Garin thought precisely the same thing. There was, of course, significant risk to engaging anyone in a position of authority. But even if she did go to the FBI, she wouldn’t be able to tell them where he was, only that he’d been in contact with Dwyer.
“I’m inclined to agree,” Garin said. “Not that I’m eager to get you in trouble, Dan, but having Brandt in my corner would be very helpful.”
“The question is, do you have anything that could be useful to Brandt?”
“I might,” Garin said. “But let’s not give them everything at once. Let’s proceed cautiously and see how they react.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Call her back. She wants to know about me? Tell her what you know.”
“What should I say is the reason for my getting back in touch?”
“That I called you. Hell, be up front. I told you to contact her, but I need help, and in return, I’m willing to provide as much information as I can.”
“I’ll call right away. Anything else?”
“No. Thanks. Anyway, I’ve got to get off. Too much time.”
“This call is secure,” Dwyer said with a bit of indignation. He had spent a considerable sum ensuring that his calls couldn’t be monitored.
“No such thing. I’ll be in touch. One last thing. It looks like my former mentor is dead,” Garin said softly, referring to Clinton Laws. “Make an anonymous call to the National Park Service or the police department closest to Kings Canyon. Tell them to look for a body along a road.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Brandt had been right, as usual.
After leaving the morning meeting with Dwyer, Olivia had stopped briefly at her apartment before going to Brandt’s office in the White House. She had informed Brandt that Dwyer had provided little useful information, but it seemed as if he might be holding back. Brandt predicted that Dwyer would be in touch again soon with more information. The first meeting had merely served as an opportunity for Dwyer to assess Olivia. Sure enough, a few hours later Dwyer called Olivia for another meeting.
Matt and his clone, whose name, Olivia learned, was Carl, arrived shortly after three just outside of the Old Executive Office Building to pick up Olivia in a Lincoln Town Car. Olivia didn’t know it but the vehicle was heavily armored, with bulletproof windows. Olivia sat in the rear. Matt and Carl, sporting light-colored summer-weight clothing and wide grins, sat in front. Their regular duties weren’t nearly as enjoyable as escorting someone like Olivia Perry.
When they arrived, Dwyer was in the library, talking on his cell. He motioned for Olivia to take a seat and pointed to refreshments on the coffee table. Matt and Carl left, but a short, wiry man with a Glock at the small of his back stood in a hallway immediately outside the library. On the patio beyond the French doors directly behind Dwyer, Olivia could see another man. He was wearing a white T-shirt, beige cargo pants, and sunglasses. An exotic-looking rifle of some sort was slung across his chest.
Olivia sat in a chair and looked at the photographs perched along several shelves of the bookcase closest to her. Some of the photos were of the Navy football team. A few more were of Dwyer and several other men in fatigues, standing on a beach. The largest was of Dwyer in a hospital bed, smiling and giving a thumbs-up signal despite the fact that he was covered with discolored bandages and looked as if he’d been caught in a hay baler.
Olivia looked back at Dwyer, the tone of his voice indicating that the call was coming to an end. Dwyer disconnected, walked over with a slight limp, and sat across from Olivia. “Thanks for coming over again. Too hot to sit on the patio this afternoon.”
“What about the guard outside?” Olivia motioned toward the window.
“He’s used to hot weather.” Dwyer grinned. “Believe me.”
“I notice that you seem to have more security this afternoon than you did this morning. I hope you haven’t concluded that I’m some kind of threat.”
Dwyer kept grinning. “Well, you certainly present a distinct hazard to Matt and Carl. Actually, I put on more security at the insistence of Mike Garin.” Dwyer examined Olivia’s face for reaction. If she was surprised, she didn’t show it.
“When did he do that?” Olivia asked casually.
“You seem to have expected that he’d call.”
“We thought he might,” Olivia said. “Michael Garin’s facing daunting odds. He needs help. There was a fair probability that he’d reach out to you because you’re his friend, and you have substantial resources.”
“But what made you think that I’d contact you again?” Dwyer asked.
“A hunch. Despite your not inconsiderable resources, Garin was likely to figure that being on good terms with James Brandt might be very helpful also. Garin would try to barter what he knows for whatever goodwill Mr. Brandt can provide. It was logical that he would call you and you, in turn, would call us,” Olivia explained.
Dwyer stared at Olivia. The Oracle’s apprentice was one quick study.
“But Mike was concerned you would go to the FBI if he asked me to contact you.”
“Certainly, that was one of the things he had to consider,” Olivia agreed. “But after he weighed the probabilities, he’d conclude that we’re less interested in the FBI than we are about Russian-Iranian WMD. And to be safe, Garin wouldn’t play his entire hand at once. He’d tell us just enough to keep us occupied and interested. This way we wouldn’t go to the FBI, even if we were so inclined, until we got all the info he could provide.” Olivia sat back and crossed her legs. “So, what can you tell me?”
Dwyer smiled and began to wonder if his calls were, in fact, secure. Garin, Brandt, and Perry seemed to be reading from the same script. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, as they say, we don’t know what we don’t know. So why don’t you start from the beginning? Mr. Brandt believes that sometimes seemingly irrelevant pieces of information can be useful. There may be things about Garin that neither he nor you think are pertinent, but might provide clues to what’s going on in the Middle East.”
Dwyer reached toward the table in front of him and poured a glass of iced tea. Long Island vintage. He offered it to Olivia, who shook her head. He took a sip before proceeding.
“Olivia, the first thing you have to understand is that I’m not a Mike Garin encyclopedia. Despite the fact that I’m a friend — I’d like to think a pretty good friend — there are big gaps in my knowledge about him.”
“Understood,” Olivia said. “We don’t expect you to know everything, of course. Just tell me what you do know. You recruited Garin to the Naval Academy, correct?”
“That’s right. Mike was a hell of a football player and a good all-around athlete. He could’ve gone anywhere, but he was cursed with a serious, almost debilitating affliction.”
“What was that?”
“Brains. In addition to the big football schools, Mike was being recruited by Annapolis, West Point, and the Ivies because of his grades and board scores. He chose Cornell, and as you probably know, he did pretty well there academically and athletically.”
“But he left after less than three years.”
“Not quite. He didn’t just leave. He got his degree. But he wanted to go into the service.”
“Did you have anything to do with that?”
“No. He did it on his own. Believed he had a duty. It may not be fashionable, but he really believes in ‘duty, honor, country.’ The next time I saw him was at Coronado. He was a member of a BUD/S class and I was an instructor. Do you know anything about BUD/S?”
“Sure, I’ve seen the movies, the TV shows. They’re everywhere. Cottage industry. I understand it’s some of the toughest military training on earth.”