Face Off--A Kirk McGarvey Novel Page 27

  The secretary smiled. “Yes.”

  They followed the secretary to the elevator, which went up to the tenth floor, busy with the undertone hum of conversations from offices with open doors and clerks scurrying back and forth.

  “We’re busier than normal just now. The Security Council votes in two days.”

  “Ukraine just won’t go away, will it?” Pete said.

  The secretary ignored the comment and took them to an outer office near the end of the corridor. He knocked once on the door and then let them in. “I’ll just leave you now.”

  A tall, heavyset man with thick black hair combed straight back got up from behind his desk, buttoned his suit coat, and nodded. “Mr. Director, Ms. Boylan, yours is an unexpected visit.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to see us without notice, especially today,” McGarvey said.

  “When you mentioned the president’s name, you attracted our attention,” Borisov said. He motioned for them to sit down.

  When they were settled, his pleasant smiled faded. “Let’s come directly to the point, shall we? As you said, we are busy at the moment.”

  “We’d like to have a word with Viktor Kaplin,” McGarvey said.

  “He’s one of my assistants. May I know why you didn’t telephone him directly, instead of coming to me first?”

  “Kaplin is just his work name. In reality he is SVR Colonel Vladimir Kazov, who at this point is under investigation by the FBI.”

  Borisov shrugged. “You did not get this from Mr. Putin.”

  “No, but your president asked me to help unravel what is turning out to be a serious problem for all of us.”

  “Which is?”

  “One of your nuclear warheads is apparently missing from a depot at Saratov, and it could be on its way here to the United States.”

  Borisov held himself very still for a longish moment, only his gaze switching from McGarvey to Pete and back.

  “We suspect that Colonel Kazov might be able to help us find it.”

  “Preposterous.”

  “Maybe not,” Pete said.

  “If you have proof, turn it over to the FBI, let them arrest him.”

  “No proof yet,” McGarvey said.

  “You mean to put pressure on him to see how he reacts?” Borisov asked. “If he is actually a high-ranking officer in the SVR, do you think that he would make such a mistake. If you believe that, Mr. Director, you are a naive man.”

  “And are you aware that there is a serious problem between the SVR and the Kremlin?”

  Borisov got to his feet. “Get out of here immediately or I will have security escort you out of the building. And I’ll personally see to it that the FBI is informed that you are meddling in their investigation, if indeed such an investigation actually exists.”

  “Ask the colonel to come here,” McGarvey said.

  “I’m calling security,” Borisov said, picking up the phone.

  “I’m betting that a man in his position would know that we’re here, and has already left.”

  “Not today,” Borisov blurted. “He’s needed.”

  “Call him.”

  Borisov hesitated, but then dialed a number. “Have Viktor come up, I’d like to have a word on the Fox News outlets.”

  He hung up and waited a moment before he sat down. “It’ll prove nothing if he’s gone.”

  “Everyone is needed here,” Pete said.

  “He’s doing his job.”

  “Which job is that?” Pete asked.

  The phone buzzed. Borisov let it ring a second time before he picked it up. “Da.”

  Whoever had called was not telling Borisov what he wanted to hear.

  “Who telephoned him?”

  Borisov gave McGarvey a sharp look.

  “Get him on his mobile and tell him to return immediately.”

  Borisov put the phone down. “You were correct. Mr. Kaplin left the building just minutes ago, after he received a telephone call.”

  “Who phoned him?” Pete asked, but McGarvey had a feeling he knew the answer.

  “Your deputy director, Mr. Bambridge.”

  “We’re staying at the Grand Hyatt. Have Mr. Kazov call me.”

  * * *

  Bambridge and Kazov entered Central Park’s East Green, off Fifth Avenue between East Sixty-Ninth and Seventy-Second. Only a few people were seated on blankets, having picnic lunches, the city noises of traffic and even sirens in the distance muted here.

  “I’m going to ground, but I had to come here to tell you that trouble is definitely coming your way,” Bambridge said.

  “We’ve known the possibilities all along, Martin,” Kazov said, seemingly unconcerned.

  “This is in the form of Kirk McGarvey.”

  “I know this. He and his woman showed up at the delegation just minutes after you phoned.”

  Bambridge was stopped in his tracks. “Jesus Christ.”

  “No, he has nothing to do with it. But I think for both of our sakes that you get out of New York as quickly as possible.”

  Bambridge shook his head. None of this made any sense to him. Weaver was supposed to go down, but now it seemed as if everyone else except for the president was going to disappear. “McGarvey,” he muttered.

  “An inventive man. He actually met with Putin.”

  “There’s more,” Bambridge said, regaining a little of his composure. McGarvey was already his enemy, but whatever else happened, he didn’t want Kazov on his trail as well.

  “Yes?”

  “I was sent here to assassinate you.”

  “On whose orders?”

  “Bill’s. But I got another kill order delivered to me at my hotel.”

  “Yes, I know, because I sent it to you,” Kazov said. “There’s no doubt he’ll be coming up here to make sure that you do your job. And we’re going to make it easy for him, because I’m going to disappear in twenty-four hours.”

  “To where?”

  Kazov smiled. “Tell Bill that you killed me and disposed of my body.”

  “He’ll want to know where.”

  “In the Hudson, and you’ll show him.”

  “What now?”

  “I’m going back to the delegation to take care of some unfinished business.”

  SIXTY-SIX

  Najjir and Miriam were in their hotel room, trying to figure out what was going on. But the fact that McGarvey and his woman were here was completely unexpected and nothing short of stunning.

  “You’re absolutely sure that it was them?” he asked.

  “For the thousandth time, yes I’m bloody well sure. I damned near pissed myself.”

  “It’s a long way across the lobby—”

  “I can bloody well see, can’t I? The broad was limping, but she wasn’t holding on to his arm as they were coming down the stairs. Independent bitch.”

  “Question is, how’d he get out of Russia?” Najjir had to ask. He was deeply shaken.

  “Question is, what the hell is he doing in New York, and at this fucking hotel? Can’t be a coincidence.”

  “No.”

  “Your call, luv. But I say let’s cut and run for the hills.”

  “I’m not going to walk away from the money the prince has offered.”

  “Won’t do either of us any good if we’re dead,” Miriam said. “And if the prince actually pays us.”

  “He would become my next project if he didn’t. And he damned well knows it.”

  Najjir stood at the window, looking down on Forty-Second Street, half expecting to see McGarvey and the woman getting out of a taxi. He could imagine them waiting in the lobby.

  “What do we do now?” Miriam asked.

  “Our jobs.”

  “Assassinate the deputy director of the fucking CIA, and the Russian spy he’s been working with?”

  “That’s why we came here. You bought into it.”

  “I thought it was a bleedin’ joke.”

  “No.”

  Miriam hesitated for a mome
nt. “The question still stands: How?”

  Najjir took out his cell phone, pulled up the number of the Russian UN delegation, and called it.

  “You have reached the Russian Federation Delegation to the United Nations, how may I direct your call?”

  “I wish to speak with Mr. Kaplin.”

  “Who shall I say is calling?”

  “Giles Worley.”

  “One moment please.”

  “Are you nuts?” Miriam asked.

  “He can’t know why I’m here,” Najjir said.

  The operator came back. “I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Kaplin has left the building. Is there a message?”

  “Tell him that I’m in town and would like to have a drink. We’re old friends.”

  “Shall I say where?”

  “That’ll be up to him. But he can reach me at this number.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Najjir broke the connection. “Now we’re going downstairs for a drink and a late lunch.”

  * * *

  Najjir got them a seat in the Lounge, from where they could see a part of the lobby, including the elevators. They were both armed.

  Their drinks came—a Heineken for her and pinot grigio for him—when his phone rang. The caller ID came up blank, but he knew who it was.

  “Yes.”

  “Giles, I haven’t heard from you in forever,” Kazov said. “You’re here in New York?”

  “At the Grand Hyatt.”

  “Nice place. Would you like me to come over for a drink?”

  “If you have the time. From what I’ve read, your people have a vote in the Security Council on Wednesday.”

  “I’ll make the time. Say in the next twenty minutes?”

  “Yes. And Prince Awadi sends his greetings.”

  “I see,” Kazov said, after a slight hesitation. “I’ll be bringing a friend.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Marty Bambridge. The other man the prince sent you to assassinate. Should be interesting.”

  Kazov rang off, and Najjir pocketed his phone. “There has to be a leak somewhere,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?” Miriam asked. She was concerned.

  “Vlad told me that he’s bringing Bambridge with him.”

  “That can’t be a coincidence either.”

  “He said Bambridge was the other man the prince sent us to assassinate. The advantage will be ours.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? We have to get the fuck out of here right now. Or do you actually think that McGarvey’s being here was just another coincidence?”

  “No. But we’re going to eliminate that problem as well. I’m not going to have that bastard and his woman coming after me. All four of them are going to die tonight. And you’re going to help.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  * * *

  After Kazov left, Bambridge took his time walking back to his hotel, trying to get it clear in his mind what the hell he was going to do next. Sitting in a booth in the bar, he took out his phone to call Pamela, when it rang. The number was Bill Rodak’s.

  “I met with him but what you wanted me to do was impossible,” Bambridge said.

  “Not to worry, Marty, I’m going to help out. Where are you staying?”

  “The Mandarin Oriental,” Bambridge said without thinking. “It’s on Columbus Circle.”

  “I know where it is. I’ll meet you there when I’m finished here. Say sometime after seven at the bar? There’s been a new development that you need to know about.”

  “Yes, and I’ll have something for you. Give me a call when you’re on your way.”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  When Rodak was off, Bambridge telephoned his wife, who answered on the first ring, as if she was expecting his call.

  “Is it time?” she asked.

  “Nearly so, but something has come up that I have to take care of first.”

  “Can you tell me about it?”

  “It’s why I called,” Bambridge said.

  The room was mostly deserted at the moment, only a couple at the bar and four men in a booth well out of earshot. Nevertheless he lowered his voice.

  “A file was delivered to me here at the hotel. It was an order to take out a second man. And you’ll never guess who.”

  “Bill,” Pamela said.

  Bambridge was stunned. “How the hell do you know that?”

  “Simple logic, darling. Your Russian knows why you’re there, and he knows that Bill could be there for the same purpose. He wants you to take him out. There can’t be any doubt that Bill was ordered to take you out, and by the same guy. A shoot-out at the OK Corral in which the both of you end up in the morgue. A falling-out of thieves.”

  “So what the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “I’ll tell you exactly what,” Pamela said.

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  McGarvey and Pete took a cab back to the Grand Hyatt, but as they came up Forty-Second Street Mac sat forward and asked the driver to let them off next door, at the entrance to Grand Central Station.

  “What gives?” Pete asked as they went inside.

  “Just a feeling. We’re not here under cover, and I left word for Kazov to call us. Could be that Najjir is here as well.”

  “It’s a convention.”

  “Yeah, and right in the middle of a lot of innocent people.”

  They nodded at the policewoman at her stand just before the entrance to the busy main concourse. On instinct McGarvey glanced up at the Italian restaurant on the second level. He had been here not so long ago, when a man he’d been chasing dropped a baby in its carriage, which was wired with explosives, over the railing.

  It’d been a very close call, but Mac had managed to break the baby’s fall and disarm the several bricks of Semtex before they detonated in the midst of an extremely busy rush hour.

  “He was up there, wasn’t he?” Pete said, catching his thought.

  McGarvey nodded. “Maybe Otto and Lou are right. Time to get out of the business.”

  “If that’s what you want, I’m game,” Pete said. “But I don’t think retirement would suit you. Unless you play golf.”

  “I never learned.”

  McGarvey’s phone buzzed. It was Otto.

  “Can you talk?”

  “Just a minute,” McGarvey said, and he and Pete went over to a position near the stairs down to the marketplace. No one was in earshot. He put the phone on speaker mode, but lowered the volume. “Go ahead.”

  “Marty’s using a throwaway phone that I haven’t been able to trace, until just a little while ago. But he called his wife at home, and I’ve had their phones bugged forever. Anyway, there’s a shitstorm of troubles coming your way.”

  “That’s why we’re here.”

  “Marty had a chat with Kazov, who said that Bill Rodak had orders to kill Marty. In the meantime Kazov ordered Marty to take Rodak down. The common cause was that Rodak was supposedly working for the Russians through Kazov. But Marty’s wife told her hubby that Kazov’s plan was for Marty and Rodak to duke it out and kill each other. She called it ‘the gunfight at the OK Corral.’”

  “Too much could go wrong with that scenario. No guarantees that they’d both die, unless Kazov or someone else was waiting in the wings to make sure it went down that way.”

  “His wife is almost certain that there never was a missing Russian nuke. That was just misdirection. The real intent was to discredit Weaver to a point where he would be impeached. From the start, Putin directed Bill to make a Russian connection stick, even before the election. But obviously it didn’t work. So the missing nuke story was put there, and all of a sudden Weaver was supposed be sucked into ordering the assassination of at least Kazov, and Marty—our deputy director—was supposed to be the triggerman.”

  “Still way too much could go wrong,” Pete said.

  “Which is why I’m betting that your friends from Paris are back in the mix. Probably right there in New
York to make sure all the pieces fit—everyone who’s supposed to get killed actually dies. That’s Rodak, Marty, and Kazov himself.”

  “Peachy.”

  “Plus you and Pete,” Otto said. “You’re not under cover, so it’s almost a given that at least Kazov knows where you guys are.”

  “We know that for a fact,” Mac said. “Because I left him a message at their delegation for him to call me.”

  “Makes you guys ground zero,” Otto said. “But I have a feeling that’s exactly what you wanted.”

  “Digging them out one by one would take forever, and it’d be even tougher to simplify the entire mess to the point that the media couldn’t get it wrong.”

  “All to save Weaver?”

  “Not the man, just the presidency,” McGarvey said.

  “What do you want me to do, kemo sabe?” Otto asked.

  “I think the next move is going to be Marty’s.”

  “His wife thinks that same thing. She told him to phone the general and tell him the truth, only upside down. Marty’s unraveled the plan to discredit the president, and he thinks he can stop it by eliminating Rodak and Kazov.”

  “Gibson would pull Marty out of there immediately,” Pete said. “Then he’d call Cohen and lay it all out.” Sam Cohen was the FBI director.

  “No proof. Anyway, if the Bureau has Kazov under surveillance, they already know that Marty met with the man in Central Park.”

  “Proof or not, our hotel is definitely ground zero,” McGarvey said. “If Kazov is pulling the strings, he’ll have everyone here, this afternoon, maybe this evening.”

  “The Bureau will be all over him.”

  “I’m sure that he’ll have no problem ditching his minders.”

  “Whatever. It’ll be messy,” Otto warned.

  “This kind of stuff always is. But I’ll see if I can’t throw some of them a little off balance.”

  The phone was silent for several long beats, until Louise came on.

  “I’ve been following all of this,” she said. “After this shit is done and gone, you two need to either retire or at least take a long vacation. Otto and I will stand up for you guys at your wedding, and Audie can be the flower girl.”

  McGarvey looked at Pete. “What wedding?” he asked, and she hit him.

  * * *

  They took the stairs up one level, above the main concourse, then outside across the avenue where cabs pulled up, and then crossed to the lobby entrance of the Grand Hyatt.