“My systems are impenetrable. If someone tries to listen in—”
“I know. They’ll end up listening to the French prime minister placing an order for truffles with his mistress’s chocolatier,” Garin finished. “I’ll talk to you on your internal lines, but as far as getting you the flash drive, I’ll give it to Ms. Perry when I meet her and ask her to give it to you. How soon do you think she and I can meet?”
“She’s pretty anxious. You name the time.”
Garin needed to get out of his muddy clothes, shower, and grab a quick meal. “Three hours?”
“Midnight it is. Nice. Very dramatic. If that’s not good for her, I’ll call you back. She lives in Crystal City, so she can get to the house pretty easily.”
“Not here. Although I doubt she’s being watched, I don’t want to take the chance of her coming here.” Garin thought for a moment. “Make a reservation at your favorite hotel. Have Ms. Perry call you with the room assignment after she checks in. Then call me back with a room number.”
“You don’t want her to come to the house, but you’re going to march into the highest-profile hotel in Washington,” Dwyer declared, shaking his head.
“Would you look for me there?”
Dwyer conceded to himself that the man had a point. “By the way, I take from your comment about where you got the flash drive that there may be a few more room-temperature Iranians about?”
“There may be,” Garin replied warily, wondering where Dwyer was headed.
“Piece of advice. Try not to mention that to Olivia when you meet her.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The Michael Garin who strode into the lobby of the Mayflower Hotel shortly after midnight bore little resemblance to the one who had been engaged in a gun battle with Iranian agents hours before. Aside from the distinct physique, he resembled a freshman congressman or judiciary committee lawyer more than an elite killer.
Garin was cleanly shaven and well scrubbed, something he hadn’t been — at least not both at the same time — since before the beginning of the Pakistan operation nearly two weeks ago. Other than a few rebellious curls along the hairline and nape of his neck, his short black hair was brushed straight back. The simple blue blazer, taupe slacks, and white shirt he had selected from the closet in the master bedroom of the safe house fit surprisingly well.
Garin nodded to the night staff manning the reception desk as he walked through the empty ornate lobby toward the elevator bank opposite the concierge station: a hotel guest returning from a long-running meeting, perhaps a late-night outing. The only guest with a handgun stuck in a holster at the small of his back.
Dwyer had told Garin that Olivia would be expecting him in Room 546. He emerged from the elevator and looked down the corridors. The fifth floor was quiet, the guests asleep. Garin rapped lightly on the door to 546 and waited with curious anticipation. Dwyer, in his usual jocular manner, had warned Garin that Olivia Perry was far more attractive than any woman Garin had seen in a very long time. Still, Garin knew that Dwyer was prone to wild exaggerations when it came to women, so he wasn’t sure what to expect.
Olivia Perry opened the door and Garin realized that his friend — possibly for the first time — had embellished absolutely nothing about her. Only those who knew Garin well would be able to discern his astonishment.
In this regard, Olivia held a slight advantage. She had seen photos of Michael Garin and studied him closely over the last several days. She had a fair idea of what to expect upon opening the door. Nonetheless, Olivia found herself somewhat flustered seeing Garin in the flesh. She couldn’t remember ever being intimidated by someone’s mere physical presence.
Neither Garin nor Perry, however, perceived the awkwardness of the other. Olivia moved to the side of the doorway to permit Garin to pass. “Please come in, Mr. Garin. Have a seat.”
The room was dominated by two queen-size beds separated by a nightstand. An armoire that held a television sat opposite the beds. Garin took a chair in front of a small desk near the window. Olivia sat in an armchair across from him. She found herself studying every detail of Garin’s appearance. There was an indefinable quality to it that conveyed physical confidence, martial superiority. He had the air, thought Olivia, of someone who looked as if he owned every room he entered. Not arrogance, but the supreme ease of a creature at the top of the food chain. A sound interrupted Olivia’s musings, and it took a second before she realized that Garin was speaking.
“Ms. Perry, Dan Dwyer told me you were interceding on my behalf with the FBI and possibly the Pentagon. Thank you. I understand the very real problems it poses for someone in your position.”
Olivia shook her head. “Actually, Mr. Garin, it’s my boss, Jim Brandt, who’s doing the talking. I’m just his aide.”
“And I’m sure he wouldn’t be doing so if you hadn’t persuaded him. You took a professional risk speaking on behalf of a stranger who law enforcement and intelligence have concluded is a killer and a threat to national security. So, again, thanks.” Garin leaned forward slightly. “But tell me, given the evident risk to your reputation and your career, why’d you do it?”
The icy intensity that Olivia had seen in Garin’s photos was a weak imitation of the live version. It occurred to her she now knew for certain that the man sitting just a few feet away had killed multiple times. Perhaps as recently as today. Olivia tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a shudder before responding with a calm she didn’t possess.
“Two reasons, Mr. Garin. First, I find it implausible that you killed your entire team and then went on a rampage that just happens to target Iranians. It’s far more likely that you were intended to die along with your team, and when that failed, they decided you should take the fall. I’m not some criminologist or forensics specialist, but it looks like you were set up — big-time.
“That, of course, brings us to the second reason,” Olivia continued. “Why? Why are you being set up? Obviously, it must be pretty important. People don’t just go to the trouble of obliterating one of the most elite military units in the world on a lark. Jim Brandt thinks you may have knowledge, whether you’re aware of it or not, of information vital to answering that question. Our hunch is that the Russians and Iranians are colluding on a major strike against Israel. We cannot allow them to do so. We cannot allow them to kill with impunity. And we cannot allow them to run wild on American soil.”
Now it was Garin’s turn to note Olivia’s eyes. Already enormous, they grew larger the more animated she became. There was a hint of indignation, even anger, in her voice. This was someone who clearly believed in the concept of good guys and bad guys, perhaps even in vengeance.
“Dan tells me you’re very smart,” Garin said. “And your boss — well, everyone knows the reputation of Jim Brandt. Now, I’m just a little ole grunt, but I’ve got a suspicion that the two of you think something more is going on. Am I right?”
Olivia eyed Garin for a moment before replying. “Dan tells me you’re also very smart.” A smile crossed her face, revealing a perfect set of teeth. “So now that we’ve established that everyone in this room is above average, what else do you think is going on?”
“This goes beyond Israel, Ms. Perry. Precisely how far, I can’t be sure. But as big as a major strike against Israel would be, there’s reason to believe something even bigger is in the works.”