Soldier of God (38 page)
Authors: David Hagberg
“I’ll call Todd; he can bring some people out from the Farm,” Elizabeth said. “What next?”
“I want you and Otto to find a way to get into the place. Maybe there’s a storm-sewer tunnel under the building, something that opens inside the compound. Maybe a cable and heating conduit. When you get it figured out, I want you to fax the information to me here at the house.”
Rencke caught on to McGarvey’s plan; it was plain by his expression, but Elizabeth was confused.
“We’ll have to sweep the phones first,” she said. “Make sure they’re secure. Hasn’t been done since before you left for Alaska.”
“Oh, boy, let’s hope that they’re dirty,” Rencke said. He was excited. “And even if there isn’t a way to get inside, I’ll make one up and fax the plans here.” He grinned. “Soon as you give me word, we’ll cut all the utilities to the building. Electricity, water, phones, and cable.”
Elizabeth objected. “They’ll lock that place up tighter than a drum,” she said. “They’ll know they’re under attack, and they’ll shoot at anything that moves.”
“That’s right,” Rencke said. He suddenly stopped hopping. “Mrs. M isn’t there, and neither will your father be.”
“But the Comcast van was spotted going into the embassy compound.”
“That’s right, sweetheart,” McGarvey told his daughter. “Exactly what Khalil wanted us to see. It’s why his people didn’t take you with them. They wanted you to yell bloody murder so that someone would look for the van. But it took time to organize the search. No one picked up the van
until it showed up at the Saudi Embassy. Nobody actually followed it from Georgetown. It could have gone someplace else first, dropped your mother off, and then headed over to the embassy.”
until it showed up at the Saudi Embassy. Nobody actually followed it from Georgetown. It could have gone someplace else first, dropped your mother off, and then headed over to the embassy.”
Elizabeth saw it all at once. “She could be almost anywhere in the city.” Suddenly her eyes lit up. “Darby Yarnell’s old house. My God, they doubled back after I’d left.”
McGarvey nodded. He was seeing Khalil’s hands on Katy. He could see the man’s gun pointed at her head, and his jaw tightened.
“They don’t have diplomatic immunity over there,” Elizabeth said. “We can get a search warrant and let the Bureau handle it—”
“They might kill her first,” Rencke suggested, softly.
“No search warrant,” McGarvey said, and he shivered inside at the depth of his anger and resolve to take the fight to Khalil on the man’s own terms. “I’m going in. No one else. Just me.”
As Berndt headed for the Oval Office, the West Wing was a beehive of activity, even more than it usually was on a weekday morning. Rencke’s telephone call coming so close on the heels of his earlier visit was frightening. He clutched the CIA file close to his chest, as if he expected someone to grab the explosive material from him.
Kathleen McGarvey had been kidnapped and was being held hostage. By the Saudis.
At first Berndt had not wanted to believe Rencke. The implications were too stunning for him to take the story seriously. But the more he thought about it, the more it made a kind of twisted sense. McGarvey was the only man in town who believed Kahlil and Prince Salman were the same man. They had kidnapped McGarvey’s wife in an attempt to make him stop his pursuit.
But they had no idea of what McGarvey was capable of doing to them.
And at stake now was more than bin Laden’s threat, or the safety of the ex-CIA director’s wife. At issue was the stability of the entire Middle East and all the oil there; it could make the difference between an America that continued to be strong and prosperous and an oil-poor America that could sink to the level of a third world nation.
And at stake now was more than bin Laden’s threat, or the safety of the ex-CIA director’s wife. At issue was the stability of the entire Middle East and all the oil there; it could make the difference between an America that continued to be strong and prosperous and an oil-poor America that could sink to the level of a third world nation.
Before that was allowed to come to pass, we would go to war,
Berndt thought
. And fighting to take control of Saudi Arabia would be one hundred times the nightmare that Iraq had been. All of the Middle East would be against us.
Berndt thought
. And fighting to take control of Saudi Arabia would be one hundred times the nightmare that Iraq had been. All of the Middle East would be against us.
Berndt entered the Oval Office, as the president, standing behind his desk, was on the phone. Secretaries and staffers came and went in a continuous stream. The four television sets were tuned to the three major networks plus CNN. “We have a problem, Mr. President.”
Haynes looked at him. “I’ll get back to you,” he said, and he put down the telephone. “What is it, Dennis?”
“It’s Khalil and the Saudis,” Berndt said. He was sick at heart thinking about what they faced. Nothing like this had been on his mind when he’d accepted the president’s call to become the NSA.
The president’s chief of staff, Calvin Beckett, walked in. “What have I missed?”
“Get everybody out of here,” Haynes ordered, his eyes not leaving Berndt’s. “Give us a couple of minutes.”
“Shall I stay?” Beckett asked.
“You’d better,” Berndt said before the president could speak.
Haynes nodded after a beat, but said nothing until Beckett had ushered out the other staffers and closed the door. “Okay, what about Khalil and the Saudis?”
“We have the timetable for the attack. It happens in two days.”
“You have my attention,” the president said. “Do you know this for a fact? What’s your source?” He eyed the buff folder with orange diagonal stripes that the CIA used to hold classified documents with a Q rating, which was a step higher than top secret.
When Berndt was growing up in the midwest and involved with school politics and the history and social sciences clubs, it was the last era in which becoming president of the United States was considered to be a noble, worthy goal. That was no longer the case, he thought, sadly. Anyone
wanting the job immediately came under the same close public scrutiny as a career criminal might. Something was wrong with you if you wanted to be president.
wanting the job immediately came under the same close public scrutiny as a career criminal might. Something was wrong with you if you wanted to be president.
“Kirk McGarvey’s wife was kidnapped this morning at gunpoint and taken to the Saudi Embassy. The men who did it told her daughter they’d hold her mother for only two days, if Kirk were to withdraw from his investigation of Khalil.”
Haynes sat down. “God in heaven,” he said, at a momentary loss. But then he looked up, anger coloring his face. “That’s insane. Do you believe her?”
“Actually I got it from Otto Rencke, he’s McGarvey’s chief of Special Operations—”
“I know who he is,” the president interjected, angrily. “Is that his report?”
Berndt decided that no matter how this crisis turned out, he would leave Washington and return to academia. Working in this place could kill a man. “There’s more,” he said. He handed the folder to the president. “Rencke brought this over to me a couple of hours ago. Pretty well nails Khalil and Prince Salman as being the same man.” Berndt glanced over at Beckett, who looked skeptical. In this town it was usually the bearer of the bad news who was the first to fall. “From what I can gather, the evidence is mostly circumstantial—there’re no DNA matches or anything like that—but there’s a lot of it. And what they’ve come up with seems convincing.”
“Goddammit, I won’t have this,” the president shouted. “I warned him to stay out of it.”
Berndt girded himself. “Whatever we might have believed about the Saudis has changed. They took Kathleen McGarvey against her will, and they’re holding her in their embassy. Mr. President, we might be able to ignore the circumstantial evidence that the CIA has gathered on Khalil and the prince, but we cannot ignore this.”
“Where was she when they grabbed her?” Beckett asked. Like the president, he seemed to be having a hard time getting a handle on this latest development. “Not at home?”
Berndt shook his head. Rencke hadn’t been exactly clear where the
kidnapping took place, just that it had happened. “Somewhere in Georgetown, I think. The men were driving a Comcast Cable TV van. Her daughter got the tag number and immediately called the Bureau and DC Metro. But by the time they found the van it was just going into the Saudi Embassy, so they had to back off.”
kidnapping took place, just that it had happened. “Somewhere in Georgetown, I think. The men were driving a Comcast Cable TV van. Her daughter got the tag number and immediately called the Bureau and DC Metro. But by the time they found the van it was just going into the Saudi Embassy, so they had to back off.”
“Where’s McGarvey?” Beckett asked.
Berndt had asked Rencke the same question. “At home for the time being,” he said. But he didn’t believe it for one minute.
“Bring him in,” the president told Berndt. He managed a wry smile. “Ask him to come in.” He called his secretary. “I want to speak to Prince Bandar bin Sultan.” Prince Sultan, the son of the Saudi defense minister, was the ambassador to the U.S., and had been since 1983. He was a moderate.
The call went through to the embassy, and the president put it on the speakerphone “Prince?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. President, this is Mamdouh Nuaimi. The prince is out of the country at the moment. May I be of some assistance?”
“When do you expect the prince’s return?” Haynes said.
“Not for several days, I’m very sorry to report, Mr. President,” the deputy ambassador said. “Now, sir, is there something I may deal with?”
“Have the prince call me as soon as possible,” the president said, and he broke the connection. He got his secretary again. “I want to speak with Crown Prince Abdullah, and I don’t care what time it is in Riyadh.”
Beckett got on another phone and had his secretary dial McGarvey’s home.
“Tell him that we’ve been informed about his wife, and that I want to see him this morning,” Haynes told his chief of staff. He gave Berndt a bleak, angry look. “This could turn out very bad for us.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Berndt agreed.
Much worse than 9/11, with further reaching consequences. If they kept hitting us, sooner or later we could lose our national will to fight back. It had happened in Vietnam, and if the liberals had their way, we would get out of Iraq and step away from everything we’d worked for.
Beckett looked up and shook his head. “I got his answering machine. Either he’s not home or he’s not picking up.”
“Goddammit,” Haynes said, through clenched teeth. “Get Dick Adkins over at Langley, and find out what the hell McGarvey thinks he’s doing.”
The president’s secretary buzzed him, and Haynes put the call on the speakerphone. “Crown Prince Abdullah, good afternoon.”
“Mr. President, I am the crown prince’s personal secretary,” a man said. His English was heavily accented. “Unfortunately, His Excellency is in meetings. But he will be informed of your important call, and I am quite certain that he will arrange to speak with you at the first opportunity.”
The president hesitated, and it struck Berndt as an ominous sign from a man who was known for his decisiveness.
“Very well, I’ll wait for his call,” Haynes said, and broke the connection.
He sat back, looking at his national security adviser as if he were waiting for some advice. But for once Berndt was at a loss.
“There’s not much we can do about them,” the president said. “Not unless somebody finds us a new source of oil, pronto.” He shook his head. “God help the bastards if these attacks actually happen and if we can prove that Saudi Arabia was involved.” His jaw tightened. “I would ask Congress for a formal declaration of war.”
Berndt let out the breath he was holding. “In the meantime we still have to deal with the issue of McGarvey’s wife. He will try to rescue her, and as you say, Mr. President, God help the poor bastards who try to stand in his way.”
Beckett had his hand over the phone. “Mr. Adkins is in a staff meeting. Do you want me to call him out of it?”
“Yes,” Haynes said. “I want him here within the hour. Then get Herb Weissman and Frank Hoover.” Hoover was chief of DC police. “Between the three of them I want to know what the hell we can do to get the Saudis to release McGarvey’s wife before he blows up the place and starts a war all by himself.”
If she was inside the Saudi Embassy, there wasn’t much that any of them could do, except try to hold McGarvey back and wait it out,
Berndt thought
. And neither was a very good option at the moment.
Berndt thought
. And neither was a very good option at the moment.
“Am I going to lose the baby?” Kathleen asked the young Saudi doctor who’d come to tend to her injuries. He’d given her an injection for the terrible pain, and she wanted to float. But she was still frightened to the core. “Please tell me.”
The doctor looked like a teenager, with a long, narrow, sad face, and a heavy six o’clock shadow. He listened to her heart. And when he was finished he sat back. “I do not know,” he told her. “You have a broken rib, and there will be much bruising.” He shook his head. “Beyond that we would need to see X-rays, and you would need a gynecological exam. Very soon.”
He had brought a pair of dark cotton pajamas for her and a Kotex pad, as well as soap, a washcloth, and a towel so she could clean up. But he had stepped outside while she changed, and he’d refused to give her more than a cursory examination.
Not out of some religious modesty that forbade him to see a naked woman who was not his wife,
Kathleen reasoned.
It was because he was frightened of getting involved. If he treated her and she died, it would be on his head.
Kathleen reasoned.
It was because he was frightened of getting involved. If he treated her and she died, it would be on his head.
And that was the most frightening part. She knew that she could die here for lack of medical attention. The bleeding from her vagina hadn’t worsened, but it had not stopped.
“I’m still bleeding.”
“How far are you along?” he asked.
“Four weeks.”
The tight expression around his eyes softened a little. “Sometimes there is bleeding in the first month. It may mean nothing—”
“Nothing?”
Kathleen screeched. “The bastard beat me unconscious. What kind of fucking monsters are you people? You’re in the goddamned Stone Age.” She felt what little control she had slipping away from her. She was on pain medication, but she felt as if she were going insane. “Do you have a wife? Is this how you would like a man to treat her?”
Kathleen screeched. “The bastard beat me unconscious. What kind of fucking monsters are you people? You’re in the goddamned Stone Age.” She felt what little control she had slipping away from her. She was on pain medication, but she felt as if she were going insane. “Do you have a wife? Is this how you would like a man to treat her?”
Kathleen half rose from the cot, and the doctor gently helped her to sit back. “Please, madam. It will do no good for you to become hysterical.”
She slowly came back from the brink. She could see that the doctor was nearly as frightened as she was. “So far, being reasonable hasn’t seemed to work for me. What else do you suggest?”
“That you cooperate with these people,” the young doctor recommended, in a reasonable tone. He was dressed in a shirt and tie, with khaki slacks but no jacket, as if he had been hastily summoned from a clinic somewhere. He’d brought the few things for her along with his doctor’s bag, but nothing else.
“That man means to kill me,” Kathleen said, her own words sending a chill through her body. She shivered involuntarily. “Then God help you, because my husband will surely come down on you like the hand of God, and destroy you all.”
The doctor’s eyes had grown wide. He hastily stuffed his stethoscope in his bag and went to the door. “Do as they say, madam. And you will come out of this alive. It’s your only hope.”
“Remember what has happened here, doctor,” Kathleen said, foggily. “If I should manage to survive, I will not forget you.”
Someone was out in the corridor. When the doctor left, Khalil and another man, who carried a video camera, came into the cell. Kathleen shrank back against the concrete wall, her fear spiking.
“The doctor gave you good advice,” Khalil said.
She didn’t think she could stand another beating. She decided that if he tried to hit her again, she would gouge his eyes out with her fingers or rip his throat apart with her teeth. Anything to stop the monster.
“Your husband doesn’t know where you are,” Khalil said, “but even if he should figure out where you are, it will be too late for you. You’re going to make a statement for the six o’clock news.”
“Or else what?” Kathleen asked. “You’re going to kill me?” She was surprised at how steady her voice sounded. She had no spit left.
“If it comes to that,” Khalil said, shrugging. He held out a sheet of paper to her. “You’re going to read this aloud.”
“What is it?” Kathleen asked, trying to shrink back even farther, but there was no place in which to retreat, except to think about Kirk. Especially his eyes: kind, understanding, patient, confident.
A faint smile crossed Khalil’s full lips. “I believe you call such a thing a propaganda statement. Harmless, but it’s part of the dance.”
Kathleen shook her head. The pain medication was taking her down. “If it’s harmless, then you don’t need me to read it.”
Khalil seemed to consider her refusal. He nodded. “Perhaps I could offer you an inducement,” he said, blandly.
“Fuck you.”
“I could call the doctor back. He’s a loyal servant who does as he is told. He has the instruments and the skill to perform a simple procedure on you. An abortion.”
There had been so much pain in their lives. This thing that she had done for Elizabeth had been meant to set the scale back into balance. To bring some small measure of joy and happiness to them.
As children we’d been led to believe that monsters didn’t really exist. But 9/11 had changed that. And bin Laden’s al-Quaida wanted to do it to us again.
She reached up and took the single sheet of paper on which was typed perhaps twenty lines in fairly large print. But it took Kathleen a few seconds to get her eyes to focus so that she could make sense of what she was supposed to read for the video camera.
She read it once, and then a second time. The message was as simple as it was chilling, because it was nothing more than a repetition of the same demands bin Laden had been making all along for something that was impossible. Al-Quaida freedom fighters wanted Saudi Arabia. They wanted every westerner off the peninsula, they wanted the dissolution of the Saudi royal family as a ruling power, and they wanted control of the oil fields. Oil would be for friends of Dar al-Islam.
It is no different than in 1776 when the valiant American freedom fighters forced their oppressive masters off the land. And today America and England are partners.
All of a sudden it struck her. She looked up into Khalil’s eyes. On the cruise ship he’d worn a balaclava to hide his features. He didn’t want his face known.
But here he had allowed her to see him.
She would not leave this place alive.
From the first he had planned on killing her.
The tape was to be nothing more than a goad for Kirk to walk into a trap.
The tape was to be nothing more than a goad for Kirk to walk into a trap.
She didn’t know what to do.
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