Abyss km-15

by David Hagberg

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Estevez, but I’m at a total loss why I’m here,” Callahan said, and he looked at the others to see if they were wondering the same thing. But if they were it wasn’t obvious.

  “Hutchinson Island, as I told you on the phone this morning,” Estevez said. “And what it could mean for us. Future ramifications.”

  “I understand that Kirk McGarvey came over to have a talk with you,” Bambridge said, almost too casually, and Callahan caught a glimmer as to why he’d been called.

  “A couple of months ago. Right after Hutchinson Island.”

  “Care to share with us the general substance of your meeting?” Estevez said. “It wasn’t a privileged conversation was it?”

  “No, not at all,” Callahan said. He didn’t like the position he had been put in, but at this point he could see no way out, nor had McGarvey asked that their meeting be kept confidential. “The NNSA asked him to investigate the incident and he wanted to know what, if anything, the Bureau had found.”

  “It’s only natural,” Caldwell said. “He was there when it happened, after all, and he helped limit the damage. Lost his partner.”

  “Did he share any early conclusions with you?” Estevez asked.

  “He mentioned the Reverend Schlagel who’s been capitalizing on the incident to further his political career. Then, of course, there was the incident at Oslo.”

  “The reverend’s people. Both dead.”

  “Yes, sir. Anyway McGarvey was suspicious even two months ago about the coincidental nature.”

  Estevez exchanged a glance with the others. “He’s a bright man. What else?”

  “We discussed Schlagel’s possible connection with a hedge fund manager in Dubai and the UAE International Bank of Commerce. The Bureau has had them under investigation.”

  “Anne Marie Marinaccio,” Estevez said. “We know all about her.”

  “And that’s about it,” Callahan said. “We agreed that there wasn’t enough evidence to link Marinaccio or Schlagel to a professional who apparently pulled off the Hutchinson Island attack with only one man inside helping out.”

  “Yes, we know about that, too,” Bambdrige said.

  “Any contact with McGarvey since then?” Estevez asked.

  “No.”

  “Where are you at with your division’s investigation? Any progress you could share with us?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have a thing other than the probability that the hired gun is someone at the top of his game. Likely international, with a lot of experience and enough intelligence and professionalism that he’s left no tracks which we could use to trace him.”

  “We’re running into the same problem,” Bambridge said. “Even Otto Rencke is drawing blanks.”

  “What are the chances McGarvey will come up with something useful?” Estevez asked the CIA officer.

  “He’s never failed before. Walt Page has a lot of confidence in him.”

  “You’re aware that he’s become something of an attachment to Eve Larsen. Almost her personal bodyguard,” the Energy Department’s deputy secretary said.

  “He thought that whoever was behind the Hutchinson Island attack would go after her again,” Bambridge said. “Seems he was right. Just maybe he’s using her as a lightning rod.”

  What they were saying made a certain chilling sense to Callahan. “The Marinnacio Group deals mostly in oil derivatives,” he said. “And it would be in her best interest, and in the best interest of the major oil-producing nations to limit the development of alternate energy sources.”

  The three men looked at him, but said nothing.

  “That would include nuclear energy. There’s a rising public sentiment against the thirty or so permits for new construction, a lot of it engineered by Schalgel. So I see where McGarvey is taking it. And it would also include an opposition to Eve Larsen’s project — especially now that she’s received the Nobel Prize.”

  “Your point, Bill?” Estevez asked.

  “We need to help out. We need to protect her. And Homeland Security and the NNSA need to up the threat level and increase security on all of our existing nuclear facilities.”

  “And there is the crux of the problem the president is faced with,” Estevez said. “Besides the fact the guys who tried to take her out in Oslo have been bagged we have to deal with the interim, and we need to provide the solution.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “In November the President met with Salman bin Talal — he’s the the new Saudi oil minister — here in the White House, mostly about continuing basing privileges for our Air Force, and the Iranian nuclear issue.”

  “It was in the news,” Callahan said.

  “They were very cooperative,” Estevez said. “The president scored a couple of points. But what wasn’t in the news was Talal’s warning that we not rush so quickly into unproven alternate sources of energy. Americans, he said, aren’t willing to give up their SUVs yet. Coal is unsustainable in terms of carbon dioxide, and it will take a viable oil industry to meet demands. First, he said, switch to all electric transportation — for which oil will be the primary resource alongside nuclear energy. Then on a small scale, investigate alternate energy, because such resources may be as far off as the next century.”

  “Nonsense,” Callahan said.

  “Of course. But the implied threat was that if we put national resources behind projects like Dr. Larsen’s water wheels, the Saudis and other OPEC nations would began to decrease outputs by substantial percentages. It would place the U.S. in an untenable position.”

  “Worse than the gas lines in the seventies,” Caldwell said. “Strangely at Interior agrees.” Strangely Blumenthal was the Secretary of the Department of Interior, which regulated oil drilling.

  “Blackmail,” Callahan said.

  “Real-world politics,” Estevez said. “We can’t afford to drag our heels on alternate energy research, but we’ve been forced into that position. So unless people like Dr. Larsen can come up with a solution, and I mean a plug-and-play fix, we’ll have to keep hands off.”

  “Or appear to,” Bambridge said. “Which is where McGarvey has already been useful, and it’s up to us to keep him in the middle.”

  “We can’t give him any overt assistance,” Estevez said. “As I understand it, he may ride Dr. Larsen’s oil rig all the way to Florida, and we won’t stand in his way. He’s doing this on his own.”

  “We can let it leak that there may be a romantic interest there,” Caldwell said. “He lost his wife eighteen months ago.”

  Callahan thought the suggestion was pure sleaze, but he said nothing.

  “It would be a good fit,” Estevez said. “Plausible.”

  Callahan wanted to ask if this was what the national security adviser had meant by real-world politics, but he thought he knew what the answer would be

  “It also helps that she got the Peace Prize,” Caldwell said. “Trivializes her work to some extent. She’s making a noble effort and all that — no pun intended — but her science wasn’t sound enough to get the physics prize.”

  Estevez was nodding. “I see your point, and it helps,” he said, and he looked at Callahan. “Don’t be confused by what you think you’re hearing. All of us here have the utmost respect for Dr. Larsen and her project. What we’re actually trying to do is protect her.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t see how unless you’re willing to have the rig accompanied by the Coast Guard or Navy, perhaps have a SEAL team standing by.”

  “That’s exactly what we can’t do,” Estevez said. “Let me explain something. We know about Schlagel’s connection with Marinaccio and probably with the bank in Dubai. And do you know how that information came to us?”

  “Not from the Bureau,” Callahan said.

  “And not from the CIA. It came to me directly from Abdullah al-Naimi, right here in this office in November. And if the name’s not familiar, al-Naimi is the deputy director of the GIP, which is the Saudi
’s chief intelligence agency.”

  “We’re keeping an eye on Marinaccio and Schlagel,” Bambridge said. “There’s no proof that either of them were connected in any way with Hutchinson Island, or the incident in Oslo, but we think it’s a fair assumption that the bank might have provided some or all of the financing.”

  “We’re helping Dr. Larsen by monitoring the probable source of the money that would be used to harm her, while complying with the Saudi’s warning to go easy on alternate energy for now,” Estevez said. “Al-Naimi gave us a quid pro quo.”

  Real-world politics, indeed. “You do understand that if this thing goes bad, and McGarvey is in the middle of it, a lot of bodies will probably pile up. Worse than Hutchinson Island.”

  “We won’t allow piracy,” Estevez promised. “We’ll get a message to him that if he needs help, we’ll back him up.”

  But Callahan wondered if he believed the president’s national security adviser.

  FORTY-FOUR

  McGarvey went into the office, bringing Admiral French up to speed, including what had happened in Oslo, and his plan for him and Gail to ride the oil platform to Florida with Eve Larsen and her techs. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to have some backup? A Coast Guard escort?”

  “I don’t want to scare them off,” McGarvey said.

  “You’re expecting an incident?”

  “I think it’s possible.”

  French just stared at him for a few beats, then shook his head. “It’s why I hired you,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I have to like your methods or even approve of them. When do you leave?”

  “A couple of days, I think. Whenever Dr. Larsen has her equipment and people aboard.”

  He spent the afternoon working with Gail and Eric in the computer center, connected through several programs with Otto over at the CIA, and all of them were frustrated by the total lack of progress. McGarvey especially so because he’d wanted some lead, even the barest of hints about what might be coming their way, before he flew down to Mississippi and joined Eve and her crew aboard the oil platform.

  During a break when he’d stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air, Gail joined him and they sat at one of the picnic benches in the park across the street without saying a word to each other for at least ten minutes. Until Gail broke the silence.

  “Do you still want me on the rig with you?” she asked, not looking at him.

  He’d felt her tension over the past few days. “Can’t order you to come with me.”

  “Not what I asked, Kirk.”

  “What then?” he said, refusing to get sucked into the discussion he knew was coming.

  “Us.”

  He turned to face her. “There is no us,” he said, and he held off her objection. “Not until after we’re finished with the situation and it’s time to get back to our jobs.”

  She’d searched his eyes. “I don’t think you’re coming back. You’re not NEST team trainer material.”

  “A lot of them need it. Gruen needs it.”

  “I can handle that part,” Gail said. “Teach them what I learned from my mistakes. What I’m still learning. From you.”

  McGarvey didn’t have the answers she wanted. Maybe having her at the apartment had been a mistake, and thinking about it now he didn’t know why he’d made the decision. Fear for her safety? Loneliness? Maybe more of the latter. But he didn’t want being lonely to drive his decisions. Especially not in the field when his life and the lives of a lot of other people were on the line.

  “Yes, I’d like you to come out to the rig with me,” he said. “You’re a good cop, and everyone else aboard will either be scientists and technicians, or InterOil’s delivery crew. I can’t cover everything twenty-four/seven.”

  She smiled. “If you knew how much I hated shift work you’d really appreciate my telling you I’ll be happy to help out. When do we leave?”

  “I don’t know,” McGarvey said. “I’ll find out in the next day or two. I’m supposed to have dinner with her at some point.”

  “Since this concerns me, shouldn’t I tag along?”

  And it was exactly what he hoped she wouldn’t say, but knew she would, and why. “There’s no need for you to be jealous,” he said, and she reacted as if she’d been slapped, but before she could say something, he finished the thought. “Nothing is going on between us.”

  She looked at him, her eyes squinty whenever she was frustrated. “I’m anything but jealous. And even if there was something between you it’d be none of my business.”

  McGarvey shrugged, not wanting to provoke an argument.

  “You and I have a working relationship. You’ve already made that very clear and I’m going along with it.”

  “On the rig we’re partners not lovers,” McGarvey said, and the instant he did he regretted it, because he saw that Gail had been stung and she was angry. Having her stay with him at the apartment had been a mistake, and making love to her had been an even more colossal error. He hadn’t been thinking straight; he’d been thinking through his loneliness, not considering the kind of hurt she would feel afterwards — like right now — when he had all but told her that there would never be anything between them.

  It had been the same last year during her training, when they’d fallen into bed together. Both of them had been lost, hungry, needy. And he’d handled that aftermath just as badly as he was handling the situation now.

  But he refused to lower his eyes. “I’m sorry, Gail. That came out badly. What I meant to say is that we have to keep an eye on what we’re doing twenty-four/seven, no distractions. Once we make it to Florida we can decide which way we’re going.”

  But she already knew what the outcome would be and it showed on her face, her anger gone, replaced by sadness. “Then I should start packing.”

  “I’m going to fly down to take a quick look at the platform first. I want to see if it’s going to be the kind of security nightmare I think it’ll be. In the meantime I want you here to work with Eric and Otto.”

  “I need to go down to St. Lucie and pick up some things from my apartment.”

  “It could get rough, so pack accordingly.”

  She nodded. “What about weapons?”

  If there was more to say, and McGarvey suspected there should be, he didn’t know what it was. “I’ll get what we need from the CIA.”

  She got up to leave, and managed a slight smile. “No pressure, Kirk.”

  “None felt,” McGarvey said, and they knew that both of them were lying.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, even more frustrated with their continued lack of progress, McGarvey cabbed it back to Georgetown and on the way his cell phone chimed. It was Eve, and she sounded out of breath. She was in Washington up to her eyeballs with last-minute work before heading down to the rig the day after tomorrow, and she wanted to have dinner with him tonight. Five thirty at the restaurant in the Watergate. Her apartment was just across the parking lot, and she needed to make an early night of it because she still had a ton of work to do.

  McGarvey found that he was glad to hear from her, in part because he finally had a timetable. And she was waiting for him in a booth at 600 at the Watergate, a reasonably priced restaurant, she said, with a reasonable menu and reasonably decent food. They had a view of the Potomac, and the place was less than half full because of the early hour.

  When their drinks came, and they had both ordered filets, Eve came straight to the point, and McGarvey thought that she seemed a little more intimidated than she had been outside the Fox studio after her interview and again when they’d first arrived in Oslo.

  “Up in Princeton in my lab, I pretty well run the show. I’m my own boss, but down here in Washington it’s a different story, because technically my project comes under NOAA’s umbrella, and sometimes they can get pretty heavy-handed.”

  McGarvey shrugged. “I’ve worked with and for the government for most of my adult life, so I know what you mean. But they’re the ones with the bi
g bucks.”

  Eve brightened a little. “You haven’t heard about my good news.”

  “No.”

  “If we get the rig to Hutchinson Island, and set up the impellers so that we’re delivering electricity to the grid, I’ll be given a nonconditional grant for one billion dollars.”

  Alarm bells immediately began to ring, but McGarvey just smiled at her. “NOAA?”

  She laughed. “Not a chance. This comes from Dubai, from the International Bank of Commerce. The fax came to my office two days ago, but we’ve decided to keep it quiet until Florida.”

  But it was an empty gesture meant to lull her into a sense of complacency, make her believe that with that kind of money no one would try to stop her. But that’s exactly what the offer meant. No money would ever be paid to her, because the rig would never reach the Gulf Stream and the UAEIBC would make sure of it.

  “That’s a bank funded primarily with oil and oil derivatives money,” he said.

  She was taken by surprise, and she shook her head. “That’s what Bob Krantz told me yesterday. Almost word for word. He’s head of special projects for NOAA, which makes him my boss. He suggested I turn it down.”

  “Wouldn’t matter,” McGarvey said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you realize what that kind of money will do for my project? How many impeller-generators we can anchor out in the Gulf Stream? It’ll give me a five year head start.”

  “If you get to Hutchinson Island.”

  Suddenly Eve was alarmed. “Bob tried to get a Coast Guard escort for us, but they turned him down flat. No evidence that we would come under attack, especially now that the guys who tried to kill me in Oslo are no longer a threat.”

  That wasn’t surprising to McGarvey, considering the tensions between the U.S. and Saudi Arabia, and just about every OPEC country. The U.S. government had made enough mistakes in Iraq, and combined with its unwavering support of Israel against the Palestinians, U.S. popularity in the region was nil. The administration had to be walking a fine line, because it needed OPEC more than they needed the U.S. Any oil not sold to the U.S. would be snapped up by the Chinese; it was becoming a worldwide sellers’ market.