Authors: David Hagberg
Without Honor (9 page)
It was too loose. There were too many unanswered questions. A man who had worked for the CIA, and who had participated in the Bay of Pigs invasion, suddenly makes a success of himself in the drug business in Castro's Cuba?
“He was arrested about seven months ago in Miami by a DEA team and was jailed pending trial,” Trotter said. “That's when he began making noises.”
“Darby Yarnell,” Basulto blurted. “In jail, I saw him on the television. It nearly knocked me over.”
McGarvey sat forward very fast. “What about him?” Yarnell was a power in Washington politics. Even from afar, McGarvey had heard the name.
“He was the one working with Baranov in Mexico City. He killed Roger Harris. He's a goddamned Russian agent.”
Basulto was scheduled to leave with Day for the airport, but once there they'd separate, two of Trotter's babysitters picking up the burden of getting the Cuban back to Miami.
“We're keeping him on ice there. Less conspicuous,” Trotter said. “The question is, will you be able to help us?”
“With what?” McGarvey snapped. He glanced at Basulto. “He's just trying to save his own ass with this story. You can't actually want me to run off half-cocked chasing goblins ⦠twenty-five year old goblins.”
A sudden intensity came to Trotter. “Kirk, we did the preliminary checks. Darby Yarnell worked for the CIA in the late fifties and early sixties. He was stationed in Mexico City at our embassy. He was involved in the Bay of Pigs business.”
“Then send the Company after him. It's in their bailiwick.”
Day and Trotter exchanged glances.
“Yarnell and Powers are ⦠friends. They worked together in the old days. They still see each other occasionally, on a social level.”
“What the hell are you trying to tell me, John?
Yarnell worked for this Russian. Are you saying Powers is a double as well?”
Yarnell worked for this Russian. Are you saying Powers is a double as well?”
“Good God, no,” Trotter blurted, rearing back as if what McGarvey had just said was blasphemy.
Basulto laughed out loud and rubbed his hands together. Day paled.
“If there is anyone in this mess who's clean, it is Donald Powers,” Trotter went on. “And we want to keep it that way. The scandal ⦠if it got out, would wreck the agency. Simply wreck it!”
“Powers has fought the Russians for his entire career, from what I understand,” Day interjected. “He's hurt them too badly, too many times, for him to be suspect in this.”
“Of that I can personally vouch,” Trotter said. “I worked with him. We all know his reputation.”
“Kim Philby had a wonderful reputation with the British, too.”
“Come now, McGarvey, you can't possibly compare the two,” Day said.
“No,” McGarvey said, sitting back. “But what do we know about Yarnell?”
“That's just it, Kirk,” Trotter said earnestly. “Superficially Yarnell's past is an open book. But on closer examination, the man is something of a mystery. One moment he is working as trade adviser out of the Mexican embassy, and the next he's in Helvetia training a contingent of the Cuban invasion force. In between, we suspect, he made a number of trips to Washington. For what? To see whom? There are no easy answers.”
“If you can't unravel his past, how the hell do you expect me to do it?”
“We can't get too close to him,” Trotter said. “Not without him finding out. He has his finger in nearly every Washington pot.”
“Including the bureau, John?”
Trotter nodded. “Including the bureau. And the agency. If word got back to Powers that we were investigating his friend, he would naturally get involved himself.”
“There cannot be a hint of scandal, I won't allow it,” Day said.
“Which is why I went to see Leonard,” Trotter said, nodding toward Day. “Personally.”
McGarvey nodded toward the Cuban. “How about this one? How reliable is his story? How reliable is he?”
“Not at all,” Trotter said. “But his life is on the line. All we have to do is throw him back on the streets and he's a dead man.”
“I'm not shitting you here,” Basulto cried. “I've got my own life to consider. It's a trade I'm offering you, see.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” McGarvey snapped. “Trade for what?”
“He wants a new identity, a new track, new town, a job ⦔ Trotter said.
“In trade for what?” McGarvey asked incredulously.
“Yarnell's head on a platter ⦔
“Hold on. All we have here is an accusation. Nothing more.” McGarvey wasn't buying this at all. He looked at his watch. It was time to be getting back. Perhaps he'd take Marta out for dinner tonight. To make up for last night.
“We think there is sufficient evidence to proceed with an investigation,” Trotter said softly.
“I'm convinced,” Day added.
“On the strength of this ⦔
“Directly after the Bay of Pigs business, Yarnell was assigned to the embassy in Moscow.”
“So what?”
“His product was said to be fantastic. Never been beat.”
McGarvey held a sharp reply in check.
“Baranov, the Russian he was seen with in Mexico City, was reassigned back to the centre in Moscow at exactly the same time.”
“Circumstantial.”
“In the early seventies, when Yarnell was assistant DDO at Langley, the Company went into its slump. The lean years, remember? Then in 1978 Yarnell was elected senator from New York. That was your era, Kirk. Who do you suppose pulled the plug on Chile?”
“It was within the Company.”
“Directed by the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence ⦔
“Of which Senator Darby Yarnell was a member,” Day put in.
“It all fits, Kirk,” Trotter said. “Circumstantial perhaps, but just because someone the likes of Basulto makes the accusation, if it turns out to be true it doesn't matter.”
McGarvey turned back to the Cuban. “Why didn't you keep your mouth shut in Miami and take your fall like a good boy? The worst that could have happened was deportation to Cuba. You would have been back in business within a week or two.”
“I was getting tired of it.”
“Of making money?”
“He saw a better opportunity,” Trotter said. “A chance for a new start in the States. Even with money, Cuba is no place to live.”
“Sooner or later the big connections will get you. Make a little mistake and it's all over,” Basulto said.
“He was losing his nerve,” Trotter said.
It wasn't fitting, goddamnit. None of the pieces were in any kind of logical order. Too many holes. When this went sourâand McGarvey was certain it wouldâsomeone would be left holding the bag, and it wouldn't be pleasant.
Day had gotten to his feet, and he motioned for Basulto to get up. “We're leaving now, Mr. McGarvey. I sincerely hope you're with us.”
“To do what?” McGarvey said, looking up.
“John will explain our thinking to you. Something will be set up for you in D.C., and this one here will be on call in Miami. Anytime you want him he's yours for the duration.”
“Get the bastard,” Basulto said with much feeling.
“Why, because he killed your case officer?”
Basulto grinned, his teeth perfectly white and straight. “Maybe you and I will become partners. We will become famous.”
“Get that sonofabitch out of here,” McGarvey growled.
. The grin faded from the Cuban's face. “Goddamnit, you think I'm fooling around here, just trying to make a buck ⦔
“Yes, well ⦔ Day said.
McGarvey got to his feet, and he and Day shook hands.
“As I said, I hope you are with us, Mr. McGarvey. I sincerely hope so,” Day said. He and Trotter nodded to each other, and then he left with Basulto.
“Another cognac?” Trotter asked.
McGarvey shook his head. “I should be getting back.” He listened and moments later heard the garage door swing open below; the van started up and left.
“As soon as they return, we'll get you back to
Lausanne. Shouldn't be more than an hour,” Trotter said.
Lausanne. Shouldn't be more than an hour,” Trotter said.
McGarvey didn't reply. He walked over to the window and looked down into the steep valley across the road. Switzerland was coming to an end for him. He knew it. He had known it for some time now. All the signs had been there for months: his interrupted sleep, his boredom, his sudden fits of anger, his drinking. This time he had hoped it wouldn't happen. Coming to Switzerland five years ago, he had sincerely hoped he'd be able to settle down.
The service is like a narcotic, someone once told him. Years ago it had been, and although he remembered the effect the words had had on him, for the life of him he could not remember who told them to him.
No matter. Perhaps it was time for another fix. But Christ, it was ⦠what? Juvenile?
He turned back. “What exactly is it you want me to do for you, John?”
“Go after Yarnell. Prove that he worked for the Russians.”
“Is it so important ⦠all those years ago â¦?”
“Yarnell had lunch with the president last week. He was at a party at the German embassy with Donald Powers a couple of days ago.”
“You think he's still active, then?”
“I don't see any reason for him not to be.”
McGarvey thought about that for a moment. This was different now. He glanced toward the doorway. They had pulled Basulto out of here before coming up with this new tack.
“How about the Russian ⦠Baranov?”
“We don't know where he is, for sure. Probably Moscow, but he could be anywhere.”
“As Yarnell's case officer?”
Trotter shrugged. But there was something in
his eyes. Something that was causing him a lot of trouble.
his eyes. Something that was causing him a lot of trouble.
“What is it, John? You want me to return to the States and find out if Yarnell is still active? Then what?”
Trotter turned away. He poured himself a stiff cognac, and drained the glass. When he looked back, his lower lip was trembling.
“There can't be a trial, Kirk,” Trotter said. “It would be ten thousand times worse than Watergate. It would tear the country apart. The CIA would go down the tubes, and even the president would suffer. We'd be years recuperating. Perhaps we'd never fully recover.”
“Then what, John? What's the alternative? Send him packing to Moscow? Why not go to the president with this?”
“That's the entire point, isn't it? It's why we decided to come to you.”
“What am I missing here?”
“Yarnell almost certainly suspects he's being investigated.”
“How do you know that?”
“We've had a tail on him. Routine surveillance. Twice he's ditched them. Naturally we had to back off.”
“You told me no one else was in on this business except you and Day.”
“I have my leg men, of course. I can't work in a vacuum. It was to be a routine background investigation.”
“You botched it, and now you want me to pick up the pieces.”
“You're the unknown element.”
“Yarnell has already gone to Powers and to the president with this?”
Trotter nodded glumly. “I'm sure he hasn't
come right out and said he was being investigated as a spy. But he's almost certainly worked himself in solid with them. He'll begin digging in now. But, Kirk, listen to me, the man has his Achilles' heel. He has a weak side.”
come right out and said he was being investigated as a spy. But he's almost certainly worked himself in solid with them. He'll begin digging in now. But, Kirk, listen to me, the man has his Achilles' heel. He has a weak side.”
“Don't we all,” McGarvey muttered.
“Yarnell was married back in the late fifties to a girl in Mexico. Very young, very pretty.”
“I thought he was a bachelor.”
“They divorced a long time ago. She's living in New York City these days. Her name is Evita Perez. She has a club. In SoHo, I think.”
“Christ,” McGarvey said softly.
Trotter suddenly turned away again. “We're asking a lot of you, Kirk. I know it; Leonard knows it.”
The house grew very quiet. It was all coming to McGarvey now, and he felt very fragile, as if he were a delicate crystal vase that would shatter at the slightest vibration.
“There cannot be a trial; you can't or won't go to the president with this; he's Powers's friend; you're not sure of the bureau. So what, we send him back to Moscow? Is that it, John?”
Trotter shook his head.
“No, it would be another Kim Philby. They'd crow about it for years. The effect would be worse than a trial, wouldn't it?”
A lot of thoughts came tumbling, one over the other, into McGarvey's head. The business in Chile was uppermost in his mind. It was still an active file. He could still be prosecuted for murder. Were they holding that over him?
“We're talking about murder, here, John, aren't we? About the assassination of a former U.S. senator, one of the most influential men in Washington.”
Trotter held himself very still.
“Does Leonard Day know about this? Has he approved this plan?”
“We didn't talk about it ⦠not in so many words.”
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