The Cabal (19 page)

One moment Katy’s limousine was there and in the next instant it was replaced by a bright flash, followed immediately by an overpowering bang and a millisecond later a concussion that knocked all the air out of McGarvey’s lungs.

Glass seemed to be flying everywhere inside the SUV, which swerved sharply to the left, slammed into the ditch at the side of the driveway, and stopped at an odd angle, its front bumper stuck in the upslope of the swale, throwing everyone inside forward against their restraints.

The front airbags had deployed but a large piece of smoldering metal had blasted through the windshield on the passenger side, slicing the airbag and decapitating Dan Green in a spray of blood that splashed McGarvey and the two federal marshals.

Pete Boylan had been shoved back by the airbag, and she was pawing at the material, but she seemed to be in a fog, not really aware of what had just happened.

McGarvey could just make out what remained of the Company limo, the wreckage lying on its side. Nothing was left of it except the engine block and some twisted lengths of metal attached to the badly distorted frame, which couldn’t be recognized as being a part of a car just a moment ago. Very little of the cabin was intact, nor were any bodies visible, though four people had been inside the car. Flames and dark, greasy smoke rose from the wreck.

All of that came to McGarvey in the first second or two after the explosion, the horrible thought crystallizing in his mind that his wife and daughter had been killed right in front of his eyes. Not twenty feet away from him.

Every part of his body ached; it felt as if he’d been run over by a
truck, and sounds were distorted. It was as if he were in a dream state where he couldn’t make his arms and legs function.

Ansel on his left had pulled himself up and he was saying something impossible to understand. And Mellinger had been shoved aside, and lay doubled over on the floor up against the right rear door.

McGarvey managed to reach over him and yank the door handle, but the car’s frame was bent and the door jammed. He braced his back against Ansel, who was struggling to come to his senses, and kicked at the door, once, twice, and on the third time it screeched open.

Ansel was trying to grab for him, but McGarvey scrambled over Mellinger, who was starting to come around, and tumbled out into the ditch.

He got to his feet and for another second stood, drunkenly swaying, until he was able to climb up onto the driveway and totter toward the burning wreck. But the intense heat and thick black smoke stopped him from getting close.

And it hit him, fully hit him, Katy and Liz were dead. There would be no bringing them back, nor would there be much of anything left to bury.

He raised his right hand to shield his eyes against the brightness of the flames, wanting to see his wife and daughter, their remains, but nothing was there. The blast had come up from the road, blowing out the bottom of the limo that had apparently been an ordinary VIP vehicle, and therefore unarmored.

In the far distance he thought he might be hearing a siren, but then it was gone, and he wasn’t sure he’d heard anything.

In pieces now it was really hitting what had just happened, and more than that, why it had happened, and he focused on two names: the Friday Club and Administrative Solutions.

He saw the expressions on Sandberger’s and Remington’s faces in Germany.

He heard Todd’s voice on the cell phone.

He felt his wife’s body against his as he’d hugged her before the funeral, and saw the devastated look in Liz’s eyes.

And Otto and Louise not showing up.

Nothing was making any sense to him, and it was driving him nuts.

He paced a few feet to the left, and then to the right, like a caged animal seeing its freedom just beyond a fence. For this moment he was hammered into inaction, if not submission, so overwhelmed by what had happened even he was having trouble fully comprehending the situation. The fear that his family would someday pay the price for what he was had always preyed on his mind; in fact, he had left Katy early in their marriage in what he’d come to believe was a false hope of saving her, or removing her from danger.

And now he asked himself if he’d been right to come back, and that burden was the most terrible thing he’d ever faced in his entire life. He was mad at himself and afraid for what might happen next. What he might do. What self-control remained after Todd’s assassination had been erased.

Someone was shouting his name, and he turned in time to see Ansel coming across the driveway, his pistol drawn, Mellinger just a few paces behind. For a split second he had no idea what they wanted, and what Ansel was shouting, but then it came to him in nearly the same force as the explosion, that he was their prisoner, and they were going to take him into custody.

Todd’s death had been hard enough on him, but this, now, was devastating, and there was no telling what a former black ops officer, an assassin, might do next. The safest thing would be to get him someplace safe, under lock and key until he could be calmed down and this mess sorted out.

“On the ground,” Ansel shouted. “On the ground now!”

McGarvey watched the big man charging across the driveway, his pistol coming up.

“On the ground,” the federal marshal shouted again.

Mellinger had drawn his pistol, but he looked a little shaky.

At the last moment, McGarvey stepped aside out of the line of fire, kicked the side of Ansel’s left knee, which caused the man to stumble, and twisted the Glock 22 out of his grip.

Ansel reached out and tried to break his fall, but McGarvey shoved
him aside with his knee, and turned to face Mellinger, pointing the pistol at the federal marshal’s face.

Mellinger pulled up short eight or ten feet away, almost losing his balance. He was still shaky and he knew it.

“Throw your gun away and get on the ground.”

“I can’t do that, Mr. Director.”

“I don’t want to shoot you, but I will,” McGarvey said, conscious that he was running out of time here. He could definitely hear sirens in the distance now, and there was no way he was going to give himself up.

“You’re under arrest for . . .”

“You saw what just happened here, goddamnit!”

“Mr. Director, you are my prisoner,” Mellinger said doggedly. “And I
am
taking you in.” He started to raise his pistol.

“I’m sorry,” McGarvey said, and he shot the man once in the left thigh, knocking him to the pavement, and before the federal marshal could react McGarvey was on him kicking his pistol away.

“You son of a bitch,” Mellinger shouted.

“I didn’t kill you or your partner, remember that,” McGarvey told the federal marshal.

He backed away and looked again at the remains of the Company limo, a black rage threatening to consume him. All he could think about was getting away from here. The sirens were getting much closer now.

He turned as a Toyota Land Cruiser SUV pulled up, and raising his pistol he hurried across to the driver’s side.

The window powered down, and Otto was there, dressed in a black suit, the tie correctly knotted, his long normally out of control hair neatly brushed. He was gripping the wheel with both hands, tears streaming down his cheeks, and he was trying to talk, but couldn’t.

His wife, Louise, leaned over from the passenger side. “Get in the car, Kirk,” she shouted.

He hesitated for just a second, not sure how he could go on. But then he knew how he was going to do it, and he knew why, and he yanked open the rear door and jumped in.

On Jessup Drive, above the South Gate, Kangas had seen everything, pulling up just after the explosion. He hoped to see McGarvey’s car destroyed, but instead the limo bearing the man’s wife and daughter had gone up in a flash, with no possibility that anyone inside could have survived.

McGarvey had jumped out of the Escalade and had taken down two men, both of them armed, and had even shot one of them in the leg, before he’d commandeered the Toyota SUV.

“Maryland plates,” he shouted, as the Toyota sped away as if the driver had been there just to pick up McGarvey and get him away. But that made no sense.

“Did you get a number?” Mustapha asked.

The few other cars that had been coming down either Clayton, Jessup, or Patton drives had all made hasty U-turns moments after the explosion and were speeding away. No one wanted to be in the middle of what obviously was some sort of terrorist attack.

“Niner-two-peter, two-romeo-peter.”

“Get us the hell out of here,” Mustapha said, writing the number on a scrap of paper.

Kangas headed up Jessup, which would take him to the cemetery’s main exit on Memorial Drive and then across the river back into the city in the opposite direction that the authorities would be coming. But he figured it would be only a matter of a few minutes before somebody wised up and stationed squad cars at all the gates.

“Son of a bitch, that was close,” Mustapha said.

Kangas glanced at him. “You missed.”

“I didn’t have a clear line of sight.”

“Well we’re in some deep shit now. And we’re going to have to clean the mess ourselves before it gets totally out of hand.”

Mustapha was silent for a moment but then he shook his head as if he’d come to some decision. “Either that or we bug out and take our chances somewhere else.”

“We’re going to finish this, Ronni.”

“Did you see that bastard take those two guys down? It was a walk in the park for him.”

“They weren’t expecting him to come at them like that.”

“Bullshit. They drew their pieces.”

“Now we know what to expect,” Kangas said. “We won’t make the same mistake they did. Anyway he didn’t kill them. Which means they’re probably Company security, or maybe Bureau muscle or federal marshals.”

“It looked like he was in custody.”

“But why?” Kangas said.

They reached the exit on Memorial Drive, traffic panicky as it came out of the cemetery, and when they got to the bridge across the river Kangas speed-dialed Remington’s encrypted number. It was a call he didn’t want to make, but if they weren’t going to bug out, as Mustapha had suggested, they’d have to come clean.

Remington answered on the first ring as if he’d had his cell phone in hand and was waiting for the call. “Yes?”

“There’s a problem.”

“Tell me,” Remington said.

“We got hung up behind some traffic on the way out after the funeral and had to guess when to push the button. We got it wrong. McGarvey survived but his wife and daughter were killed outright.”

“What happened next?” Remington asked, and it didn’t sound as if he were the least bit concerned.

“McGarvey was like a crazy man. He took down two armed men—probably CIA security or maybe federal LEs—shot one of them in the leg and then jumped in the backseat of a dark Toyota SUV and took off. We got the Maryland tag number. You can run it.”

“Give it to me.”

Kangas repeated the number.

“Did you manage to get away clean?”

“Yes. There was a lot of confusion. Nobody was paying attention to anything except getting the hell away.”

“Where are you now?”

“Just getting off the Arlington Memorial Bridge,” Kangas said. “I’m going up to Rock Creek Park in case you need to meet up.”

“No,” Remington said. “I want you to go to ground for now, until I can figure out something.”

“Sorry, sir. But if we’d been given more time to plan—”

“I don’t want to hear excuses,” Remington shot back. “This isn’t over, nor is your involvement. McGarvey is still a problem. He’s still
your
problem. But for now you’re to keep out of sight until I can work out what comes next.”

“Mr. Sandberger—” Kangas said, but again Remington cut him off.

“Will not be bothered with this for the moment.”

“Can you tell me if McGarvey was under arrest, because the two guys on his ass sure didn’t act like bodyguards?”

“He’s been charged with treason.”

It wasn’t what Kangas had expected to hear. “Holy shit,” he said half under his breath. “Why not let the FBI do our work for us? At the worst he’ll go to prison, at best he’ll get shot to death trying to escape.”