High Flight (72 page)

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Authors: David Hagberg

BOOK: High Flight
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“Phil had no business telling you any of that. I have a job to do, and when it's finished, however it turns out, I'll leave and you can get on with your life.”
Dominique shook her head.
“Your brother is right. All of you are. David should never have come to me.”
“Where would we be if he hadn't?” Dominique flared.
“Not hiding from your job and your friends, afraid for your life.”
“We'd probably be dead.”
“No,” McGarvey disagreed.
Dominique turned to him. “Do you honestly believe that everything would have turned out okay, Kirk? Can you sit there and tell me that people wouldn't die?”
“Nothing I've ever done has made the slightest difference.”
“Oh no, you're wrong,” Dominique blurted. “Just because you've had friends betray you all of your life doesn't mean you were at fault. The CIA wouldn't have kept coming back for your help.”
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
“Yes I do. Or at least now I know how badly we treated you.”
McGarvey got unsteadily to his feet. “Stay here until
Monday morning. Don't call anybody. Don't show yourself.” He started for the door.
Dominique came after him. “Goddamn you, Kirk. You're not going to walk out on me! I won't allow it!”
“Stay away from me.”
“I can't,” she cried. “Goddamn you, goddamn you to hell, can't you understand what I'm saying? I love you.”
She'd caught him totally off guard. For a moment he basked in a warm glow, but then his past came rushing in like a load of bricks. “That'd be the biggest mistake you've ever made.”
“I'll deal with my mistakes. You handle your own,” she said pragmatically. “As you say, you have a job to do, and you'll do it. But afterward you'll have to deal with me.”
“You don't know what the hell you're talking about.”
“Yes I do. And when I want something I usually get it. Right now you're going to sit down and eat something, and then get some sleep. You're doing nobody any good in the shape you're in.”
“I've got a lousy track record. Did Phil tell you that?”
“Your first wife was an alcoholic who drank herself to death. And your second wife loved you but couldn't stand living with someone in your profession.”
“Could you?”
“I don't know,” Dominique said honestly. “But I'm going to try.”
“Did he tell you about Marta?”
“They weren't after her. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It can happen to anybody.”
“It was no accident what happened to my wife and daughter.”
“Nor was it your fault, Kirk,” Dominique insisted. “Stop beating yourself to death with it. Ever since you found out about your parents you've been driving yourself.”
“Stop,” he warned.
“No, I won't. What your parents did wasn't your fault either.”
McGarvey had to get out of there. He couldn't take much more of it. A thousand demons rose up inside his gut, threatening to blot out his sanity. A hundred voices pleading for help rang in his ears. And in his mind's eye he could see the faces of every one of his kills.
“Grow up, for God's sake,” Dominique said. “Deal with it!”
“I'm an assassin. Is that what you want?”
“You're a soldier, and you're on the front line. If you have nightmares about the people you've killed, do you have pleasant dreams about all the lives you've saved?”
He stepped back. “I don't want you hurt,” he whispered.
“Then don't leave me, Kirk. Please.” She came into his arms. For a long moment he did nothing, but then he held her, and she let out a pent-up sigh. “I can help, if you'll let me,” she said.
“It's bad.”
“I know.”
“Worse than you can imagine.”
She looked up at him. “Then you'll need all your strength. First something to eat, and afterward sleep.”
“I'll call David.”
“After you get some rest,” Dominique insisted. She made him sit down again, and she went back to the stove.
He finished his drink as he watched her cook. He was frightened for her safety. She was naive. No matter how bad she believed the situation was, she could not imagine the savagery rampant in the world. He was also afraid of his own growing feelings. Afraid that he was falling in love with her, and what it would do to both of them.
 
Dominique came into the bedroom to wake him up. She brought a cigarette and a cup of strong coffee laced with brandy. He only vaguely remembered eating the breakfast she'd prepared for him and then allowing himself to be led upstairs to one of the bedrooms where he'd fallen
asleep. At one point he'd awakened, and she'd been in the room, watching him. He fell back asleep to her smile.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Five. You only got a few hours, but David phoned and he says he's got something important.”
McGarvey sat up and took the coffee and smoke from her. “What's happened?”
“I don't know.” She handed him the phone.
“Are you feeling any better?” Kennedy asked.
“A little. Are you back in Portland?”
“Until Sunday. But Sam Varelis called. He's looking for you. He thinks you might be right after all about the Dulles accident and the American Airlines incident in '90. Socrates is looking over the material he sent.”
“Sabotage?”
“That's the implication, but there's nothing definite other than the coincidence that both accidents happened in precisely the same manner. With precisely the same damage.”
“What's Sir Malcolm have to say?”
“He tends to agree with you and Varelis, but we're still coming up empty-handed. There was nothing wrong with either of those engines. Nothing wrong with any engine we've tested. Absolutely nothing.”
“But it's there.”
“Yes,” Kennedy said. “But we don't have a thing to take to the FAA or the airlines. And we're still scheduled for Sunday.”
“Your AOG teams have found nothing?”
“That's right. We're back at square one, except for you. We got word that the Attorney General's office has issued a warrant for your arrest. The FBI called, wanted to know where you were.”
“We expected that, David. What'd you tell them?”
“That you no longer worked for us.”
“They refused to help?”
“Nothing they can do,” Kennedy said bitterly. “When you look at it from their viewpoint, they're right. We don't have a single shred of evidence that anyone is
gunning for us. At least not to the extent of sabotaging our airplanes.”
“Al agrees?”
“He's changed since Dulles.” Kennedy was guarded. “The accident took a lot out of him. I think that no matter what happens or doesn't happen on Sunday he'll get out of the business. George is quitting too. Everything is different. Maybe we should have cooperated with the Japanese after all, like Boeing did. There'd be no reason for them to come after us.”
“If it is the Japanese. Might be someone else.”
“The possibilities are endless,” Kennedy said resignedly. “Everything is going to hell.”
“What is it?” McGarvey asked.
“Chance is gone.”
“What do you mean gone? Has she left you?”
“No note, if that's what you mean. She's just gone. She didn't come home last night.”
“Did she pack a bag?”
“None of her things are missing so far as I can tell.”
“Have you tried to reach Yamagata today?” McGarvey asked.
“He checked out of the Hyatt. Nobody has heard from him,” Kennedy said. “Do you think … she's run off with him?”
“I think he's kidnapped her.”
“Why?” Kennedy demanded.
“He wants your cooperation.”
“I haven't heard a thing.”
“Either that or she heard something or saw something she wasn't supposed to hear or see. Call the Bureau. Tell them she's missing.”
“They'll think it's a put-up job.”
“Doesn't matter. Call them anyway,” McGarvey said. “It'll put them on record. Whatever they think they'll at least have to go through the motions.”
Kennedy hesitated. “I don't know if I believe it myself.”
“Get a hold of yourself, David. Your wife didn't run off with Yamagata. She would have confronted you with
it if your marriage is that bad. She would have hurt you with it.”
“I don't know …”
“I do,” McGarvey said bitterly. “I've been there.”
“What the hell are we supposed to do?”
“If there's anything wrong with those engines, Sir Malcolm and Socrates will find out about it. In the meantime save me a seat on Sunday's flight.”
“You'll never get past security.”
“Leave that up to me.”
“Yeah,” Kennedy said dispiritedly.
McGarvey broke the connection and tried Carrara's house again. Dominique was watching him, wide-eyed. There was no answer. Next he called Sam Varelis at the NTSB.
“I just talked with David Kennedy. Any chance of grounding the fleet?”
“The FAA wouldn't go along with it, because we don't have anything solid to give them. Do you know the Bureau is looking for you?”
“I've heard,” McGarvey said dryly. “I need a favor, Sam.”
“Name it.”
“Phil Carrara was placed on administrative leave because he was helping me. Now he's disappeared. Can you make a few discreet inquiries?”
“Will do,” Varelis said. “Where can I reach you?”
“You can't, Sam. I'll call you at home tonight.”
“Make it here at the office. I have a feeling the next few days are going to be long ones.”
 
Captain Kiyoda and his XO stood behind the chief sonarman watching the displays on his console. Because of their extreme depth, targets on the surface were hard to pick up and even more difficult to identify with any certainty. But their equipment was better than that of any navy's, and Nakayama was the best of the best.
“Here's the first dipping buoy, sir.” Nakayama pointed to the display on the right. “Eighteen thousand meters out. From a LAMPS III, I think. Below the
seasonal thermocline, but still well above the permanent layer. Broad-band processing, I'd guess, which means he's still searching for us.”
“The second?” Kiyoda asked.
“We had it briefly, now it's gone,
Kan-cho.
But look here, there are two other surface targets. Very hard to analyze.”
“Try.”
The display on the left side of the sonar console showed the measured and predicted sound transmission paths based on the salinity, temperature, and currents at various levels above them. The display on the right made corrections for the conditions. What remained were the theoretical contacts. Under ideal conditions the targets would paint as distinct points, or a series of dots, from which the operator-assisted electronic equipment could process real-time intelligence: the type of ship, its speed, and bearing. Now the display looked like a swiftly flowing waterfall through which they had to look.
“Definitely surface ships, sir, not just noise.” Nakayama circled one of the possible contacts with a grease pencil. “Sierra-One-Four. Same course and speed as Sierra-Zero-Nine. Much smaller. A lot less noise. Maybe a frigate.”
“American?” Kiyoda asked.
“I think so, sir. The other is much weaker, but it seems to be the same type of ship, on the same course and speed.”
“Seventh Fleet sent out reinforcements,” Minori suggested.
“It would appear so,” Kiyoda replied. “Have you designated the second target?”
“Sierra-One-Five.” Nakayama circled the second indistinct target. “They're looking for us,
Kan-cho.
”
“Will they be successful?”
“Not unless they get lucky, or we make a mistake,” Nakayama said, and he stiffened.
Kiyoda smiled at Nakayama's sudden embarrassment for questioning his captain's judgment and ability. “On
this boat,
Nakayama-san,
we are dedicated only to the truth. Do you understand why?”

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