Critical Mass

by David Hagberg

  Several people stopped and turned to see what the commotion was all about, and McGarvey stepped back, bringing up his gun as the Mercedes driver came down the broad path on the left in a dead run.

  Tanaka fired three shots, one of them hitting a bystander, one smacking into a tree and the third plucking at McGarvey’s sleeve.

  McGarvey turned sideways to present less of himself as a target, and squeezed off two measured shots, both hitting the oncoming Japanese in the chest, driving him to his knees and then down.

  A woman was screaming and another woman was down on her knees beside the bystander who’d been shot, wailing and wringing her hands.

  McGarvey hauled the dazed Igarshi over on his back. “Who hired you to kill Shirley and Mowry?” he demanded. There wasn’t much time. Already in the distance there were more sirens.

  Igarshi snarled something in Japanese and lunged upward, grabbing the barrel of McGarvey’s pistol. The gun discharged, the bullet entering the man’s forehead, his head bouncing off the gravel path and his eyes filling with blood.

  He’d committed suicide!

  McGarvey recoiled and then looked up as a heavyset man built like a Sherman tank came charging down the main concourse. He looked like a wild animal.

  Stepping back, McGarvey brought up his pistol in both hands and crouched in the shooter’s stance. Heidinora stopped in his tracks ten feet away. He was unarmed, an expression of pure hatred on his round, rough-featured face. The sirens were much closer now, and it was clear that he heard them.

  “I don’t want to kill you, but I will not leave Tokyo until I have answers,” McGarvey said.

  Heidinora backed up, his hands spread in a gesture of peace.

  “Remember my face,” McGarvey said, lowering his pistol. “I’ll want answers to my questions.”

  Heidinora nodded once, then turned on his heel and walked off. Holstering his pistol, McGarvey turned in the opposite direction and headed out the gate to Harumi-dori Avenue.

  BOOK THREE

  30

  MONACO

  JULY 9, 1992

  A GENTLE SEA BREEZE RUFFLED THE POTTED FLOWERS ON THE veranda of the villa that overlooked the Principality of Monaco and the azure Mediterranean. Surrounded by fragrant eucalyptus trees, the expansive, low, stuccoed house was enclosed within a tall concrete fence topped with glass shards. Doberman pinschers patrolled the grounds at night, and along with a sophisticated system of extremely low-light-capable closed-circuit television monitors, the Villa Ambrosia was a relatively secure fortress without being ostentatiously so.

  Ernst Spranger, dressed in sandals, white slacks and a bright yellow short-sleeved Izod, came out to the veranda to greet his guest who’d just been announced. The short, slightly built man stood at the low rail, looking at a half-dozen sailboats in the distance. It was just eight in the morning, and Spranger was in a pensive mood in part because of the events, or lack of events, over the past few days, and in part because of this man’s unexpected presence.

  “Your coming here today may cause us a problem, unless you took care not to be seen,” Spranger said.

  The Japanese man turned around and smiled. “You should not worry about such inconsequential details when there are so many other things to be concerned about, Herr Spranger.”

  Spranger crossed the veranda and shook hands with the man. “Nonetheless, Mr. Endo, I trust you took the proper precautions.”

  “Naturally.”

  “You understand that we have other clients who must also be protected.”

  The expression in Endo’s eyes was unfathomable, but he did not stop smiling. “My message will be brief, but let us sit down together as friends, still.”

  Liese was watching and listening from a room in the rear that contained the villa’s security equipment. Later they would go over the tape together to make sure neither of them had missed anything.

  The Italian houseboy served them tea when they were settled and after he withdrew, Endo pushed his cup aside and sat forward.

  “Tell me what progress you have made concerning Mr. McGarvey. It is still our wish to stop the man.”

  “We have temporarily lost direct track of him in Washington. My people there think he may have left the area, but at this point we’re still not certain. In any event, it’s not our intention to confront him directly … and certainly not on his home ground.”

  “Your intentions are … ?”

  “To lure him back to Europe, of course, where we will set up a killing zone of our own choosing.”

  “When and where will this be accomplished?”

  “The when is very soon, but to answer your question about where is more complicated. We have reliable intelligence that McGarvey may be an extraordinary man who might not be so easily cornered and killed. First he must be given an incentive to do what we wish, and then he must be softened up. But the odds are with us. We’ll stack them that way.”

  “Are you afraid of this man?”

  Spranger bridled at the question. “Of course not.”

  Endo shook his head. “You should be, Herr Spranger.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mr. McGarvey is presently in Tokyo, where he gunned down three of our people in cold blood. And in broad daylight, I might add, with all of the odds, as you say, stacked against him. Now the police are investigating us as well as the Americans. It is an intolerable situation. One which we have paid your organization a great deal of money to prevent.”

  The news was stunning. Spranger needed time to think. “Has he gone back to work for the CIA?”

  “The fact that he was so recently in Washington makes that a distinct possibility. As does the fact that he was seen with a woman who has been identified as the mistress of two CIA officers.”

  “Who are these men?”

  “The chief of station and his assistant,” Endo said. “We eliminated both of them.”

  “Verdammt,” Spranger swore. “Is the CIA investigating your operation?”

  “That is no concern of yours, Herr Spranger. This man must be made to leave Tokyo. Immediately.”

  “If you’re being investigated by the CIA, if they are making the connection between you and what happened in Paris, then our entire contract is in grave jeopardy.”

  “The connection has not been made as yet. But time is of the essence. You must lure McGarvey out of Japan immediately.”

  “It may take some time,” Spranger said, his thoughts racing. “There are certain details still to be worked out.”

  “Work them out,” Endo said, standing. “You have twenty-four hours in which to do it.”

  Spranger looked up. “Or else?”

  “We will cancel our contract with you, and demand an immediate repayment of all monies we’ve paid to date.”

  “Don’t threaten me,” Spranger warned.

  “Our reach is much longer than you would think,” the Japanese said. “Do this for us and you will be a wealthy man. Fail and you will die.”

  Endo turned and left the veranda. His car and driver had waited in front for him.

  Liese, wearing a stunningly revealing string bikini, came out of the house a moment later, and sat down across from Spranger. She was smiling.

  “Why the hell did the bastard go to Tokyo?” Spranger asked. “What the hell is he playing at now?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Liese said.

  Spranger focused on her. “What are you talking about?”

  “The news from Bern,” she said sweetly. “It has finally come.”

  “I see,” Spranger said, grinning. It was as if a giant weight had been taken off his shoulders.

  31

  TRAFFIC ON THE WASHINGTON MEMORIAL PARKWAY WAS heavy, though most of it was headed toward the city, and not north, along the river. Already the morning was hot, humid and hazy, and only when the Mercedes convertible turned off the main highway up the Bureau of Public Roads’ treelined entry road, was there any relief.

  “I’m here to sp
eak with Phil Carrara,” Kathleen McGarvey told the gate guard. “I didn’t make an appointment, but if you’ll just tell him who it is, he’ll see me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the guard said, and went back into the glass-fronted hut.

  During the few minutes it took him, there was a steady stream of traffic into the CIA Headquarters. Most spies, Katheleen reflected, were nine-to-fivers like the rest of official Washington. She’d had the misfortune of picking one who wasn’t.

  “Someone will meet you in the lobby, Mrs. McGarvey,” the guard said, giving her her visitor’s passes. “Just to the right after the clearing.”

  “I know the way,” Kathleen said, and she drove up the hill. It’d been years since her one visit here, and she’d vowed then never to come back. Now she was frightened. The same old fear as in the early days. This time it was the call.

  She signed in with the guards in the lobby, and after her purse was searched, a young man who said his name was Chilton escorted her up to the DDO’s office on the third floor.

  Carrara was waiting for her at the door to the office. “This is certainly a surprise, Mrs. McGarvey.”

  “Not a pleasant one, I’m sure,” Kathleen said, preceding him into his office and taking a seat in front of his desk. She wore a crisply tailored off-white linen suit, and a pastel green blouse with matching shoes and broad-brimmed hat.

  “The Agency regrets the intrusion of your house the other day,” Carrara said going around behind his desk. “But if there’s anything I can do personally …”

  “I want to know where Kirk has gone off to this time,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. McGarvey but I don’t know anything …

  “Short of that I want to get a message to him.” She crossed her legs. “I won’t leave here until I get what I’ve come for. And if need be, I’ll speak with the general.”

  “I don’t know if that will be possible, this morning,” he replied, and for the first time Kathleen noticed that something was wrong. It looked as if he hadn’t slept or shaved in a week. His complexion was pale, and his eyes bloodshot.

  “I’ll wait right here if I have to,” she said. “Kirk is on another assignment for you, and I must get word to him.”

  “He told you that, Mrs. McGarvey?” Carrara asked sharply.

  “Not in so many words. But I know him. One day he is here, and the next day, after your people show up at my front door, he disappears. I merely put two and two together.”

  “I’m sorry,” Carrara said tiredly. “I don’t know where he is. And even if I did I could not tell you. I’ll have you escorted back downstairs to your car.”

  “You’re lying! You’re hiding something. And believe me, I mean to have it out today. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Carrara stared at her for a long moment or two. “What’s so important that you need to get a message to him at this moment? Can’t it wait?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  Carrara shrugged. “We won’t deliver secret messages, Mrs. McGarvey.”

  “That’s ludicrous coming from a man like you in a place like this.”

  “Nevertheless.”

  “The last time we saw each other I kicked him out of my house. I want to tell him that I was … wrong. That I’m sorry.”

  Carrara said nothing. It was obvious he didn’t believe her.

  “If he gets killed it’ll be too late,” she said, raising her voice.

  “I repeat, Mrs. McGarvey, what makes you believe that your husband is working for us?”

  Kathleen looked away. It was probably a mistake coming here like this. Something important was apparently going on. Something that was worrying the Deputy Director of Operations. And whatever that was, it had to be big. But now that she was here, now that she had come this far, she was determined to see it through. She owed that much to Kirk, and to herself.

  “Are you going to allow me to get a message to him?” she asked, looking back.

  “Not without more information. I’m sorry, but no.”

  “Then I want to speak with General Murphy.”

  “The Director is not available today.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Kathleen said. “If need be I’ll march directly over to the Hill and raise such a stink with the Joint Intelligence Committee, several members of which are regulars at my home, that all of Washington will hear about it.”

  Carrara sighed. “Very well,” he said, and he picked up his phone. “Ask the director if I may bring Mrs. McGarvey upstairs this morning to have a word with him.”

  The Asia Center of Japan Hotel was near the center of Tokyo and barely fifteen minutes on foot from the Roppongi District and the American Embassy. McGarvey stood at the window of their tiny third-floor room, watching the late night traffic below on the street as he waited for his call to the States to go through.

  He’d picked up Kelly Fuller in the lobby of the ANA Tokyo Hotel, and then checked in there to leave a track. Later they’d come over to this smaller and far less conspicuous hotel that she had assured him catered to foreigners. No one would notice him here, nor had he been required to show his passport or any identification when he’d registered under the German workname Rolf Eiger.

  For the time being at least he figured that he and Kelly would be safe here. Sooner or later he was going to have to get word to Carrara about what happened. But first he wanted to make sure that their backs were covered.

  “Anything?” she asked, coming out of the postage-stamp bathroom.

  He turned away from the window and shook his head. “I think we’ll be all right here for a day or so. But we’ll have to keep on the move, or find a better place.”

  “Until when?”

  “Until I finish what I was sent here to do.”

  “Which is?” she asked, her voice brittle.

  “Find out who killed Shirley, and Mowry, and why,” McGarvey answered. “If you want out, I can arrange it.”

  She looked at him, a wistful set to her mouth, but then she turned away. “I’ll stay. Besides, there’s no place I could go where they wouldn’t find me eventually now that they know my face.”

  The telephone on the bedstand rang, and McGarvey answered it. “Yes?”

  “I have your party,” the operator said, and the connection was made.

  “Otto, have you made any progress yet?” McGarvey asked. It was 9:00 in the morning, Washington time.

  “I tried to find you. But no one knows were you are, or they’re not admitting it,” Rencke said. “This is getting really weird.”

  McGarvey’s gut tightened. “Who’d you call?” he asked, keeping his voice normal.

  “Not actually call, except for your ex. But you’re on the computer across the river.”

  “Listen to me now. I don’t want you trying to make any personal contacts. I want you to wait for me to call you. No matter how important it is. Do you understand?”

  “Oh, sure, but listen up, compadre, the people over there are definitely looking for you. And worse than that they’re beginning to suspect a mouse in the pantry.”

  “Meaning you?”

  “Bingo. But I’ve got a few more tricks up my sleeve if you want me to go for broke.”

  “Have you found anything so far?”

  “Only in the negative sense. It’s definitely not the government. Nor is there any … material missing from their power plants, if you catch my drift. So whoever is going for the bacon isn’t picking it up at home.”

  “I need the help, but it’s up to you,” McGarvey said carefully. “You know what’s happened already. Including the latest?”

  “It may take a little while, but I’ll stick with it. I hate getting pushed around, you know. And besides, I’m out of Twinkies again.”

  “I’ll buy you a carload.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.”

  McGarvey got the stateside operator back, and had her place a call to Kathleen’s number. But there was no answer, and hanging up he tried to put h
er out of his mind. Rencke had called her. She’d told him nothing, because she knew nothing. And that was the end of it. He hoped.

  32

  ROLAND MURPHY GOT UP AND CAME AROUND FROM BEHIND HIS desk as Kathleen McGarvey entered his big office with Phil Carrara. Another, prim-looking man, who’d been seated on a leather couch across the room, languidly got to his feet at the same time. He was scowling.

  “Kathleen, what an unexpected pleasure,” the DCI said.

  “It’s good of you to see me on such short notice, General,” she said. They shook hands.

  “Have you met our General Counsel, Howard Ryan?”

  “No,” Kathleen said, exchanging glances with the man. “I won’t take up much of your time this morning. I simply need a little of your help, and I’ll be off.”

  The DCI motioned for her to take a seat, and when she was settled he went back to his own chair behind his desk. Carrara remained standing by the door, and Ryan perched on the arm of the couch. For a moment it felt to Kathleen as if she were in for an inquisition. But then her reception was nothing less than she’d expected.

  “I’m assuming that your visit to us this morning has something to do with your ex-husband,” Murphy said.

  “Mrs. McGarvey is of the opinion that Kirk is working for us,” Carrara said.

  “What makes you think so?” Murphy asked. “Did Kirk tell you that himself? Did he tell you that he’d taken on an assignment for us?”

  “He didn’t have to. I know him well enough to know when he is off in the bush.”

  “Apparently you don’t know him well enough to keep him,” Ryan said.

  Kathleen shot him a dirty look, and she started to say something, but changed her mind. She’d heard about him. They called him the “toy spy.”

  “Let’s assume for the moment that he is on assignment for us,” the DCI said. “You understand that we could not confirm or deny it, let alone tell you where he was. You do know that.”