“And who? But look, I can’t discuss that now. I’ve got to get out of here and somehow find the Georgian. He should be able to provide some answers.”
“Before you go, two things,” Dwyer said quickly. “I got a call late last night. Your hunch was right. They found the Professor of Death and Destruction by the side of the road in Kings Canyon. He’d been shot twice and thrown — or fell — down a hill off Generals Highway. Somehow the tough SOB crawled up that hill and lay at the side of the road, where some hikers found him.”
Garin winced. “How is he?”
“Not good, buddy. He was out there for more than three days. He lost a lot of blood. Exposure, dehydration. One of my West Coast guys is at the hospital right now. He can’t get any information from the medical people, but the cops have told him what they know.”
Garin’s jaw tightened. He respected Laws more than any living being in the world. From feared instructor to close friend, Laws had taught Garin more than anyone, except Pop. The two mentors were alike in many ways. Outwardly mean, physically tough old bastards with impossible standards who unapologetically expected you to meet those standards. Men who had a clear, unsentimental understanding of the world and those who populated it. Laws, Garin knew, had been targeted because of their close association, the possibility that vital information had been shared.
“Keep me updated, buddy,” Garin said quietly.
“Just so you know, my guy says the Professor has got tubes going in and out of every orifice in his body, and he’s mostly unconscious. The cops say during moments of lucidity he tries to talk.”
“Tell your guy to find out what he’s saying. Whatever he says, let me know. Don’t discount anything.”
“All he’s said so far, strangely enough, is that he’s bored. Either he’s not all there or the wicked Laws humor can overcome even the most life-threatening wounds.”
“That’s not what he’s saying,” Garin countered. “I guarantee it. He’s trying to tell them something useful. Tell your man that the Professor has very important information. Hell, ask our newfound friends in high places to send one of their specialists over there to find out what he’s saying. Damn it, the man’s not delusional or being funny. This isn’t the first time he’s been near death. He’s a pro. He’s trying to convey information — probably about who did this to him.”
“Will do. That brings me to the second point. I had a very long talk with our ‘friend.’ I think she’s someone who’s actually on your side. Given the crap you’re in and that you’re generally a pain in the ass, I’d say that’s a pretty big deal.”
Garin thought for a moment. “What about her boss?”
“Well, obviously, I can’t be certain. But he’s the one who sent her over here in the first place. And if she has any influence, I think he’ll be sympathetic. Do you want me to put him in touch with you?”
“No. But you can tell her I’m in D.C., and you can tell her everything I’ve told you.” Garin paused. “And tell her I need their help now. If they can’t call off the FBI, at least tell them to call off a certain sniper. He’s military, and that’s illegal. They should have some pull with that.”
Garin hesitated before adding, “And ask them to at least tell the FBI my version of what’s going on.”
“And if the FBI asks where they got information about a wanted fugitive?”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. Our friends are smart. They can just say they’ve heard from sources. Nothing wrong with that. It’s not like they’re aiding and abetting.”
Dwyer wasn’t wholly convinced but saw little harm in making the request. “Okay. Anything else I can do?”
“You’ve done plenty. But don’t get any ideas that I owe you or anything like that.” Garin disconnected.
Dwyer immediately hit another button and placed a call to Olivia Perry.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Arlo guided James Brandt through the halls of the White House, Secret Service agents parting to permit them to pass.
Brandt had just come from a short briefing for Vice President David Wilson, who was stepping in for the president while the latter was convalescing in Walter Reed. Wilson had quizzed Brandt on his take on the imminent UN resolution sponsored by the Russians and Iranians but seemed only mildly interested in what Brandt had to say. It was almost as if Wilson was just going through the motions, which past occupants of the office have, in colorful fashion, described as the primary function of the position.
Olivia Perry was waiting in Brandt’s office when he arrived. “Good morning, Olivia. Your meeting with Mr. Dwyer was productive?”
After patting Arlo on the head and taking a seat in one of two chairs in front of Brandt’s desk, Olivia wasted no time with pleasantries. “Michael Garin is being set up by the Iranians to take the fall for the assassination of his team. The most rational motivation for the Iranians to do so is to facilitate their intended use of WMD against Israel.”
Olivia’s lack of equivocation drew a loud chuckle from Brandt. “Whoa, whoa, slow down there. No other possibilities, Olivia? None at all?”
“There are always possibilities. But my conclusion is the most logical probability,” Olivia asserted.
Brandt chuckled again as he scratched Arlo behind the ears. His aide had rarely suffered from self-doubt or second-guessing when it came to her work, the product of usually being right. “Tell me how you came to that conclusion.”
Olivia related her conversation with Dwyer in exacting detaiclass="underline" Garin’s peculiar disappearance from BUD/S and SQT; the Garin apparitions in various operational theaters; his Russian heritage; the Omega team; his probable operations in Iran; the Iranian assassins; and the possible involvement of Delta Force. Olivia became most animated while describing the rescue of Dwyer’s SEAL team in Kunar Province.
The national security advisor listened intently, his sightless blue eyes directed toward Olivia’s face. Arlo lay on the floor throughout, making groaning noises, as if bored.
When Olivia was finished, Brandt sat pensively for several seconds, mental wheels in motion. When he spoke, it was in a sedate, almost grave tone.
“Well, I’ve learned one very important thing beyond all doubt.”
“What’s that, Professor?”
“That Ms. Olivia Perry — the woman who, despite her intimidating intellect and looks, was by far the shyest woman on campus — has a crush on the rough-and-tough Mr. Michael Garin, gentleman, scholar, and American action hero.” Brandt paused dramatically. “Finally.”
Brandt burst into laughter, causing Arlo to sit up alertly and place a paw on his master’s lap. Although he couldn’t see it, Brandt correctly sensed Olivia’s discomfort, causing him to laugh harder and, in turn, Arlo to bark excitedly. Brandt’s secretary appeared at the door to investigate the commotion. A flustered Olivia waved her away.
“I’m sorry,” Brandt said as he gasped for air. “It’s just that your tone was so earnest. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you so impassioned, Ms. Perry.”
“I’m simply reporting what I believe to be the relevant facts.” The indignation in Olivia’s voice was unmistakable.
“All right, okay,” Brandt said, catching his breath. “Just having a little fun at my protégé’s expense. In truth, what you’ve told me may be useful.”
Olivia watched as Brandt’s demeanor quickly became more serious. She’d seen the transformation many times before. Brandt, having processed disparate bits of data, was about to make an analytical leap, arriving at a destination others would find only in hindsight.