The Kill Zone km-9 Page 12

  “Safety in numbers,” Yemm murmured. McGarvey turned. Yemm had an odd, hooded look on his face, as if he was hiding something. “What are you talking about?” “In case somebody wants to take a potshot at you, boss. The more people that are around you, the tougher it becomes for an assassin to get close.” “I didn’t know that anyone was after me.”

  Yemrn shrugged. “You’re the DCI. Somebody’s always after the DCI.

  It’s why you have bodyguards and ride around in an armored limo.” Dick Adkins agreed to take care of the President’s Friday briefing. Mac would come in for a couple of hours to help put it together. There was nothing urgently pressing on the horizon. Even the Watch Report, which covered hot spots where fighting was taking place or was about to erupt, was mostly clear. “How’d it go on the Hill today?” he asked.

  “About how you’d suspect,” McGarvey said. Adkins shook his head. “I don’t know why the hell you put up with it. If it was me, I’d tell them to take the job and shove it where the light never shines.” He was bitter. “Murphy finally did, but at least he had a few friends up on the Hill. You don’t have anybody. They all want to see you dead.”

  “Is that the consensus around here?” McGarvey shot back. He was getting irascible. His confrontation with Otto yesterday afternoon still weighed on his mind. Last night Katy had been in one of her dark moods because Liz hadn’t called her. Senator Madden had gotten under his skin. Even Yemm had sounded a bleak note of discord. And now, Adkins. “You know what I mean, Mac,” Adkins said, not backing down.

  He looked like he wanted to hit something. “No, I don’t.” Adkins finally turned away. “Ah, hell. What’s the use anyway?” “What’s the matter? Is it Ruth?” “She’s made up her mind to go the radiation and chemo route, rather than a mastectomy. She’ll be sick as hell for months, but she wants to stay… intact for as long as possible, even though it might kill her.” “I’m sorry, Dick.” “Yeah.” “Do you want me to stick around for the weekend? Katy and I can go later.” Adkins shook his head. “You need the break worse than I do. I gotta keep busy, and you need to recharge your batteries for the big fight coming up.” “Do you think that the Senate is going to bounce me?” “Of course not. I meant keeping you alive once you’re sworn in. There’re a lot of people out there who could come gunning for you and feel like they were doing the world a big favor.” Sitting alone at his desk, McGarvey asked himself the same question that Adkins had posed: Why the hell was he putting up with the pressure? He had an inkling of what a newly sworn in president felt on his first day in the White House. Despite all the Secret Service protection he was given, he was still vulnerable to some nut with voices in his head.

  But if someone decided to come after the Director of Central Intelligence, it would most likely be a professional. The kind of man McGarvey had been. Still was.

  He turned and looked out the windows at the snowy countryside. If someone was coming, it would be a person out of his past. Someone with a grudge? he wondered. Or someone with a darker purpose?

  It would have to be someone who knew about his habits, about his comings and goings. Somebody who even now was watching him. Waiting for him to make a mistake. Waiting for him to slip up; one lapse of caution; the one time he left the house without his bodyguard, or without a weapon.

  He shook his head. Or most likely no one was coming. Paranoia was not just a field officer’s malady.

  In the meantime the CIA needed help. A top-to-bottom reorganization that several directors before him had tried to do but failed. He was just egotistical enough to think that he could do it.

  The President called on the direct line. “I think I’m going to recommend some remedial reading for you. Political science. You need it.”

  “I’m not going to give them the answers they want, Mr. President,” McGarvey said. “And without that I’ll never get confirmed.”

  The President chuckled. “You let me worry about that part. The budget bill is coming up, which gives me some wiggle room. So long as you stick to the facts, you’ll come out okay. But when you try to play their game, they’ll eat you alive.”

  “I’m not a politician “

  “Nobody expects you are. But as DCI you’re going to have to deal with the bastards whether you like it or not. So you might as well start practicing right now.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Of course I am,” the President said. “You can start by getting back on track with Hammond and especially with Madden. And before you jump up and down, hear me out. Those two are going to be on your back for as long as you’re the DCI. That’s a fact of political life. But Hammond wants to be president, so that’s something I can use against him. And Brenda Madden has a deep dark secret that causes her to be afraid of me and be pissed off at the same time. She’s dangerous, but she can be reasoned with, as long as you don’t try to score points off her. Go along with whatever she says. Answer her questions with direct answers. Eventually she’ll stick her foot in her mouth enough times so that Hammond will be forced to put a lid on her.” “Are you going to share the secret with me, Mr. President?” “Nope. Just take it a step at a time, and we’ll get through this.” I’ll do my best.”

  “If I didn’t need you, if the Agency and your country didn’t need you, again, I wouldn’t have asked you to take the job. The CIA is in a mess. Fix it, Mac, or we’re going to find ourselves dead in the water as a nation.” “Does that mean I can’t shoot her?” McGarvey asked. The President laughed. “Anything but.” McGarvey had his secretary telephone his son-in-law. She got him on his cell phone. He and Elizabeth were on their way back from the Farm in Williamsburg. “How are the roads?” “Slippery,” Van Buren replied. “But we’re just a couple of miles from 495.” They lived in Falls Church, so they were less than ten miles from home. “If it doesn’t get any worse, how about coming over for dinner tonight?” “Good idea,” Van Buren agreed immediately. “Liz wants to talk to her mother, and she wants to get her skis. We’re going out to Vail for a long I weekend unless you need us in town.” “What’s the doc say?” McGarvey asked, alarmed. “He told her to take it easy, that’s all.” “We’ll see you in a few hours then.”

  “Right,” Van Buren said. McGarvey phoned Yemm to tell him that Todd and Elizabeth were skiiing at Vail this weekend, so it would be just the two of them going down | to St. John. Next he tried to reach Otto, but Ms. Swanfeld found out that he was still in conference with Dr. Stenzel. McGarvey went downstairs and used his security card to gain access to the observation room. They no longer used | one-way mirrors; they were too obvious. Instead, they employed hidden cameras.

  Rencke’s image was projected on the high-definition large-screen |

  closed-circuit television monitor on the wall. Two of Dr. Stenzel’s assistants were monitoring the interview and taking notes. They started to get up, but McGarvey waved them back. “I just came in for a quick look. I thought the interview was supposed | to start at ten.”

  “It did,” one of the assistant psychiatrists answered. “They’ve been at it ever since.” He shrugged. “For all the good it’s doing us.”

  “Isn’t he cooperating?” “Oh, he’s cooperating all right, Mr.

  Director. Trouble is we can’t make any sense out of what he’s telling us.” Dr. Stenzel sat back and lit a cigarette. His jacket was off, his tie loose, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows. He and Otto sat across from each other in easy chairs, a large coffee table strewn with files, computer printouts and coffee cups between them. They were in Stenzel’s office, a large book-lined room with a big window. Otto was sitting back, his legs crossed, his Nikes untied, a dark, but mildly condescending expression on his face. McGarvey had a momentary doubt that the man with Stenzel was Otto Rencke. Yet it was Otto. He knew it was Otto. “So, you’ve been fucking with me all day,” Stenzel said.

  “What else did I expect?” He didn’t seem bitter, just resigned.

  Rencke shrugged. “There are a lot of people in this building w
ho are worried about you. Mr. McGarvey asked me to find out what’s going on in your head. But it looks as if that’s not going to be possible.

  Leastways not today.” “Do you want me to take another test?” Rencke’s voice was flat, with only the vaguest hint of contempt. “You’ve taken them all.” Stenzel glanced at the papers on the coffee table. “I suppose that I could certify that you’re unfit for service. But hell, you’re probably just as sane, or insane, as the rest of us here.” “We all have our crosses to bear, Stenzel. Even me. Only I have a lot of work to do.” “So do I,” Stenzel said. “But if you go off the deep end on us, you could do a lot of damage.” Rencke laughed. “If you mean to the Company’s computers, you’re right. But I wouldn’t have to be here in the building to do it.” “The one thing that’s clear in the mess that you’ve created for me is that you’re depressed. Whether it’s clinical depression or just the garden-variety blues, I can’t tell.

  But I’ll give you a piece of advice, the only advice I intend giving you. Keep up whatever it is that you’re doing and you will have a nervous breakdown. Guaranteed.” Stenzel got up, rolled down his sleeves, snugged up his tie and put on his jacket. Rencke got languidly to his feet. “What are you going to tell Mac?” “The same thing I told you. That, and the fact I don’t like being toyed with.

  You’re a very bright man, but from where I sit I don’t see anyone who is very nice. In fact, you’re an asshole.” Stenzel smiled and shook his head. “Now get out of here, please.”

  Rencke stared at the doctor for a long beat; hesitating as if he wanted to say something. But then he turned and left.

  McGarvey knocked once and went into StenzeFs office. The psychiatrist glanced over McGarvey’s shoulder to the open door into the observation room. “How long were you watching?” “Long enough to wonder who the hell you were talking to. That wasn’t Otto Rencke. Or at least not the Otto Rencke I know. I thought I was watching a complete stranger.”

  “Unless he faked his eye prints he was the real McCoy,” Stenzel said.

  “And not very nice. But I suppose nobody likes a company shrink poking into his head. Their jobs are usually on the line. You’d be amazed at some of the stories I’ve heard.” One of his assistants came to the door. “Do you want an inventory made up?” “Don’t bother,” Dr.

  Stenzel said. “We’ll append our notes to the file.” Stenzel motioned McGarvey to have a seat, and he went around behind his desk and looked out the window. “I administered every test that I knew. MMPI, Rorschach, TAT, Edwards Personal Preference, Cattell, the works.” He shook his head. “They were loaded with all the control keys. No way that he could have defeated them.” Stenzel turned to face McGarvey.

  “And in the end I couldn’t have told you for sure that Rencke wasn’t, in fact, a ten-year-old black girl with schizophrenia, or a sexless alien from Antares.” I “You said that he was depressed.” “That came out loud and clear, especially in the TAT.” McGarvey raised an eyebrow. “Thematic Apperception Test. It’s a series of twenty pictures showing ambiguous scenes. Like a man coming into what might be an old-fashioned sitting room or living room, with an odd look on his face. We ask the subject to tell us what he sees. Like what led up to the event in the picture. Or, what’s happening, and how does the man feel, and what’s going to happen in the end.

  “Picking out Rencke’s depression from his answers was fairly straightforward. But the test is usually invalid if the subject has no respect for the test or the person administering it.”

  “He had a tough childhood,” McGarvey said.

  “I’ll bet he did,” Dr. Stenzel replied. “I tried to work out a Maslow Hierarchy to see where he was going wrong, but even that didn’t work out.”

  “What’s that?”

  “About fifty years ago a shrink named Maslow figured out that people have five basic needs, starting with the physical stuff, like food and clothing and shelter. Without those nothing else is possible.

  “Next up the chart is security, which is our safety margin. We do whatever it takes to make sure that next week, next month or next year we’ll have everything we need to maintain our physical needs. So we buy food and put it in the fridge; we save money; we try not to piss off someone who’ll someday come back at us with a gun.

  “After that is love, then respect, and finally what we call self-actualization. We want to be the best we can, self-improvement.

  Going to bed at night and being able to think that we’re okay, that we’re not doing so badly.”

  “What about Otto?”

  “Well, for one he has some serious security issues. It’s the same with DO people out in the field. They don’t know when they’ll be burned.

  Maybe they’ll get shot, maybe they’ll be imprisoned. Tortured. It’s why they have a problem with divorce; love is next up on the scale.”

  “Should I force him to take a leave?” McGarvey asked. “We need him here, but if he’s on the verge of exploding, it wouldn’t do anybody any good to keep him. The man you talked to today was not the real Otto Rencke.”

  “Yeah, I know. I think he has another even bigger problem he’s trying to deal with,” Stenzel said. “He’s hiding something, maybe even from himself.”

  “What is it?”

  Stenzel spread his hands. “I don’t know. But whatever it is could be tearing him apart worse than his depression. It’s certainly feeding into his mood swings.” Stenzel shook his head. “He’s in denial, I caught that from the test, too. But beyond that it’s anybody’s guess.

  Leave him in place, and he might do fine. On the other hand, if you pull him away from his job, you’ll be interfering with his esteem needs. Self-respect.”

  “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Director, but it’s the best I can do without his cooperation,” Stenzel said. “The ball’s back in your court.”

  FOURTEEN

  SOMETHING WAS COMING. GAINING ON THEM. SKULKING IN THE NIGHT. WAITING TO POUNCE.

  CHEVY CHASE

  McGarvey got home a few minutes after seven. Something that he had forgotten to do; something that had nagged at him all afternoon, even during his swim with Yemm and laps around the gym, came to him the instant he opened the door and smelled something good from the kitchen.

  He had forgotten to let Katy know that Liz and Todd were coming over for dinner. The workmen were almost finished with his study already.

  Only some trim pieces had to be installed, along with the track lighting and carpeting. He put his briefcase on his desk, hung up his coat in the hall closet and went into the kitchen. She had a brandy waiting for him. The dining room table was set for four. “Liz must have called,” McGarvey said, giving his wife a kiss. “Good thing she did; otherwise, you and Todd would have been taking us out to dinner.” Kathleen gave him a warm smile. “How did it go today?”

  “They didn’t quite shoot at me, but it was close.” “Posturing peacocks,” she said. “Hammond and Madden, preening for each other. I wonder if they’re sleeping together?” McGarvey had to laugh. “Good thing you weren’t up there with me. There probably would have been gunfire.” “You have just enough time to shower and change clothes before the children arrive. I told them to come early because of the weather.” “Did Elizabeth tell you that they were going skiing in Vail this weekend?” Kathleen gave him a sharp look. “No,” she said tightly. “Go change.” McGarvey took his drink, but stopped at the hall door. “We’ll have to cancel the party this weekend.” “It’s already been taken care of. And I’ll finish packing in the morning.” She gave him another warm smile. “Close your mouth, sweetheart. Your secretary called me.” “I thought we needed to get away.” “I know. But what about Otto? Is he back at work?” “I sent him home for a couple of days. I think he might fall apart if we push him.” “I know.” “What do you mean?” “Oh, I talked to Louise this morning. She was worried about getting Otto to see Dr. Stenzel. I had her put him on and explained to him that this was for his
own good. He should grow up and get on with life.” Kathleen pursed her lips. “He’s needed someone like Louise for a long time. I’m glad he finally has her.” McGarvey studied his wife for several beats. She was an amazing woman. And she had changed again from earlier this week, and from last night. She was calmer, even serene; more like the old Kathleen; self-assured, happy, content. He didn’t know if her anxiety had simply worn away of its own accord, or if it was because they were getting away for the weekend.

  Either way he was happy for her, and more than a little relieved.

  “What?” she asked self-consciously. “You’re beautiful.” This time she smiled with her eyes. “Thank you.” McGarvey left the kitchen and went upstairs. He finished his brandy, then took a shower and changed into a pair of khakis and a comfortable old flannel shirt. It was snowing lightly. Since Sunday the Washington-Baltimore area had received more than thirteen inches; probably a record, McGarvey figured. Some schools in the outlying districts had been closed yesterday, although downtown and all the way out to the Beltway, plows were keeping up with the snowfall for now. Playing in the snow while on vacation was entirely different from having to go to work in it every day. He was ready for the Caribbean. When he got downstairs Katy and Liz were going into his study. His daughter stopped to give her father a peck on the cheek. “Hi, Daddy,” she greeted him brightly.

  At twenty-five she looked just like her mother had at that age: she was slender, with a pretty, oval face, high, round cheekbones, sparkling green eyes and medium blond hair that always looked a little tousled. Ordinarily her figure was boyish, but she had blossomed with her pregnancy. Her figure was fuller now, though unless you knew her well it would be difficult to tell that she was more than four months along. McGarvey thought that she’d never looked more beautiful. In fact, in his estimation, all pregnant women were stunning. “Hi, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” “Fat, grouchy and mean,” she replied. She nodded toward the kitchen. “Go in and have a beer with Todd, would you? Convince him that I don’t hate him. Mom and I have to talk.” Kathleen gave him a look that nothing was wrong. Girl talk.