trust to me.”
Reid poured an Irish whiskey. “He's unstable.”
Mueller watched Reid toss the liquor back. “But brilliant. Without him we'd have nothing.”
“He's to be eliminated when he's finished. His safeguards need to be neutralized.”
“I don't think that will be a problem. But it'll have to be soon. Before Sunday. Because afterward we may have to move very quickly.”
Reid poured another drink, his hand shaking slightly. “You'll have to be very careful placing the repeaters.”
“I'll leave tonight. Oakland first because I know it, Los Angeles, and Portland. On the way back, Chicago and Minneapolis.”
“How long will it take you?”
“Three days. Still gives us plenty of time for La Guardia and JFK in New York.”
“Dulles?”
“I'll do that last. Security there must still be very strict.”
“The blame must fall on the Japanese,” Reid said. “Not so much as a hint of any of this can come back to me. Not if my ultimate plan is to succeed.”
Mueller looked at him. “All those Guerin airplanes have been sabotaged to be destroyed. Have you given thought to that? Someone has come before us. Someone else has the same plan as you do.”
“The Japanese.”
“I don't think it's the government.”
Reid shook his head. “Neither do I, but someone has gone to the trouble. And whatever their thinking is, it's definitely long range.”
“To embroil the U.S. and Japan in a war?”
“It's possible. But there's no way of knowing.”
“Still time to walk away from this, Reid. Let the others do your work for you. Now that you know that every Guerin airplane flying with that device can be knocked out of the sky, you have the advantage.”
“No,” Reid said, girding himself. “It's too uncertain. It could be years.”
“Which you don't have?” Mueller suggested.
“Which I'm not willing to give,” Reid responded sharply. “You hold up your end of the plan, and I'll take care of mine. I'm returning to the city tonight.”
Mueller glanced toward the basement door. “Do you think it's wise to leave him here alone?”
“There's no choice.” Reid finished his drink. “You have work to do, and so do I. My part in this does not end on Sunday. It just begins.”
 
Newton Kilbourne showed up in Kennedy's office at four. “Tell me we're postponing the Honolulu flight, and you'll make me a happy man.”
“I wish I could, Newt, but I want to talk to you about something.”
“Sir Malcolm talked to George, said he might have come up with a couple of possibilities. But we're torn both ways at the Creek.”
Socrates had split his engineering staff into two teams: one studying the Dulles crash and the other working around the clock in an effort to make sure
America
would be ready to fly on Sunday. The strain was showing on all of them, including Kilbourne.
“This is about McGarvey. Has he been told about Sir Malcolm's call?”
Kilbourne's jaw tightened. “I haven't seen him all day. But he's no engineer. When he's out there he gets in everybody's way. I don't know what he said to Sir Malcolm, but frankly, David, I don't give a shit.”
If you had your way, you'd take him out back and settle your differences with fists, Kennedy thought. Or at least try. “Will we be ready to fly Sunday?”
“Unless some more unk-unks show up, or unless you can talk some sense into the old man.”
“If the plane is ready to fly, we go. But this is about McGarvey. You and he have a problem. I want to know what it is.”
“You know.”
“Tell me.”
“He's in bed with my sister, and he's got her head so messed up she's become afraid of her own shadow. No matter what I say to her, or try to do, she tells me to mind my own fucking business.”
“He didn't want her involved in the project in the first place. It was my decision, and hers.”
“That's right, she's a grown-up woman doing a damned fine job for us in Washington. Who she sleeps with is none of my business. When it was you, I didn't approve, but I understood. With McGarvey it's a whole different ball game.”
Kennedy held himself in check. He'd never known that Dominique's brother knew about their relationship.
“Ah, shit, I'm sorry, David. I was way out of line. But McGarvey is a spook, for Christ's sake. He's killed people. Not like a soldier on a battlefield, but like some stinking weasel in the night. Dominique's no match for him. She's already been mentally hurt. I'm scared shitless that one of McGarvey's enemies will try to hurt her physically.”
“She can't be protected against her will.” Kennedy's heart was aching. Twice in two days he had been hit with his affair.
“Bullshit. Before McGarvey went to Tokyo he saw Dominique at my place in Grosse Pointe. Convinced her to return to Washington because she wasn't doing anybody any good hiding out. He doesn't give a flying fuck about her. She's nothing more than insurance against your firing him. And probably cannon fodder against anybody gunning for him. She needs to be pulled off the firing line, and right now. And we need to get rid of McGarvey—by any means, fair or foul.”
“What about the Japanese?”
Kilbourne shook his head. “Maybe Dulles was nothing more than an accident after all. Sir Malcolm admitted that he's running around in circles. Finding out how an airplane could be sabotaged doesn't mean someone actually did it.”
“Do you believe that?” Kennedy asked gently.
Kilbourne started to make a quick reply, but bit it off. It was clear he was deeply troubled. “I don't know what I believe anymore, David. All I know is that we seem to be headed hell bent for leather down the toilet. I've got this bad feeling that it's all coming apart at the edges, and I don't know how long we can hold out.”
Paraphrased Yeats, Kennedy thought. Just as disturbing then as it was now. “McGarvey warned us.”
“We shouldn't have hired him. Greg and the others might still be alive.”
“He's helped already.”
“How?”
“By identifying our enemies. At least we know who we're fighting. Maybe he'll finish it for us.”
Kilbourne said nothing.
“Do you have any confidence in him?”
“No,” Kilbourne said. “Do you?”
 
McGarvey telephoned Viktor Yemlin from a phone booth a few blocks from his apartment. It was the blind number the Russian had given him. “Has
Abunai
given you anything new?”
“I'm glad you called, Kirk. I'll be pulling out of Washington in a few days.”
“What's happened, Viktor Pavlovich?”
“Are you aware that the FBI is investigating you for the murder of a CIA operative in Tokyo? And presumably for having some dealings with a former Stasi assassin?”
“I just spoke with Phil Carrara.”
“One of our operatives was murdered in Tokyo last night. If you'd still been in Japan we would have suspected you.”
“Was he working for
Abunai?”
“I'm told he was one of the best. He'd managed to get inside Mintori. His death was made to look like a suicide.”
“Was he Japanese?”
“Yes. His double cover was as a MITI operative. But listen very carefully to me, Kirk. In his last drop he said
he was getting proof that Mintori was behind the crash of the American Airlines flight in 1990. But he was just as certain that Mintori knew nothing about the Dulles crash.”
“That means someone else is involved. Another Japanese
zaibatsu?
”
“Mintori is just as confused as we are. No one knew anything, except that the Japanese seemed to be getting ready to go to war. Against us. All of their military installations are on alert status.”
“What about Russian bases along your far eastern coast?”
“They've been on alert since the incident in the strait. But, Kirk, this goes beyond any agreement between my government and Guerin Airplane Company. I'm sorry, but I do not know how much longer I can help you, or even if I should be helping you now.”
“What about
Abunai?
Has it been shut down?”
“I don't know. But something very strange is about to happen that has us all worried. My suggestion to you is to convince Guerin to ground its fleet. Now, before it's too late. God only knows what will happen if more of your airplanes fall out of the sky. Are you listening to me, Kirk?”
“I need more information, Viktor Pavlovich. Before you leave Washington.”
“I don't know.”
“The Japanese must have some idea who was responsible for the Dulles crash. Even a suspicion, a hint. Anything. Find out.”
“I'll try,” Yemlin said. “It's all I can promise.”
 
Mueller had three new sets of identification. Whatever problems Reid was facing he still had very good connections. So far as Mueller could tell the driver's licenses and Social Security and voter registration cards were authentic. He'd been assured that they were not on any hot sheet. Even the credit cards were valid and had substantial balances. He packed lightly, and this time since he would be doing most of his travel by air, he took
no gun. No real need, he told himself, packing a straight razor with his shaving things. If he was caught with it he would have no recourse except to run. He had a substantial amount of money now, enough for his retirement. But he wanted to see this job to its end. And he wanted to eliminate Louis, and of course Reid, so that he would not have to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder because they talked.
He took his bag down to the front hall and listened to the silence of the house for a few seconds. The high-pitched whine of computer printers that they'd lived with for the past week or so was gone. Irritating, he thought. A noise he would never have to put up with again. He was old-fashioned. It was his East German upbringing. Time now to step away from a world that had become entirely too modern.
Downstairs Zerkel was seated at the workbench, drinking a Coke. “I'm finished,” he said.
“Good. I'm ready to leave.” Mueller walked over.
“What are you going to carry these in?” The five repeaters were stacked next to a Sony Walkman and earphones.
“My overnight bag. Will there be a problem with airport security equipment?”
“Lead foil baffles. They'll show up hollow. And the radio will look like a radio.” Zerkel picked up the Walkman and switched it on. It was tuned to a country-and-western station. “Switch it to tape play anywhere within a ten- or twelve-foot radius of a closed-circuit television camera and the monitor will freeze on its last image.”
“How does it work?”

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