McGarvey had never met John Fay, the president’s new adviser for national security affairs. When he and Page were shown into the NSA’s West Wing office, the man got to his feet and shook hands.
“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Mr. McGarvey, and I’ve wanted to meet you for some time.”
He was a very lanky man, over six eight, but unlike many tall men he did not slouch. On the way over in the DCI’s limousine Page had explained that Fay had been a center for the Rutgers basketball team—long before the coaching scandal, of course, but he still took the mess personally. He was a proud man.
“The man is a fixer,” Page said. “It’s why the president picked him. He knows the international situation like the back of his hand, and for three years he acted as a special adviser to Congress on all the major intelligence-gathering agencies in the world, including ours. He told me not so long ago that he loved to read spy novels.”
“I hope he doesn’t believe what he reads,” McGarvey had said. “Anyone who gets their intel from novels gets the intel they deserve.”
“He’s anything but that sort of a fool,” Page said. “In fact he’s one of the smartest men to ever hold that position, and he’s liable to ask you some penetrating questions. I suggest that you give him your honest assessments.”
“I always do,” McGarvey had said.
“Would either of you like some coffee, or perhaps a soft drink?” Fay asked, motioning them to take a seat.
“Not for me,” McGarvey said.
Page waved it off. “The situation with the SEAL Team Six continues to develop, and in fact Mac came to me with a couple of disturbing events and a recommendation that, frankly, I find problematic.”
Fay was instantly troubled. “My God, don’t tell me there was another shooting?”
“A near miss,” McGarvey said. And he explained in detail the events in Norfolk, only leaving out Pete’s and Wolf’s names.
“You actually spoke with this woman on the phone?”
“I told her it was over.”
“How’d she sound?” Fay asked. “Mad, surprised, confused?”
“Determined. She said that it was only over for now.”
“You’re suggesting that despite what happened in Norfolk, and the fact that you and the agency know what she’s trying to accomplish, she won’t give up?”
“Yes,” McGarvey said. “Because there’s most likely a great deal of money at stake and she’s carrying out her own personal vendetta.”
“She was briefly married to a still-serving SEAL officer,” Page explained. “It was about as bad as it can get, and apparently she’s been nursing her hatred ever since the divorce.”
“Is this officer aware of what she’s trying to do?”
“I told him, but he didn’t believe she was capable of something like that,” McGarvey said.
“Did he tell you why he was skeptical?”
“No.”
“There is still some passion there, you think?”
McGarvey had thought about it. “He might think that he’s somehow responsible.”
“What does he suggest?”
“He’s buried his head in the sand. It’s easier for him.”
Fay nodded thoughtfully. “What do you suggest? How do we stop her?”
“Cut off her source of money,” McGarvey said.
“Who is her paymaster?”
“The ISI.”
“Oh,” Fay said. “I see. In retaliation for Neptune Spear.” But then he had another thought. “Do you have proof that the Pakistanis are financing her? Do you have a direct link, a name, anything?”
“Major Ali Naisir.”
“And you got this name how, exactly?”
Page had warned that the NSA would ask penetrating questions. “We took the man I captured down to a facility in the Florida Keys, where we waterboarded him until he gave up the name. We’ve done some research since and came up with Naisir’s position within the ISI, which is consistent with this sort of an operation.”
“Where is he at the moment?”
“Gitmo.”
“I meant Major Naisir.”
“Islamabad.”
McGarvey’s reply hung on the air.
President Langdon, in shirtsleeves, his tie loose, appeared at the door. “Gentlemen,” he said mildly. “Is this something I need to be in on?”
Fay looked up. “No, sir. Not at this moment. We’re still in the preliminary stages of a what-if exercise.”
“We’re not committing any assets or considering committing any?”
“Nothing important, Mr. President.”
The between-the-lines was huge. The president glanced at McGarvey, whom he’d never really gotten along with, then back to his NSA. “Keep me in the loop if and when the time comes.”
“Of course,” Fay said, and the president left.
“How deeply has he been briefed?” McGarvey asked after a long beat.
Fay almost laughed. “Are you kidding me? This isn’t another Neptune Spear. If you go over there looking for this major, you’re strictly on your own. Deniability, Mr. McGarvey. Especially if something goes wrong. Do you understand?”
“No,” McGarvey said. He’d faced this kind of crap nearly his entire career. We lamented the Pearl Harbors and the 9/11s, but beforehand, when we could have done something to stop the attacks, we sat on our hands. We looked the other way. It was the fair thing to do. It just wasn’t right. Not the American way.
“Bullshit,” Fay said. “You occupied Walt’s office, you know how delicate and necessary our relationship with Pakistan is. Without its cooperation we have absolutely no chance of defeating the Taliban over there.”
“So we allow them to finance the assassination of all the guys and their families?”
“Of course not, nor will the navy sequester them on some base somewhere, even if they’d go for it. There’d be no telling how long they’d have to stay cooped up.”
And McGarvey did understand. He stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Fay. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Do.”