“We think the terrorists may be using these vehicles to get around,” he told the officer. “Tell your people to take it easy. You saw what they did here.”
Five minutes later the van carrying Kondo, Kajiyama and the two commandos took the Andrews Main Gate exit off I-95 and headed north to the old Kmart. On the way over from Dulles, Kondo had counted six highway patrol cruisers, the last just ahead of them as they turned off. The FBI and CIA knew about Joseph Lee’s airplane, but they didn’t know about the vans, which meant they didn’t know about the warehouse yet. But they’d obviously pulled out all the stops.
It had been nothing but blind dumb luck that the whore had seen him at the Hay Adams with Tony Croft. It didn’t explain how the authorities knew his name, but it was possible they got it from some intelligence file even he didn’t know about. But, and this was the thought that caused him the most anger, it was more likely that the Bureau got his name in the raid on Sandy Patterson’s office. The codes and blinds she thought were foolproof might not have been. She had screwed up in Georgetown, and now it looked as if she’d screwed up again. If the Bureau hadn’t come up with something from the raid on her office, then the security agents out at the Cropley safe house would not have been alerted and the mission would have happened as planned.
Women in general were stupid. But gai-jin women were the worst because they didn’t know their place.
The commando drove to the rear of the Kmart and stopped in front of one of the loading bays. Kajiyama jumped out, opened the overhead door, waited for the van to pull inside, then closed and locked it.
Sandy Patterson was waiting by the stairs when Kondo came from the rear of the store. She was wide-eyed and breathless.
“How did it go?” she asked.
Kondo forced a cold smile. “Just fine.” He took her arm and they headed upstairs. “I’ll tell you all about it, and then we’ll make our plans for getting back to Japan.”
“I thought we were taking Mr. Lee’s jet—”
“Unfortunately the authorities are guarding it,” Kondo said reasonably. “Which means we must find another way. But we have plenty of time. Not to worry.”
McGarvey watched from his car across the street as the van pulled up and entered the old Kmart. The man in the front passenger seat had opened the service door, which probably meant that no one was inside. But there was no way of knowing how many other men in addition to the driver were in the vehicle. Possibly as many as a dozen, though he doubted it. They’d found seven paragliders and four bodies. Which meant that there were three terrorists unaccounted for, and possibly a fourth who had run the boat ashore. They could have left other men with the helicopter and the van, but he didn’t think they would have split their force. There was no reason for it.
He was guessing four men, all heavily armed. But he’d faced worse odds than that before. He checked the load in his Walther PPK, transferred the two spare magazines into his trouser pocket and pulled off his light-colored jacket. His trousers were dark, as was his short-sleeved Izod. He glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. They had killed Jacqueline and two dozen others. They had seriously hurt his only child. And they had tried to kill his wife. There was no time now for anger, he had to remind himself. This was a tactical situation, nothing more, and he would rely on his training and experience.
He grinned viciously. “Bullshit,” he murmured. He slipped out of the car and headed across the street to the east side of the Kmart.
Kajiyama was in what had been Kmart’s cafeteria, which they’d used for a command center. He happened to look over at the bank of six closed-circuit television monitors in time to see a dark figure darting around the corner on the east side of the building. The other monitors showed nobody else. He put down the bottle of Evian he’d been drinking, switched off the lights and raced out into the main part of the store.
“There is someone out there,” he called to the two commandos who were over by their cots preparing to get some sleep. “One man. In front, on the east side,” he said gesturing toward the painted-over glass front doors.
The commandos reacted instantly, drawing their weapons and donning their night-vision oculars as they raced toward the front of the store.
Kajiyama grabbed a pair of Uzis and took the stairs up to the offices two at a time.
Sandy Patterson, her clothing in disarray, a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth, was backed up against the wall, Kondo, his hand raised, advancing toward her.
“Take your revenge later; someone is outside,” Kajiyama warned.
Kondo turned around in surprise. “Is it the police?”
“No. It looks like there is only one man.” Kajiyama tossed him one of the Uzis. “He came around the front from the east side.”
Kondo smiled. “It’s McGarvey,” he said triumphantly. He glanced at the woman. “Apparently you screwed up even this simple assignment, otherwise he would never have found us.” He turned back. “Just as well that the arrogant bastard is here. Our mission will be a success after all.”
“He’s not dead yet.”
“Even if he is twice as good as his file suggests, he cannot defeat four-to-one odds.”
McGarvey ducked under the last of the closed-circuit television cameras along the east side of the building and raced around to the loading docks in the rear. He’d spotted the cameras almost immediately and figured that if someone inside was watching, he would make them believe that he was coming in from the front. With only four people they would be hard pressed to watch every approach. The building was simply too big.
There were two cameras covering the back of the store, one at each corner. He studied the layout, then screwed the silencer on his pistol. The cameras only covered the loading docks and not the second-story windows. He ducked beneath the nearest camera, then reached up and fired one shot, taking out the lens. Even if someone had been staring at the monitor, they would have seen only an indistinct blur, and then nothing.
Stuffing the gun in his belt, McGarvey shoved a Dumpster a few feet up against the building beneath a canopy over one of the service entrances. Directly above was a window. He scrambled up the Dumpster, then up on the flimsy fiberglass awning that crackled and nearly buckled under his weight. He paused a moment to make sure it wouldn’t collapse, then looked in the window. Venetian blinds obscured his view, but he could see enough to determine that he was looking into an empty office. The door, to what appeared to be a corridor, was open. The only illumination seemed to come from outside the office, probably a security light at the stairs.
If they were on the ball it wouldn’t take them long to figure out that trouble was coming at them from the rear of the building, not the front. They would be coming to investigate.
A woman appeared in the doorway, and McGarvey ducked down as she looked over her shoulder. She wouldn’t be able to see outside, because of the light in the corridor, but she came across the room directly to the window. As McGarvey slid to the right, she undid the latch, slid the window aside, raised the venetian blinds and looked outside directly into the muzzle of McGarvey’s gun.
“I hope to God that you’re Kirk McGarvey,” she whispered urgently. She showed him her hands. “I’m not armed.”
McGarvey lowered his gun. “Sandy Patterson?”
She nodded. “That’s right. They’re waiting for you downstairs. They think that you’re coming in from the front.” She held the venetian blinds aside as McGarvey climbed through the window.