“There’s not much we can do for her if she doesn’t want us to get involved with her pregnancy. At least not for now. And the other thing, with her and Otto, will be resolved in the next couple of days.
I’ll make sure of it.” Kathleen nodded after a moment, then busied herself with the rest of the dinner while McGarvey carved the roast.
They all had wine except for Elizabeth, who stuck with Perrier. She and Todd seemed relaxed with each other, but there was an underlying tension around the table. “I’ve relieved Otto from duty for a couple of days,” McGarvey said when they were finished. Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s probably a good idea. He came back too soon after the accident. But if he wants to keep working, he can do it from his apartment.” “What are you two working on that’s got him so heated up, and you climbing down everyone’s throats?” McGarvey asked his daughter. “Otto and I aren’t working on anything.” “Come on, Liz.
You’re putting together my bio, everybody knows that. Otto’s got you digging through some of the old records at Fort Hill. But he’s been working on something else, too. He won’t tell me what it is yet, but it’s got something to do with KGB files and with an old Department Viktor psychologist by the name of Nikolayev. Does any of that ring a bell?” “No.” Elizabeth said it with a straight face, but this time McGarvey knew damned well that she was lying to him. “Maybe I should relieve you of duty, too.” “Come on, Dad. I have a job to do. But if I’m going to be treated like the director’s daughter, I won’t be able to get anything done. I’ll never know if people are telling me the truth or just something that they think I want to hear. Let me get on with it.” “On with what?” Something flashed across her face. “My job.” “You’re four months pregnant, Elizabeth,” her mother said. “In the old days women went to bed for the entire nine months, Mother.
This is the twenty-first century. Not only am I going to keep working, but Todd and I are going skiing this weekend. With my doctor’s permission.” “Okay, sweetheart, if you want to be treated like an ordinary intelligence officer, so be it,” McGarvey said. “That’s exactly what I want,” Liz responded defiantly. “You and Todd are relieved from duty at the Farm as of right now. I’ll talk to Dave Whittaker and Tommy Doyle about your transfers. Starting Monday you’ll be assigned to the Russian desk, and Todd will work for Jay Newby in the Operations Center.” “Dad-” “Since you’re going away for the weekend, I’ll cut you some slack. But no later than Tuesday noon I want a full report on what you’ve been doing for the past ninety days.
That includes all your day sheets and contact logs.” “What if I don’t?” Elizabeth flared. “Then I’ll fire you.” Elizabeth started to protest, but Todd put a hand over hers. “Shut up, Liz,” he told her.
“The transfer is just until after the baby is born, right?” he asked McGarvey. “We’ll see. Once the baby comes your job specs will have to be reevaluated anyway.” Todd nodded after an awkward silence. “Liz’s day sheet will be on your desk Tuesday morning.” “What time are you leaving for Colorado?” Kathleen asked. She was brittle. Elizabeth turned to her mother. Sensing trouble, her lips tightened. “Eight in the morning.” She glanced up at the clock. It was coming up on 9:00.
“In fact we should get going now. We still have to get our ski stuff together, and I need to get some sleep. It’s been a long week.” “Did your doctor consider the risk you’re taking, going out to Colorado, considering what happened… last time,” Kathleen asked. “It’s still snowing, Mrs. M.,” Todd said. “The Beltway is going to be a mess. We have to go.”
“I asked a question.”
Elizabeth held herself tightly. “Yes my doctor considered the risk to me and my baby, and he gave me permission to go skiing if I was careful.”
Kathleen turned to her husband. “What do you think, Kirk?”
“If they don’t get going right now they’ll have to stay the night and they’ll miss their flight. The roads won’t be any better by morning.”
Kathleen clenched her hands. “Be careful, Elizabeth. Would you do at least that much for me?” she said. “I’ll worry all weekend about you and the baby. I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”
Elizabeth softened. “It’ll be okay, mother. I want you and daddy to have some fun too. Soak up some sun. Washington will be here when we all get back.”
“I’ll get your skis out of the garage,” Todd told Elizabeth. “Great dinner, Mrs. M.” He got up and McGarvey went with him.
Elizabeth’s skis, in their hard shell traveling case, had already been taken down from the rack on the back wall. Todd carried them out to his Land Cruiser SUV and attached them to the roof rack with bungee cords.
McGarvey glanced back at the house. He could see through the hall window that Kathleen was helping Elizabeth with her jacket.
“Watch yourself out there,” McGarvey told his son-in-law.
“I’ll make her take it easy.”
“I don’t mean just that,” McGarvey said. “You and Elizabeth are field officers and I’m the acting DCI. We’re targets. All of us, all the time.”
A flat, professional look came into Van Buren’s eyes. He nodded.
“There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think about it. Especially now with the baby coming.”
McGarvey clapped him on the shoulder. “You know what to do. Both of you do. Watch your backs.”
McGarvey helped his wife clean up, and afterward they went up to bed.
He made sure that the house was locked up and the security system was up and running first. At the head of the stairs he stopped and looked down at the front door in the gloom of the front hall. The scratching was coming again. It was like an animal in trouble trying to gain entry to the house. A rough beast, or merely a stray, he couldn’t tell. But something was coming. Gaining on them. Skulking in the night. Waiting to pounce. “Paradise is where I am,” Voltaire wrote in Le Mondain. Life was what you made of it. Either a paradise or a hell. McGarvey wasn’t sure which life he had created for himself and his family, though he was certain that he wanted paradise, or at least a little peace. By the time he got undressed, washed up and climbed into bed, Kathleen was already half-asleep. “Good night, Katy,” he said. “I wonder what we’ll come back to,” she mumbled. She rolled over, and within a minute her breathing deepened. She was asleep.
McGarvey turned off the lights, and for a long time he listened to the winter wind whipping around the eaves; the scratching, nagging feeling rising again at the edges of his consciousness. In the old days he would have run first and looked back later. But he couldn’t do that now. Not now, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.
FRIDAY
FIFTEEN
McGARVEY COULD FEEL THE PISTOL IN HIS HANDS. FEEL THE RECOIL AS HE FIRED THREE SHOTS AT THE TRAITOR. KILLING HIM.
McGarvey got home a few minutes before noon. Three leather bags were packed and lined up in the front hall. But Kathleen wasn’t home. She’d left a note on the hall table promising that she would be back by noon; she had a couple of errands to run before they left for Andrews Air Force Base. Yemm came in, glanced at the bags and cocked an ear to listen. “Mrs. McGarvey’s not home?” “She had a couple of errands to run,” McGarvey told him. “Put the bags in the trunk, would you, Dick?