WASHINGTON, D.C.,
AUGUST 18, 2:48 P.M. EDT
Outwardly he appeared, as usual, unflappable, taciturn. But the sound of the distant sirens combined with the pain that radiated from his ear to his neck made Garin anxious. He wanted to act, not watch and wait.
His cell phone rang. It was Dwyer.
Garin answered with a question. “Any movement?”
“Knox called. They were tracking a bomber outside the OEOB. A White House sniper took out the bomber, but he was able to detonate before dying, or he had a dead man’s trigger. Lots dead—I don’t have a figure. Some press people included. Ike Coe was following close. He might lose an arm.” Dwyer took a breath before continuing. “Mike, Olivia is down too. She’s alive, but I don’t know much else. She was almost as close to the bomber as Coe.”
“Where is she now?” The gravedigger’s voice.
“They were taking her to GW Hospital last I heard. If she’s not there already, she will be soon.”
There was silence.
Dwyer asked, “You’re thinking about killing someone, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“The diversion’s over, buddy. That means the main event’s up next, and if that fails, Bor’s up. So stay focused.”
“I’m focused.”
“I don’t doubt it. Any more bleeding from your ear?”
As if prompted by the question, a piercing sensation shot from somewhere in the center of his skull to his jaw. “No.”
“Are you going to be up to speed? Can you handle this?”
“Yes.”
“I think we need to get the FBI and everyone else involved now, Mikey. Cat’s out of the bag with the bombings.”
“Wrong,” Garin said harshly. “Bor still hasn’t moved. If we tell the FBI all we know, it will get back to Bor and he’ll compensate. We can’t give him any advantage whatsoever. If he hears the FBI’s about to intercept him, he’ll set off whatever plan he has. He’ll preempt them, or he’ll evade them and then complete his plan.”
“Then they just need to go into the embassy and grab him.”
“That’s Russian sovereign territory, Dan. If we do that, it’s not just a violation of law; Mikhailov will say it was a provocation—a justification. But more importantly, Bor will see it coming and be long gone.”
“I admire your newfound restraint, Mikey. Your usual approach is to kill the bastards and let God sort them out later.”
“Usually works.” The right side of Garin’s face twitched as another sliver of pain skewered his ear. Garin’s phone beeped. “I got another call, Dan. Send someone to GW to be with Olivia.”
“Congo’s already there.”
“Good.” Garin connected the other call.
“Michael?”
The voice was a whisper of pain and exhaustion. It was Olivia.
“How are you?” Garin asked urgently. “Where are you?”
“I just arrived at GW. They still haven’t taken my cell, obviously.”
Garin knew Olivia had something urgent to say; otherwise, she wouldn’t be calling. “Take your time. What do you need to tell me?”
“They’re going to take my cell any second.”
“Don’t let them. You’re Brandt’s chief aide and this is a matter of national security. If they can’t process that, tell them to screw off. Is the phone secure?”
On the other end of the call, Olivia smiled weakly through the pain. “Yes, I’m using Congo’s encrypted device. Michael, this so-called backup plan involving Bor; I’m pretty sure I know what it is. Ryan Hammacher, a professor at MIT, was killed. At least, I’m pretty sure he was killed. You guys always say there are no coincidences and this fits that pattern from before—”
“Olivia,” Garin interjected gently, “save your strength. Tell me your conclusion.”
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said, her voice raspy. “I’m incoherent, I know.”
“No worries. Take your time. Tell me what you know.”
There was silence for a few seconds, followed by the sound of fabric rubbing against the phone. There was an officious voice in the background.
“Michael, the medical personnel are saying I have to turn off the phone because of the hospital equipment. I—”
“Put Congo on,” Garin said.
Another pause, then, “Mike. Congo.”
“Congo, tell the hospital people to back the hell off, now. Pull your Glock out if you have to. Intimidate them. Scare the hell out of them. I need to hear what Olivia has to say.”
“No problem.”
Garin heard indistinguishable noises coming over the phone. Then the sound of escalating voices followed by panicked voices followed by compliant voices. Knox had prevailed.
Olivia continued, “Michael, Hammacher was a professor at MIT. Computers, electrical engineering, or something. Maybe both. He testified before Congress a lot. Worked under contract with DARPA—the spooky kind of stuff.” Olivia paused, her breathing labored. Garin could hear her fight the constriction in her vocal cords caused by pain. “He was about to board a flight to D.C. to testify again. They found him dead in a washroom at Boston Logan.”
Garin heard a sharp command from Knox in the background. More compliant voices, retreating and fading. The sound of Olivia’s breathing became more labored.
“Hammacher was working on systems for military and commercial aircraft, including drones,” Olivia resumed, her voice enervated. Garin expected Olivia’s lucidity to fade soon.
“Olivia,” Garin interrupted. “What is Bor going to do?”
“I think Bor’s backup is the kind of thing Ryan was working to prevent. Except Bor’s plan is probably much larger than what Hammacher anticipated.” Olivia exhaled and tried to summon the strength to continue.
“I’m listening,” Garin said patiently. “Go ahead.”
Several seconds passed. Garin heard the rustle of fabric and the voices of professionals discharging urgent functions. The voices were much closer than they had been seconds earlier.
“Mike?” It was Congo Knox, concern bordering on alarm in his voice. “Olivia just lost consciousness. Not good. Blood all over. I’ll get back to you.”
On the other end, the killer Boy Scout swore under his breath.