Garin returned to the kitchen, where he found the basement door next to the stove. He flipped the switch on the wall and went down eight steps to a small, unremarkable cellar with a concrete floor, a washer-dryer combination at the far end, and a freezer along the right wall. Garin opened the freezer. Dwyer was right; the house was well stocked.
Garin went back upstairs and spent the next hour preparing a dinner of spaghetti, Italian sausage, and tomato sauce with a small mixed-greens salad. While waiting for the water to boil, he took his bag up to the master bedroom and unpacked. He placed his shaving kit in the bathroom and laid out its contents on the counter next to the sink before returning downstairs to finish cooking.
It was his first meal in three days that didn’t consist of protein bars or junk food. Garin devoured two large plates of spaghetti and sausage and washed it down with more than a quart of Gatorade.
After a long, hot shower, he emerged feeling fatigued but much better. He looked forward to finally getting a good six hours’ sleep in a comfortable bed, but first he inspected the items from his shaving kit that he had placed on the sink counter. The contents consisted of a nose-bridge mold, a lens case carrying blue contacts, and a molded lower lip. A pair of black-framed glasses would complete his disguise.
Garin’s somewhat inchoate plan involved altering his appearance. Despite having done so on several occasions, he wasn’t particularly creative or elaborate. Garin understood that subtle changes to one’s face would throw all but the most perceptive observers. More important, given the ubiquity of security cameras in the District, altering his facial symmetry would stymie facial recognition programs.
Garin walked into the small bedroom, turned on the laptop, and logged in using an old passcode from his time with DGT. He called up a map of the District with the locations of all the hotels. After studying the map for a few seconds, he magnified the area around Fourteenth and K, using the cursor to slowly move the map from east to west, then north to south. He then switched the application to a satellite view of the same area, gradually zooming in on the Hamilton Crowne Plaza on the northeast corner of the intersection. He examined the building from the top and front for several moments before shifting to the National Labor Relations Board building next door to the left, circling its perimeter using Street View.
He then went to the NLRB website and viewed the members’ office numbers on the eleventh floor. Satisfied, Garin shut down the laptop, walked to the next bedroom, and after placing the SIG under the frame, lay down to rest.
Tomorrow he was going on offense.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Several hours later, Olivia was still on edge.
When the security alarm had sounded, Dwyer and one of his bodyguards, whose name, Olivia learned, was Ray, had hustled her into a small vault-like room in the subbasement of Dwyer’s house. The room was equipped with multiple surveillance monitors that permitted them to view every corner of the estate. Olivia watched as approximately a dozen armed men supported by two canine teams covered every inch of the grounds. They found nothing.
A large alarm monitor next to the surveillance cameras displayed a facsimile of the grounds divided into twenty sectors. Sector 17, the easternmost portion of the property near the street, was lit red, indicating a breach in the area. Olivia could see the dogs become agitated as they searched the grounds; they had picked up the scent of someone who didn’t belong. Whoever it was, however, was long gone.
Dwyer manipulated a mouse on the console in front of the surveillance monitors and a digital recording of Sector 17 began to play back, beginning ten seconds before the alarm had gone off. When the replay reached the time of the alarm, Dwyer enhanced and froze the image. At the top left corner of the screen, the head of a man was visible above the stone wall that surrounded the estate. The right side of the man’s face was obscured partially by a tall hedge near the wall.
Dwyer magnified the image of the intruder as far as he could without losing resolution. He was olive-skinned and appeared to be in his early to midthirties. No distinguishing features were readily apparent.
Dwyer played the recording in real time. The intruder remained visible for approximately two seconds. Olivia thought he looked composed, despite the shrieking of the security alarm.
“See that?” Ray said in a clinical voice as he pointed to the intruder’s image. “He’s not startled by the alarm. It doesn’t look like he was trying to get in. And he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to take off. He knew exactly what he was doing.”
“A probe,” Dwyer said.
Ray nodded in agreement. “He wasn’t testing the security system. He knows we’ve got security and that it’s good. He was testing our response.”
“Gauging manpower and response time. Looking for weaknesses and opportunities,” Dwyer said. “We’ve probably been under surveillance for a while. They won’t try anything here. He’ll go back and tell his friends it’s a no-go.”
“If they’re going to make a move, it’ll be elsewhere,” Ray agreed.
“But haven’t they blown it?” Olivia asked. “Haven’t they lost the element of surprise?”
Dwyer shook his head. Olivia’s question was logical and Dwyer avoided any hint of patronizing her. “If they’re any good, they know not to underestimate their opponent. They’ll operate from the premise that we’ve already been alerted to the possibility of an attack. So for them to be successful, it’s much less about surprise now than it is finding the right spot and the right time. They probably took photos of all of our men.”
Dwyer recalled the intruder’s image on the monitor and froze it. He turned to Ray. “What do you think?”
“Could be,” Ray said.
“Could be what?” Olivia asked.
“It’s not the best image,” Dwyer said, “but our friend here could be Iranian. Admittedly, he could be two dozen other nationalities, but we can probably rule out ethnic Norwegian.”
“Do you think they know I’m here?” Olivia asked.
“They know you’re here but they probably don’t know who you are,” Dwyer replied. “Whoever’s watching this place is likely rank and file and doesn’t know you’re an aide to James Brandt. If they did, they might’ve decided that attacking was superfluous.”
“Why?”
“Mike says someone’s killing just about anyone he’s talked to over the last few days. The logical inference is that someone thinks Mike has information they don’t want disclosed to higher-ups in our government. You, Olivia Perry, are definitely a higher-up. So, if they know you’re Olivia Perry, aide to the national security advisor, from their perspective the cat must already be out of the bag. There would no longer be a reason to come after us. The issue’s moot.”
“Not really,” Olivia argued. “It doesn’t necessarily follow that just because Garin told you, and you told me, that the higher-ups believe Garin. After all, Garin’s wanted by the FBI for killing two men in Dale City.”
“He’s probably going to kill more before we figure this all out,” Dwyer added, judging this wasn’t the time to tell Olivia that Garin had already dispatched several more Iranians.
“What?”
“Mike thinks he’s being tailed by more Iranians, so he might have to act,” Dwyer said, easing slowly toward the truth.