“What do you know of the operation, Vadim?” Bor asked.
“Very little, other than my limited role and that the operation is very important.”
“It is.” Bor nodded. “Yet it is being handled amateurishly.”
“But you are involved, Taras. If you are involved, it will succeed. I was briefed throughout the first part of the operation. That was not your fault, Taras. Political considerations produced bad judgments. We should not have given any role to the Iranians regarding Omega. From what I have seen, you performed your part brilliantly.”
“Bad judgments are being made again and they will jeopardize the mission. I informed them at the outset that an impediment needed to be removed before we embarked on the second phase of the operation. That impediment still remains.”
“Garin,” Stepulev said flatly.
“Yes, Garin.”
“Formidable,” Stepulev acknowledged. “Where is he now?”
“On his way here. If he is not here already.”
“How do you know?”
“I know, Vadim. I am certain.”
“You have beaten him before. For nearly two years you were an Omega operator and he never discovered who you were until it was too late.”
“I deceived him; I did not beat him.”
“Do not take this the wrong way, but you and he are remarkably alike, my friend.”
“That is what I have been told,” Bor replied with a grimace.
Stepulev chuckled darkly. “Then perhaps we should be worried after all. I presume arrangements have been made to eliminate him?”
“They were unsuccessful. He killed two Zaslon Unit men hours ago.”
“By himself?”
“By himself.”
Stepulev was silent. The two men turned onto Fulton and walked to the next block.
“What is the next step?”
“The five million dollars is for Abkashvili’s man,” Bor replied. “I am meeting Bulkvadze shortly.”
“I figured as much. How many of his men do you think it will take to eliminate Garin?”
Bor contemplated the question. “Enough,” he said simply.
“More than two; that is clear.”
“I will insist he uses more than two.”
“You are not confident they can do the job.”
“They must do the job,” Bor stressed. “If they do not, I assure you, Vadim, the mission will fail.”
“Nothing is guaranteed in this business, especially when the stakes are so high. But if you desire near certainty, may I make a suggestion?”
“We have no more Zaslon operators here right now, Vadim. That is why I’m using Bulkvadze.”
“Let me show you something,” Stepulev said as they returned to the embassy.
Stepulev led Bor through the foyer and down two flights of steps to a dimly lit room with a bar and several small tables and chairs.
Except for a figure seated at a table in the far corner, the room was empty.
The man appeared to be in his late fifties and of average height and weight. Even in the dim light, he was one of the most grotesque-looking men Bor had ever seen. His eyes were rheumy, the left bulging slightly from its socket. A deep scar stretched from the left corner of his mouth to his ear. His nose was crooked and flat, as if it had been broken numerous times, and his mostly bald scalp was covered with an assortment of welts and knots separated by wispy tufts of white hair. Bor could imagine him perched on a ledge at Notre-Dame Cathedral.
“Who is he?” Bor asked.
“I do not know his name. No one in the embassy knows his name. His file simply, albeit somewhat theatrically, refers to him as the Butcher. He refers to himself as the Butcher.”
“I have heard the name.”
“If Bulkvadze fails, the Butcher will not.”
“Two Zaslon men failed,” Bor said quietly. “But this old man will not? Forgive me, Vadim, but that is utterly ridiculous. Garin is a predator at the top of the food chain. Why should I believe this pathetic creature will be successful when Zaslon was not?”
“Read his file, Taras,” Stepulev replied. “But preferably, not before bedtime.”
CHAPTER 35
MOUNT VERNON, VIRGINIA,
AUGUST 15, 8:40 P.M. EDT
Dan Dwyer stood from his chair on the east patio of his home as he watched the black Ford Explorer navigate the quarter-mile drive and come to a stop at the bottom of the steps. The rear door opened and Mike Garin, carrying a black gym bag, emerged, jogged up the steps to the patio, and shook Dwyer’s hand.
“Good flight?” Dwyer asked.
Garin nodded. “Where’s Luci?”
“She’s fine. Watching movies with Congo in the living room. Another woman smitten by the Great and Powerful Garin. I swear, I don’t get it. But I think you may be getting competition from Congo now.”
“What does Brandt think about all of this?”
“You can ask Olivia when she gets here. And don’t act like you’re not looking forward to seeing her. I swear, she gets better-looking every day. You know she’s seeing some bozo senator? They were in the Style section of the Post last week. Some event at the Kennedy Center.”
“Good to know. Who do we have for third-period geometry?”
“Play it off all you want, Mikey. I know better.”
“You also know Bor is back.”
“Geez, Mikey, can’t you ever put it in neutral?”
Max, followed by Bear and Diesel, bounded from the French doors behind Dwyer to greet Garin. Diesel immediately began tearing at Garin’s pant leg.
“When did you get the pups?” Garin asked, petting Max.
“Couple of weeks ago from SecDef Merritt. He’s been breeding German shepherds for decades. Not for show. He says they don’t have hip problems.” Dwyer pointed at Diesel nipping furiously at Garin’s shoes. “Well, look at that. Finally, someone who’s not scared of you. Must be a sign, Mikey.”
Garin squatted to pet Diesel, the expression on the man’s face the closest approximation of a smile Dwyer had seen in months. Dwyer shouted over his shoulder toward the French doors. “Matt! Quick, take a picture and send it to the wire services. ‘Garin Displays Sign of Affection. Apocalypse Approaching.’”
Matt Colton, Dwyer’s chief of security, appeared through the doors a few moments later, a large grin on his face. He was as gregarious as Garin was taciturn. Matt extended a hand toward Garin, who rose to shake it as a Red Top cab came up the drive.
“I just buzzed the cab in,” Matt said. “That’s Olivia.”
The taxi stopped next to the Ford Explorer. Olivia alighted and ascended the stairs. Seeing Garin for the first time since shortly after the conclusion of the EMP affair, she slowed her pace as she approached the top.
“Hello, Michael,” she said.
Garin nodded in return.
Dwyer watched with amusement. Even the dogs, he thought, could sense the attraction, but Olivia and Garin would go to their respective graves vehemently denying its existence.
“Let’s go inside and get caught up,” Dwyer suggested.
The group went through the French doors into the library, the dogs following closely behind. Almost simultaneously, Congo Knox and Luci Saldana entered the room from the other end. Upon seeing Garin, Luci rushed to him and embraced him tightly for several seconds. The questions came in rapid succession.
“Are you okay? I was worried about you going back to Dallas. Why didn’t you call me? Did you call the cops, finally?”
“I’m sorry for all of this,” Garin said. “I’m grateful to Congo for stepping up on short notice. You okay?”