Dance with the Dragon

by Hagberg, David

  “I don’t know my daughter’s signature.”

  “Did you bring it up to Langley?”

  “No one had been willing to help get them out of there, and I didn’t think they’d changed their thinking even if one of their officers had been shot to death in Havana,” Marti said. “In any event, by the time I got the confession Gloria had already had a chance to tell her own story.”

  “You could have brought the DGI defector up to Langley.”

  “He was shot to death out on the street not fifty feet from my front door,” Marti said.

  All of it was too convenient, yet there was a certain symmetry to Marti’s story, and to Gloria’s psyche reports after Cuba. “Was that why you went to Paris? To confront her with the story?” McGarvey asked.

  “Sí.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She looked at her confession and handed it back to me. ‘Is this why you came to Paris, Papá?’ she asked me. If she’d been angry, or sad, or confused—anything like that—I would have understood. If she had denied that it was her signature, I would have believed it. Her husband had been shot to death, and her father was asking her if she was a spy for the Cuban government, and she was neutral. We could have been discussing the weather.”

  “What did you say to her?”

  Marti shook his head. “I don’t remember. Maybe something like, ‘What is a father to do?’ I had dinner reservations for us at the Restaurant Jules Verne, but she couldn’t make it. She was too busy. The next day I flew back to Miami.”

  For the first time this evening, McGarvey saw a genuine sadness in the general’s eyes, and in the set of his shoulders. He was carrying a burden, and because of the lateness of the hour, or because of McGarvey’s probing, the weight had become almost too great to bear.

  “I didn’t know the woman my daughter had become,” Marti said. “She was a total stranger to me.”

  “And now?” McGarvey asked.

  “You came here wanting to find out if you could count on my daughter. If you could trust her,” Marti said, his voice softened by emotion.

  McGarvey had come to hear a father’s assessment of a daughter. But Marti admitted he didn’t know her as a woman, which was not surprising, since he hadn’t known her as a child.

  “Whatever happened in Havana, she managed to save her own life,” Marti said. “That in itself doesn’t make her a bad person, merely a survivor.”

  McGarvey held his silence, though there were a few dozen points he could have made.

  “She’s been involved in at least one operation with you. What’s your read?”

  “I think she’s confused.”

  Marti shrugged. “She’s not confused about you. Unrealistic, now that I’ve met you, but not confused.”

  “Do you trust your daughter?” McGarvey asked.

  Marti took a moment to answer. “I love her with all my soul. I’m sure of that much, although since my wife’s death, perhaps my definition of love and yours may be different.”

  “Do you trust her?”

  Marti lowered his eyes after a beat. “No.”

  FIFTY-FIVE

  EN ROUTE TO SARASOTA

  After an uneasy night at the Park Central Hotel, McGarvey had Martinez arrange for a rental car under a work name, and he checked out and headed across the state on Alligator Alley. Traffic was almost nonexistent on the divided highway that ran straight through the Everglades; no curves, no hills, only the sawgrass in every direction out to the horizon, and showers falling out of a few small clouds in the distance.

  He’d not called Katy to tell her that he was on his way back to Sarasota, and he felt a little guilty about it. But he was in full swing, and he needed to stay focused.

  He had almost all the pieces now to find out what Liu and the Chinese had been doing in Mexico for the past ten years. Very soon being around him would get dangerous, and he wanted to insulate his wife as much as possible by keeping his distance from her.

  Later he would explain it to her, but for now he was on the hunt, and the next steps he was going to take would not be pretty.

  First came Gil Perry.

  A few miles outside of Naples, McGarvey used his cell phone to call the Mexico City chief of station. Perry’s secretary answered on the first ring and immediately put him through, as if they were expecting his call.

  Mexico City was an hour earlier, which put it a few minutes after ten in the morning. When Perry answered he sounded out of breath, as if he had just run up a flight of stairs, or as if he were girding himself for bad news.

  “I’m on the way to see the woman,” McGarvey said.

  “Are you there now?” Perry demanded.

  “I’m a couple hours away. She’s your mark, so I thought you should know what’s going on, and give the house the heads-up that I’m on my way.”

  “Thank you,” Perry said. “I’ll give the detail a call right away. Have you come up with something? I mean, do you have some more questions for her?”

  “I want to nail down a couple of loose ends,” McGarvey said. “I’m doing a little research, and I’ve turned up a few inconsistencies.”

  “Anything we can do from this end?” Perry asked. “I mean, for heaven’s sake, we’re part of the team. It was our field officer who was assassinated.”

  “Her family in France is rich. Any idea what she was doing in Mexico trying to earn money to get to the States?”

  “She was never quite clear on that point. And believe me, I pressed her when she first walked in, and again when we arrived at Tommy’s house.”

  McGarvey looked up. “Do you know Tom Doyle?”

  “Not to sit down and have a chat, but everyone in the Company knows of him. And it was damned decent that he offered the use of his house.”

  “How was that arranged?”

  “Mr. Adkins made the call.”

  “Not McCann?” McGarvey asked.

  Perry hesitated for just a moment. “I imagine he was in on the initial conversation, but I believe it was Mr. Adkins who actually asked for the favor. Is there a problem about the arrangement that I should know about?”

  “No, none whatsoever,” McGarvey said. “I was just curious.” Perry was apparently trying to cut his boss, Howard McCann, out of the operation, but why lie about it now? And why had he lied about not knowing Updegraf was fluent in Mandarin? The man had his own agenda, which he expected would land him in the number two spot at the Agency, so it was possible he was trying to protect himself. But from what?

  “I’ll see what I can dig up about her family background. Maybe there’ll be an answer there. Could be we’ll have to query Paris Station.”

  “It’s not important for now, but I’ll leave it up to you.”

  “I’ll find an answer,” Perry said. “What else are you looking for?”

  “I want to know the real reason she left all her money behind when she walked away from Liu. And I want to know what she thinks Updegraf was doing up in Chihuahua.”

  “I expect she doesn’t know,” Perry said. “And we may never know. As I said, Louis left no records. Not a mention in his computer. Not even a veiled reference in cipher.”

  “We’ll find out what he was doing up there,” McGarvey promised.

  “How will you do that? Louis is dead.”

  “I’m going to ask General Liu.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  LONGBOAT KEY

  Working as an intelligence officer meant that you had a suspicious nature. Probably nothing was as it seemed, no one was telling you the truth, and if you were given three ironclad facts, the one that would do you the most harm was almost certainly a lie.

  Good tradecraft meant listening to your inner voices, and driving onto Longboat Key, McGarvey’s sixth sense was roaring like a Concorde coming in for a landing.

  The opposition had come after him the moment he’d left the confines of the Farm. And a few days ago someone had tried to hit General Marti. Coincidence? He thought not.

  T
raffic was light on the only north–south road on the key, and McGarvey was able to take his time, keeping a constant check on his rearview mirror as well as a peripheral view. He was looking for the out-of-place car or van that seemed to be taking too much of an interest in him; the hint of a movement from the upper windows or the rooftop of a condominium tower; the pair of men, who didn’t belong, walking on the sidewalk, maybe wearing khakis or jeans instead of shorts; perhaps a low-flying airplane or helicopter with a real estate firm’s logo that seemed to be taking more of an interest in traffic than in properties. But there was nobody.

  The house was about two thirds of the way up the eleven-mile island, and screened from the road by a tall wall and thick vegetation. Passing the house, he could make out little more than the roofline. Nothing on either side of the house or across the road would give a watcher a vantage point to look down onto the property, or give a sniper any sort of a shot.

  Tommy Doyle was a very private person, and he had picked the location with a great deal of care. The house was exposed only to the Gulf.

  McGarvey drove past the place, pulling off the road at a public beach access one hundred yards to the north. A narrow path from a small unpaved parking area cut from the palms, palmettos, and sea grapes led over the low sand dunes to the broad white beach. No other cars were parked in the lot, nor was there anyone on the beach.

  Just at the rise McGarvey held up. A sailboat was hull down on the horizon, slowly making its way to the south. Well to the north, a large commercial ship was heading for Tampa Bay, and a small plane towing an advertising banner for a restaurant headed south along the beaches.

  About one hundred yards directly off the beach in front of Tommy Doyle’s house, a large motor yacht, at least ninety feet on deck, was heading north. Even from here McGarvey could make out several people aboard, including a couple of women in bikinis on the forward sundeck.

  He could also see the glint of at least one pair of binoculars from inside the wheelhouse. Someone aboard the yacht was taking an interest in the house.

  McGarvey stepped back a few yards so that he would be screened from view as the yacht slowly cruised past. He could hear the low thrum of the diesels, and some music playing, and the sounds of laughter. Someone out for a day of fun on the water. Nothing sinister. Yet the insistent voice was shouting at the back of his head: coincidences were to be treated with great respect and suspicion.

  The name on the stern was Ocean Mistress, Miami.

  He watched the yacht until it disappeared around the headland at the north end of Longboat Key, then waited for a full half hour to make sure that it wasn’t coming back, before he returned to his car and telephoned Rencke at the Building.

  “Oh, wow, Mac, you’re back in Sarasota. But you’re not home and you’re not at the college. Longboat Key?”

  “I’m pulling Shahrzad out of here.”

  “Trouble?” Rencke asked.

  “Could be, but I’m not sure,” McGarvey said. He told Rencke about the yacht. “Someone aboard was taking an interest in the house.”

  “Could have been a sightseer.”

  “She was the Ocean Mistress out of Miami.”

  “Stand by,” Rencke said. He was gone for less than a minute. “No coincidence, kemosabe,” he said. He was excited. “It’s a documented vessel registered in the name of Connie Newell.”

  “The wife of Congressman Newell?”

  “Bingo,” Rencke said. “But right now it’s in charter service out of Fort Lauderdale.”

  “See if you can find who has it.”

  “I’m working on it,” Rencke said. “Place called Boat Dreams in Paradise Inc. Hang on.”

  It would be too much to expect that the congressman or his wife were aboard, or that General Liu or some of his henchmen had sailed up here to find out where Shahrzad was hiding.

  “You ready for this, Mac?” Rencke came back. “The Ocean Mistress is supposedly down for maintenance. Not expected to be back in service until next week. No one has her.”

  “Ninety feet, white hull, blue trim.”

  “Ninety-four feet, white hull, blue trim, double stripe just below the coaming.”

  “That’s the boat,” McGarvey said.

  “Do you want me to give the Coast Guard the heads-up?” Rencke asked.

  “No. I don’t want to push back yet. I’m getting Shahrzad out of here anyway.”

  “You bringing her up here?”

  “I’m going to leave that up to McCann.”

  After just a moment’s hesitation Rencke chuckled. “She’ll come as a surprise. Do you want me to keep tabs on him? I’d just love to stick it to him.”

  “I just want to know if and when Gil Perry calls him,” McGarvey said.

  “And what they say to each other?”

  McGarvey had to laugh. “Play nice, Otto. McCann may be a jerk, but I don’t think he’s one of the bad guys.”

  “One can always hope,” Rencke replied, a vicious edge to his voice. “Are you coming up here?”

  “Tonight,” McGarvey said. “Tell Dick that I’m ready to get started. I just need to have a word with him.”

  “You’ve got it,” Rencke said. “How about Mrs. M.? You going to let her know you’re in town?”

  “No.”

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  THE DOYLE HOUSE

  The CIA detail at the house was expecting McGarvey. He stopped at the gate, identified himself, and was buzzed through immediately. The day was already hot, but a pleasant breeze from the Gulf filtered through the trees and riot of subtropical vegetation.

  McGarvey parked in front and Toni Dronchi was waiting for him at the open door when he walked up. She was dressed in white shorts and a T-shirt, over which she wore a shoulder holster for a Beretta 9 mm. No shoes.

  “Welcome back,” she said, smiling.

  “Everything okay here?” McGarvey asked.

  “A big yacht cruised by a half hour ago. I think somebody aboard might have been interested in us. We’re working on finding out who it was.” She stepped aside to let him enter, and before she closed the door she glanced out toward the driveway.

  “Belongs to Congressman Newell’s wife,” McGarvey said when she joined him in the sweeping entry hall. “But it’s supposed to be over in Fort Lauderdale for maintenance until next week.”

  Toni grinned. “You saw it?”

  “From a public access just up the beach. Otto ran it down for me. Has there been anything else?”

  “Except for her constant bitching about everything, it’s been quiet. Thanks for sending the extra help.”

  A large-boned woman in her early thirties, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, a big Glock in her shoulder holster, appeared at the head of the stairs. “Good morning, sir,” she called down.

  “Karen West,” Toni said. “She was one of my instructors at the Farm.”

  “Tell me you’re getting us out of here, and you’ll make me a happy woman,” Karen said.

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing here,” McGarvey said. “But first I want to talk to her. Then you can arrange something with housekeeping. I want her in one of our Washington area safe houses by this time tomorrow, if not sooner.”

  “She’s in her room,” Karen said. “I’ll get her.”

  “Mr. McGarvey, you’re a lifesaver,” Toni said. “Believe me.”

  He followed her out to the veranda. “What’s she been complaining about?”

  “Just about everything. The food, the house, the weather.”

  “But not about being cooped up here under house arrest 24/7?”

  “Not that,” Toni said. “I think she realizes that she might not be safe anywhere else. Can you tell me why we’re moving her out of here? Is it because of that yacht?”

  “Could be the opposition has found out she’s here,” McGarvey said. “I don’t know for sure, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “She’s that important?”

  McGarvey nodded.

  “I se
e,” Toni said. “Would you care for something? Iced tea, a Coke?”

  “A beer.”

  “Yes, sir,” Toni said, and she went to get it for him just as Karen appeared from upstairs with Shahrzad, who was dressed in a bright yellow bikini with a flower print silk wrap around her slender waist. She pulled up short when she saw who it was.

  “Care to go for a walk on the beach?” McGarvey asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Shahrzad said. “Didn’t they tell you about the yacht?”

  “It was probably nothing.”

  Shahrzad laughed disparagingly. “Don’t count on it. I’m sure that by now Liu knows where I am. He’ll send his people.”

  “How do you know?” McGarvey asked.

  “I know Liu,” Shahrzad said. “And no matter how well you think you know him, you don’t. Believe me.”

  She was frightened, he could see that much in her eyes. But she was defiant, obviously working the angles to figure out how she could come out of this mess on top. She was in the U.S., which was one of her goals. All that was left was her freedom, and some money.

  “We’re moving you out of here, tonight if possible. If not, tomorrow sometime. Pack your things.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “You’ll find out when you get there.”

  She stamped her foot. “I don’t have to take this, you know!”

  “Okay,” McGarvey said.

  She glanced at Karen and then back at McGarvey. “Okay what? What are you talking about?”

  “You’re free to leave, if that’s what you want,” McGarvey told her. He glanced over at Karen. “When she’s packed, take her into town and check her in at the Ritz. I’ll take care of the bill for the first week.”

  “What are you trying to do to me?” Shahrzad demanded. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

  “I’m trying to save your life long enough to bring Liu down.”

  “All right.”

  “You’re being moved to someplace that might be safer for the moment. You have no need to know where it is. We’ll take care of that.”