“Taras Bor doesn’t sound like a Middle Eastern name,” Olivia said. “More like Russian or Ukrainian. Given the circumstances, though, my guess is Russian. It looks like the UN isn’t the only place where Russians and Iranians are working together.”
“I don’t know why, but something tells me I should know that name,” Dwyer said pensively. “I’ll run it through our databases to see if we get any hits. It would probably be a good idea for you to do the same. See if you can get CIA, NSA, and everyone else to run the name. He may be the one who orchestrated the assassination of the Omega team.”
“The Russians working with the Iranians on the UN censure resolution is one thing. There are certain advantages to Russia in an unstable Middle East. But assassinating America’s counter-WMD strike force — if that’s in fact what they did — is another order of magnitude,” Olivia said.
Dwyer summoned the waiter, who was waiting patiently out of earshot. “Olivia, why don’t you have some dinner? You can’t solve the Middle East crisis and usher in a golden age of world peace on an empty stomach.”
Olivia ordered the free-range chicken breast. Dwyer ordered a glass of ginger ale.
“You’re not eating?” Olivia asked.
“As you’ve probably noted, I can stand to miss a meal or two.”
Once the waiter left with their order, Olivia asked, “Have you heard anything more from Michael Garin?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. He’s in the District.”
“When did you talk to him?”
“Late morning, which means he’s been running around unsupervised for the last five or six hours. And that means there’s a pretty good chance he’s engaged in some mayhem.”
“That raid on the Crowne Plaza had something to do with him, didn’t it? On the news they said that traffic was backed up for hours as a result.”
“That was him.” Dwyer nodded. He looked down as if pondering a dilemma. “Look, I told you earlier that Mike might have to kill more men before this is over. You should know that he’s eliminated at least half a dozen Iranians in the last two days. Maybe more by now.”
“What?” Olivia’s outburst drew the attention of surrounding diners. She immediately lowered her voice. “Six Iranians now? What could he possibly be thinking?”
Dwyer wasn’t especially surprised by Olivia’s reaction. The last she’d heard, Garin had shot two men in Dale City. She was smart enough to conclude that Garin had done so in self-defense. But the body count was adding up. It was difficult for a civilian to absorb.
“Olivia, I told you, this is what Mike does—”
Olivia cut him off. “You mean start mini-wars on American soil? Reenact the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre?” Although her voice was hushed, her tone was one of exasperation. She’d invested valuable time with this band of former special operators. They had impressed her as responsible and civilized. Now it appeared that Garin was nothing more than a rampaging thug shooting up the countryside. Relying on such a man was imprudent, to say the least.
“Before you get all righteously indignant,” Dwyer said firmly, “you just might want to consider the circumstances. Mike’s entire team has been wiped out. His mentor was shot and left for dead. Multiple teams of Iranian assassins have been hunting him for the last several days.”
Dwyer’s voice became sharper and more strident with each word. He liked and respected Olivia. She seemed to have an admiration for the military sometimes lacking among many of the people who traveled in her circles. But even someone as grounded as Olivia often had difficulty appreciating the terms under which men like Garin operated.
“Not only that, but his own government is trying to kill him,” Dwyer continued, noticing Olivia’s eyebrows arch upon hearing the statement. “That’s right. And I’m not talking about the cops or the FBI. Someone’s decided that Mike is sufficiently dangerous that he needs to be taken out — no Miranda rights, no trial, no judge, no jury — just killed immediately, no questions asked. Like some rabid animal that needs to be put down. So you might want to consider forgiving him for acting in self-defense when teams of assassins come gunning for him.”
Olivia’s demeanor quickly changed from prosecutorial to contrite. “Look, Dan, you guys get enough crap without having to hear it from someone like me. I get it. I do. I just reacted to hearing the number — six men killed.” Olivia paused and shook her head. “But I’m having a hard time believing that the United States government is trying to kill Michael Garin. What makes you say that? What evidence do you have?”
“Mike told me that two nights ago in upstate New York, more than a dozen men, armed to the gills, came looking for him. They came on military helos. Not only were they armed to the teeth, they moved like military. Mike was able to identify one of them. He’s a Delta Force sniper.”
“Delta Force?” Olivia said incredulously. “Dan, seriously, no one in government could give that order. Not even the president.”
“Well, someone gave it. Mike saw the sniper again this morning. He was outside the Crowne Plaza during the FBI raid, poised to hit Mike if he made an appearance.”
Olivia sank into the back of her chair as she processed what she’d just heard. The waiter returned with their drinks and a basket of bread. Olivia waited until he left before speaking.
“I have to say I don’t think this is something I’m at all equipped to handle. I’m an aide to the national security advisor. I can talk to you about the implications of the START II Treaty on missile defense or what side the US should take in the Kashmir dispute. But this”—Olivia shrugged, palms upturned—“this is spook stuff, serious spook stuff. What am I supposed to make of this?”
“Help Mike, Olivia.”
“Help him how? What can I possibly do?”
“You work for a man who has the president’s ear. You don’t have to interfere with the FBI investigation. Just tell them the truth. Tell them Mike was set up in Dale City, that it was self-defense. And that you have credible evidence that Delta Force has targeted him.”
“Do I? Do I have credible evidence? Listen to what you’re saying. I’m supposed to go to the FBI and say, ‘Hey, guys, that Michael Garin you’re looking for was set up by an Iranian hit squad, the same squad that wiped out the US counter-WMD strike force. They’re still trying to kill him, as is Delta Force, by the way. So cut him some slack, okay?’ Is that what you expect me to say?”
“It’s precisely because you’re an aide to Brandt that they’ll take it seriously. They need to start looking for the real bad guys.”
“What do I say when they ask me where I got the information?”
“That you got it from one of the Pentagon’s biggest contractors; a guy who’s got multiple clearances; a guy who’s been vetted a thousand times by the FBI, DOD, and a half dozen committees of Congress. And who’s witty, charming, and exceedingly handsome.”
“They’ll ask me for a name, Dan. If I don’t cooperate, they’ll hit me with obstruction.”
“Tell them it’s Dan Dwyer. Hell, tell them Mike’s been calling me on a regular basis. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“They’ll want to know where Mike is. Do you know where to find him?”
Dwyer hesitated. “I know where he was last night, but he’s probably not there anymore.”
“You provided him with a place to stay, didn’t you?” An adult remonstrating a child.
“He’s probably not there anymore,” Dwyer repeated.
Olivia sighed. Arguing with Dwyer was futile. The type of man who became a Navy SEAL was the type who would die before quitting almost anything, even an argument. But beyond that, he was right. The FBI needed to know the facts. Whatever the Russians and Iranians were up to, it had to be bad.