Face Off--A Kirk McGarvey Novel

by David Hagberg

  “Too late,” McGarvey said.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The interval from the time Miriam had shown up in the stairwell was less than two minutes, but listening to Otto on the phone with one ear while listening to the silence of the building with the other and watching the woman, he made his decision.

  He pocketed the phone and lowered the compact submachine gun. “One of us has to make the first move.”

  Miriam started to reach behind her back but stopped as Mac raised the room broom again.

  “First move, but not a stupid one.”

  She said nothing.

  “I suppose I can kill you, then take out whoever is just above, before I kill your boss.”

  “He is pointing a gun pointed directly at your girlfriend’s head.”

  “And mine is pointed at you. My offer of a trade is still on the table.”

  “How do you want to handle it, Mr. McGarvey?” a man said from the next landing up.

  “Bring Ms. Boylan down to where I can see her.”

  “Then what?”

  “We’ll all go down to the ground floor, where you’ll let her get in one of the cars and drive away.”

  “Afterwards?”

  “I’ll lay down my weapons and go with you.”

  “What guarantee do I have?” Najjir asked.

  “My word.”

  “Other than your girlfriend’s life, why should I trust that you’ll surrender peacefully?”

  “Because you have only one choice,” McGarvey said. “Do as I say or I’ll kill the woman and the rest of your people, including you, in the next thirty seconds—and you can count on it.”

  “I think that you would try, but the odds are still against you.”

  “What do I have to lose?”

  “Besides your life, why, your freedom, of course.”

  “So you can take me to Russia?” McGarvey asked. “Can you imagine the shitstorm that’s going to rain down on you when my people find out where you’ve taken me? And do you actually believe that the Kremlin will thank you for bringing them a former head of the CIA?”

  “You’re not making a very good case for yourself,” Miriam said.

  “They’d only need you for twenty-four hours, after which you would be released relatively unharmed,” Najjir said from the flight above.

  “I’m tired of standing here. Bring her down or I’ll start with the woman.”

  “She doesn’t mean a thing to me.”

  McGarvey motioned for Miriam to move to one side, out of the direct path from the stairs leading up. She did it.

  “Take out your gun, lay it on the floor, and shove it toward me with your foot.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “You don’t mean anything to him, nor to me.”

  “Do as you’re told, my dear,” Najjir said. “I’ll have the woman brought down as he asks. I don’t care about either of you.”

  Miriam withdrew her compact Glock pistol and, keeping her eyes on McGarvey’s, bent down and laid it on the floor. She straightened up and shoved it a few feet away.

  “Do it now, but slowly,” McGarvey said, and he stepped back so that he was at the fire door to the corridor. From his position he had clear sight lines not only on the woman but also on the stairs leading up and those leading down.

  “Watch yourself,” Pete called down. Her voice was shaky.

  “You okay?”

  “Peachy, except that Mr. Najjir is holding a pistol at my head,” she said. She let out a yelp as if she had been hit. “One other shooter with the broad, plus whoever you didn’t already kill downstairs.”

  “She’ll need to be able to walk down the stairs and out to the car under her own steam,” McGarvey said.

  One man dressed in black came into view on the landing above. When he spotted Mac in the doorway, he hesitated, but then came slowly down the rest of the way, stopping again. His room broom was pointed down and away, but his finger was on the trigger. He was ready to shoot at the slightest provocation.

  “Does the situation hold?” Najjir asked. He and Pete and were still out of view, but closer. Almost certainly just a few stairs above the landing.

  “Ja,” the shooter standing next to Miriam answered. He was German.

  Keeping his gun pointed between the stairway and the operator, Mac raised his phone with his left hand. “Otto?”

  “Here.”

  “Switch back to networking and speakerphone modes.”

  “Done.”

  “How many shooters are left in the building?” McGarvey called up the stairs.

  “The one in front of you, and two on the landing one flight below,” Najjir said. “Our misjudgment that we allowed you to take out the others.”

  “Count me in for three on the roof,” Pete said.

  “Can you verify any other active phones in the building?” Mac asked Otto.

  “A bunch, but all of them on the ground floor, and three on the roof are not moving. Chances are he’s not lying.”

  “No need at this point,” Najjir said.

  “Tell your people on the landing below me to go downstairs, start one of the cars, pull it in front of the door so that it faces the open gate, then step well back.”

  “Their weapons?”

  “Won’t matter at that point.”

  “Do as he wants,” Najjir said.

  “The advantage will be his,” someone called from below.

  “Just do it, Sergei.”

  The two shooters on the landing below started down, not bothering with any efforts at stealth.

  “I’m coming down now, with Ms. Boylan,” Najjir said.

  “Otto?”

  “Two phones below are moving downward, two are stationary at your level, and the one just above you is heading your way.”

  “The rest of you switch off,” Najjir said over the phone.

  The shooter lowered his weapon, got the phone from his pocket, and took the back off and removed the battery. He tossed everything aside, and Miriam followed suit.

  “Everyone but you is off-line,” Otto said.

  Najjir appeared in the stairwell with Pete, hesitated a moment, then came down to the landing. “The phones were a nuisance. I thought it would be to my advantage to level the playing field.”

  McGarvey had the nearly overwhelming urge to shoot the bastard, but something nagged at the back of his head and he held up.

  “Here we all are, one big, happy family,” Najjir said. “I suggest now that we do as McGarvey says, but carefully; we don’t want any further excitement.” He made a show of placing his pistol on the floor. “I want everyone to lay their PDWs on the floor and push them out of reach.” The personal defense weapons were the Heckler & Koch compact submachine guns.

  Pete moved her head slightly to the left and then to the right, as if she were trying to ease a stiff neck.

  The shooter on the landing placed his room broom on the floor and pushed it aside.

  “Mac,” Pete suddenly cried, when the muzzle of a pistol touched the back of McGarvey’s head.

  THIRTY-NINE

  “Shall I kill him?” the man holding the pistol to McGarvey’s head asked. He was Russian.

  “No, he’s more valuable to me alive,” Najjir said.

  In that instant the gunman’s attention had turned to his boss.

  Mac feinted left, then suddenly swiveled to the right. Bringing his pistol around, he fired one shot at point-blank range into the side of the man’s head.

  “Kill the son of a bitch,” someone shouted.

  McGarvey shoved the body aside and stepped out into the corridor as Miriam started for her pistol lying on the floor.

  Najjir had stepped back at the same instant Pete dropped to her knees, exposing the shooter who had the muzzle of his pistol jammed against her head.

  The man brought his weapon around, but before he could get off a shot, McGarvey fired, hitting the operator center mass, dropping him.

  Miriam had just reached her pi
stol when Mac turned on her, while watching Najjir and Pete out of the corner of one eye. “Touch it and I’ll kill you.”

  She hesitated.

  “Stand up and back away.”

  Miriam did as she was told, and Mac turned most of his attention to Najjir, who hadn’t drawn a weapon, and to Pete, who was still on her knees.

  “Come on down; we’re getting out of here.”

  “I can’t stand up,” Pete said. She was battered, her face badly bruised, and she spoke with a slur, as if she were missing teeth.

  Najjir seemed almost amused. “What to do now?” he asked.

  “Two options,” Mac said. “Either I kill you and the woman right now and help Ms. Boylan down the stairs. Or the two of you help her.”

  “As you wish,” Najjir said, and he helped Pete to her feet. “Almost done, my dear.”

  “Otto, any other shooters below me?”

  “No signal from anyone but you.”

  “There were two men coming up.”

  “Nothing my darlings are picking up.”

  “Stand by. We’re coming down,” McGarvey said. He motioned for Najjir to start down.

  Miriam had a look almost of wonder on her face. “You’re actually going to give yourself over once your missus is clear?”

  “Something like that,” Mac said.

  “That’s providing he doesn’t see any opening for the two of them,” Najjir said. He had to all but carry Pete the last couple of stairs to the landing. “But then he’d be operating under a handicap. The poor girl is in desperate shape. What will he do?”

  “I’ll kill you sooner or later,” Mac said.

  Najjir shrugged. “You’ll try.”

  “Call your man, tell him that we’re on the way down.”

  “Sergei, copy?”

  “Da,” the man replied. It sounded as if he was on the first landing below them.

  “We’re coming down with the woman.”

  “What are your orders?”

  “Go downstairs, move the Mercedes around to the door so that it’s pointed toward the gate, then leave the engine running, the driver’s side door open, and take up a defensive position, with a good sight line. Do you have that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’re making a trade, so I want no shooting unless the situation deteriorates. Do you understand that as well?”

  “Da.”

  “Do it now,” Najjir said. He turned back to McGarvey. “What if your girlfriend is incapable of driving away by herself?”

  “I can work a shifter, turn the wheel, and push on the gas pedal, you fucking moron,” Pete said through clenched teeth. She was looking directly at McGarvey. Telling him something.

  “Your new love, so willing to save her own ass by sacrificing yours?” Miriam smirked.

  “Only because he’s going to kill both of you, bitch.”

  “Shall we go downstairs?” Najjir said. “I want us to be at the airport and on our way before midnight.”

  * * *

  The color on one of Otto’s monitors turned lavender, which indicated that something the program deemed to have a low percentage of probability was unfolding, and he looked up.

  The drone that had followed Bambridge to the meeting at Turkey Run Park had risen from its perch in the tree as soon as he and Rodak were clear.

  The White House staffer was headed back to Washington, but Marty had turned west on the Parkway, away from the city, and away from the CIA’s main entrance.

  * * *

  Miriam went first down the stairs, followed by Najjir, who was holding Pete’s arm to keep her from falling.

  “Wait,” Pete cried, and her legs started to buckle.

  Najjir stopped short and Miriam, just below them, turned and looked up.

  “I can’t walk,” Pete said. She tried to put her right arm over his shoulder, around his neck, but he pulled back. “If you think I like this any better than you do, you’re living in a dream world. But I need some help here.”

  Mac was a few steps above them.

  “As you wish,” Najjir said, and he helped her stand upright and put her arm around his neck.

  “Let’s go,” Mac said.

  Miriam started down, and Najjir and Pete followed.

  They held up for just a moment or two at the second-floor landing, then made the turn and continued down.

  The going was slow, and McGarvey got the distinct impression that Pete was feigning her disability to slow them down. But he couldn’t be sure.

  It took a full four minutes to make it the rest of the way to the ground floor. The entry hall led straight across to the open front doors, a distance of twenty or twenty-five feet. There was a lot of blood on the stone floor, and shell casings were scattered everywhere. But the bodies had been moved, skid marks in the blood leading off to the left.

  Najjir’s people had been well trained. They had policed up the close-quarters battle zone so if it came to another firefight they would not be slowed down by a debris field.

  The gray Mercedes diesel started up and pulled into view in front of the doors. A black-clad shooter got out, looked back, then left the driver’s door open and disappeared from view to the right.

  Najjir looked over his shoulder at McGarvey. “Your girlfriend has a free pass. You have my word that so long as no one makes a hasty move we’ll have this done in the next two minutes.”

  * * *

  Otto came on Mac’s phone. “Is your situation fluid?”

  It was Rencke speak for: Did Mac have any options open or was he backed into a corner?

  “Limited.”

  “Marty just dropped off the grid. You probably have trouble coming your way, kemo sabe.”

  FORTY

  Pete dragged her feet as they crossed the entry hall, causing Najjir to hold almost all of her weight to keep her from falling.

  Miriam went ahead to the open doors and stepped outside. “Sergei’s in place,” she said, over her shoulder.

  “Step out of the line of fire,” Najjir told her.

  She disappeared to the left.

  Najjir turned. “The ball is in your court, Mr. McGarvey. But if you stay here I’ll walk your girlfriend to the car, and when she’s gone you’ll put down your weapons and come outside.”

  “Trusting,” McGarvey said.

  “I’m told that you are a man of your word. I’m saving Ms. Boylan’s life and I promise to deliver you to the SVR intact.”

  Pete suddenly lurched against Najjir’s side as if her legs were completely giving way.

  He grabbed her shoulder, leaving his right side exposed, his jacket pulled open.

  At that moment Pete snatched the pistol from his shoulder holster, then shoved away from him, raising the gun so that it pointed directly at the side of his head.

  “Tell your man to toss down his gun and back the fuck up, or I’ll kill you,” Pete screamed.

  Najjir turned, seemingly unconcerned, and smiled. “I thought that you were playacting, my dear. But you should have checked that the gun was ready to fire. Full magazine, but no round in the chamber.”

  McGarvey had raised his room broom, but Pete stood directly in his line of fire. “Down!” he shouted.

  Pete worked the slide back, jacking a round into the firing chamber at the same moment Najjir sprinted forward, out the door. She fired just as he disappeared from view.

  * * *

  There was little doubt in Marty’s mind that Rencke had somehow traced his movements to the meeting with Rodak at Turkey Run. Maybe his freak of a wife had managed to retask one of the spy birds in geosync orbit. But it would have been impossible—even with the latest technology, which allowed their satellite to read the fine print on a line of stock quotes in a newspaper, even under low-light conditions—to read their lips. And the angle would have had to be perfect in any case to read what they were saying.

  He was safe in that respect, but Rencke would have to know, or at least strongly suspect, that the meeting with Rodak had
to involve McGarvey’s current situation.

  What Rencke couldn’t possibly know was that Bambridge had purchased a throwaway cell phone at each of three convenience stores over the past two months against just this possibility.

  As soon as he merged with the I-495 Beltway south, he used one of the throwaways to call a number in New York.

  It was answered after the first ring, as if the officer had been expecting the call.

  “Da.”

  * * *

  McGarvey reached Pete just as a shooter outside opened fire, the rounds ricocheting off the stone floor, bullet fragments flying everywhere.

  One plucked at his shoulder, and another, much larger fragment smashed into his prosthetic leg a few inches above where his ankle had been, nearly knocking him off his feet. He had only an instant to think that if he hadn’t lost his leg last year, the round would have hit live flesh and bone and he would have been down.

  Half shoving, half pulling Pete, he ducked into the long corridor that ran the width of the building, from the entry hall, past rooms that had been used as offices—one of them most recently the staging room for Najjir and his operators—all the way to the broad manufacturing floor.

  Most of the walls in the big space—perhaps eighty or ninety feet on a side—were intact, but there were large gaps where windows had once existed, and the high ceiling here was open to the night sky in several places. All of the machinery and everything else of value had been long ago removed or looted, leaving behind only debris, much of it ceiling and roof materials that had fallen down.

  A dark figure appeared at an opening in the wall straight ahead, and McGarvey got off two short bursts from the room broom before it went dry.

  He angled sharply toward the deeper darkness to the left as Pete opened fire with Najjir’s pistol.

  The shooter at the far wall opened fire again, but the shots went wild, far to the right.

  Pete’s left knee gave out and she went down hard on the other, but immediately struggled up, obviously in a lot of pain.

  “They’re concentrating back here, so we’re going to turn around and try for the car,” McGarvey said. “Are you okay?”

  Pete grinned. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

  McGarvey took the spare magazine from his pocket and recharged the room broom. As he did so, Pete reached over and gave him a kiss on the cheek, then took the gun from him and handed Najjir’s pistol to him.