The Art of War: A Novel (26 page)

“You still have guards in a van around the corner?”

“Oh, yes. I feel like a crime boss.”

We got the car from the garage, after opening the hood and checking it out, and Grafton parked in front of his building in the loading zone. I went upstairs and hauled Anna’s bags down, then went back for mine. We said good-bye to Callie, who kissed us both.

Traffic that evening was terrible. Everyone inside the Beltway was trying to get out. As we crept along in stop-and-go traffic, a fine mist of rain smeared the windshield. Grafton played with his wipers, and we chatted.

I have relived that drive in my memory a dozen times, and I can’t recall what we talked about. Anna sat in the backseat behind Grafton, and I rode twisted around so I could see her. I remember her smile. She was so full of hope. Full of life.

Grafton dropped us under the awning of my building, so we were out of the misting drizzle as we unloaded the luggage. I got out my keys and opened the door to the building. Grafton wanted to help me carry the luggage, but I refused. Anna and I could pull it on the little wheels, and we had kept him long enough. I can’t remember what I said. Thanked him, certainly. I remember him hugging Anna and shaking my hand and smiling broadly.

Then he held the door until we were through it. The elevator came as he drove away.

I remember thinking that if I had known I was bringing Anna home, I could have really cleaned up the apartment. Oh well.

I opened the door, let her precede me, then began dragging luggage in. The place smelled closed up. I had been gone a week. I went to the windows and opened them a few inches to admit some air.

I don’t remember turning the lights on, but I must have. I think I gave her a tour of the place, both bedrooms, the kitchen, showed her the closets.

I asked her if she wanted something to drink. I have forgotten what she said. Maybe she wanted a glass of water.

Anyway, she was in the bedroom with her suitcase and I was in the kitchen when it happened. There was a huge concussion, like a car crash, and I remember being swept off my feet and flying through the air … I don’t remember sound. No boom. None of that. Just the impact and flying through the air.

Then nothing.

*   *   *

When I woke up I was in this hospital bed, Admiral. How long have I been here?

A policeman came a while ago. I don’t know when. Or maybe a fireman. Someone in uniform. He told me she died instantly. The bomb was apparently in the dresser. He said the blast was centered in that corner of the bedroom. He said a wall that was blown out whacked me in the kitchen.

So Anna’s dead. And I can’t remember much. How long have I been here? When are they going to let me out?

Do you know who did it?

Don’t beat around the bush with me, Grafton. Tell it to me straight.

Who did it? Who put that bomb in my apartment?

Who murdered Anna?

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the results of a hundred battles.

—Sun Tzu

When he came out of the hospital room, Jake Grafton found four men wearing casual clothes and light jackets standing in the hallway. They were covert operators from the agency: Travis Clay, Willis Coffey, Doc Gordon and Pablo Martinez. All had pistols in holsters hidden under their jackets.

“How is he?” Coffey asked.

“Has a concussion, some contusions, cuts and scrapes, a light burn and some memory loss. Doctor said nothing is broken or smashed. They want to observe him for a few days.”

The four men nodded grimly. They all had worked with Carmellini on various occasions.

“So how about two of you on watch outside the door day and night. Twelve-hour shifts, staggered. No one but hospital personnel with the appropriate badges with photo ID goes through the door. If they take him out, one of you accompanies him and the other waits in the room. I told the doctor to arrange to have meals brought up to you from the cafeteria.”

They nodded.

Jake took a paper from his pocket and handed each of them a sheet. It was a photo from a computer printer. “Study this photo and keep the paper in your pocket. It’s from the video cameras at Dulles. Tommy recognized this guy there last week, chased him and had him in hand when the police interfered. The guy escaped. It’s just possible this guy is the dude who tried to bomb my place and did bomb Tommy’s. If it is him, he’s a killer. I’d like him alive and able to talk, but don’t take any chances. He’s undoubtedly armed. If you have to shoot him, kill him.”

They all nodded again.

“He’s a little under six feet, Tommy said. White man, and fit.”

“We have a name?”

“Not the one his mother gave him.”

More nods.

“Call me anytime if you have any trouble. You have my cell number. If anything goes wrong. Anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can visit him a little, one at a time, when the doctor says it’s okay, but he needs rest.”

“Yeah.”

As Jake came out of the elevator in the lobby, he met Willie Varner coming in.

Varner recognized him.

“Let’s chat,” Jake said, and led him into the lobby and gestured to chairs. “How’d you learn about this?”

“Man, it was in the mornin’ paper.”

Grafton sighed.

“His girl really got it, huh?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Same guy who tried to bomb you?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps.”

Willie ran his hand through his hair. “Damn,” he said softly. “He called me from London. Said he was gonna get married.” Willie sighed, remembering. “Never heard him so happy. And it all turned to shit.”

Grafton described Tommy’s physical condition. “He’ll be out of here in a few days. No visitors.”

“Man, the same asshole could walk in here and waste him.”

“I have some men upstairs.”

“Okay.” Willie nodded his head and wiped his eyes. “Really tough shit for Tommy, man.”

“He told me he mailed you an envelope from London. When it comes, call me. Don’t open it. I’ll send a man to get it.”

“Okay. You know I’m still watchin’ the video from your place from time to time. If anythin’ happens, I can’t call Tommy. Want me to call you?”

“Yes. If you can’t get me, call nine-one-one.”

“He really gonna be okay?”

“The doctor is hopeful. So am I.”

Willie cussed a bit, then stood up, and they walked out of the hospital together.

When Grafton stuck out his hand in the parking lot to shake, Willie Varner seized it and gave it a pump. “You better find that bomber motherfucker soon,” he advised. “If Tommy gets to him before you do, there won’t be enough left of him to make a little dog’s breakfast. Tommy’s a good guy, and something like that wouldn’t be good for his soul.”

*   *   *

When he got back to Langley, Jake Grafton found Zoe Kerry waiting for him.

“Carmellini’s place was blown up with a dynamite bomb. Four sticks, at least.”

“What else?”

“The FBI is working it, Admiral. There’s a security camera in the lobby, but it’s on a twenty-four-hour loop. We took it and sent it to the lab, but…”

“What about that dude Tommy tackled at Dulles last week?”

“We’re working that angle. Getting some resistance from Homeland. What their problem is I don’t know.”

“Tomazic?”

“No further information.”

Grafton thanked her and sent her on her way. Then he had the receptionist call Sarah Houston. When she came into his office fifteen minutes later, he asked, “What have you got?”

“How is Tommy?”

She seated herself near the corner of Grafton’s desk and put her file folders on her lap.

“Alive, with a concussion and cuts and bruises. A few days before they discharge him.” Grafton eyed Tommy’s former girlfriend. “No visitors, the doctor said.”

Sarah nodded. “I didn’t know he had a fiancée.”

“They just decided to get married. He brought her back from Switzerland. He asked her to marry him once before, years ago, and she refused. She said yes this time. Came home with him and got blown up. Murdered. Sometimes life hands you a shit sandwich.”

She didn’t say anything to that, merely glanced at the files in her lap.

“What do you have?” Grafton asked, all business.

“The Chinese have indeed been into the navy’s computer systems. I’ve got a report here. It will take a while to read.” She passed it across.

“Anything jump out at you?” he asked as he glanced through it.

“I think the Russians have been in there, too. The systems are structurally weak.”

“Terrific.”

“They don’t seem to have cracked the heavily encrypted stuff. Both powers have been into the low-grade stuff, such as ship schedules, port visits, that kind of thing.”

“Okay.”

“The thing I found a bit hard to understand—the navy has every carrier in the Atlantic Fleet scheduled into Norfolk over Christmas. They did the same thing two years ago during a budget battle with Congress.”

“All of them?”

“Yep. All five of the battle groups. Some of the escorts will go to other ports on the East Coast, but the carriers will all go to Norfolk.”

“Unbelievable,” Grafton muttered. He didn’t bother to tell Sarah he already knew of the navy’s op plans for the carriers over the holidays.

“The navy has some light maintenance scheduled for the ships,” she continued, “and they are apparently going to be generous with Christmas leave for the sailors. The ships will be there through New Year’s, at least.”

“Five carriers,” Grafton mused, playing with a pencil while he scanned the report. “What else?”

“I’m recording phone calls on those numbers you gave me. You are treading on dangerous ground, Admiral.”

“Anything interesting?”

“The White House staffers about lost it when the president’s plane went down. That came as a huge shock to them.”

“Did to me, too.”

“They keep asking each other, ‘What’s happening?’”

Grafton used the eraser on his pencil to rub his head. After a moment he asked, “This guy Tommy tried to catch at the airport and you got the photo of, where is that?”

Sarah Houston said, “Homeland Security called the FBI off.”

“Really?”

“Really. A couple of calls on that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Grafton collected his thoughts. “I think someone told Homeland Security that I sent Tommy to Switzerland. He was thoroughly searched at Dulles when he came back. He said he got the impression they were looking for something. That suggests the possibility of a leak in this agency.”

She stared.

“I want you to get the cell phone numbers of all my staff and start recording their calls. And Zoe Kerry, the FBI liaison officer. If someone in this building is leaking classified information to other government agencies, I want to know about it as soon as possible.”

“Why not just give that to the security people?”

“Because I don’t trust them either,” Jake said softly. His gray eyes pinned Sarah. “Someone murdered the previous director, Mario Tomazic, and as it stands, the motive could have come from within this building.”

“I needn’t remind you that evidence acquired through illegal means can’t be used in court.”

“You got that right. You don’t need to remind me.”

“Just saying.” She stared back into those gray eyes, not the least intimidated.

“This isn’t the Department of Justice, Sarah. It’s the Central Intelligence Agency. We don’t do prosecutions.”

“Your responsibility.”

“Absolutely. You are goddamned right.” His voice rose. “The president appointed me, and I’m going to do my duty as I see it, come hell or high water. If the president or Congress or the FBI doesn’t like it, they can do whatever they want with it. I didn’t ask for this job, but I’m going to do my damnedest to do it to the best of my ability.” His roar came down to merely loud. “If some son of a bitch is passing classified information to anyone not authorized to have it, I’ll cut out the bastard’s heart and eat it for breakfast. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

His voice dropped to a conversational volume. “People are being murdered. Anna Modin was merely the latest. Tommy Carmellini was the one they wanted. Someone is doing this shit. There
must
be a reason. Give me a glimpse. A glimmer. Something there that shouldn’t be. A word, a tone of voice, a hint. Anything.”

Sarah had been fanged by Jake Grafton before, so this latest episode didn’t raise her blood pressure. “Okay,” she said evenly.

“I’ll keep this report. You get these other people on the computer and record those phone calls. Listen to them. Anybody says anything suspicious, you bring it here as fast as humanly possible, or sooner. Got it?”

“I do have it, Admiral.”

“Get cracking.”

Sarah Houston left. Grafton stared at the door after she closed it.

Then he consulted his private telephone list and dialed a call. After he went through a switchboard and an executive assistant, he got the CNO, Admiral Cart McKiernan, on the line.

“Jake, how’s everything?”

“Just fine, sir. I’m calling about those five Atlantic Fleet carriers that you have scheduled to be in Norfolk over the Christmas holidays.”

“Okay.”

“Who at the White House told you to schedule them that way?”

“Didn’t even go through SECDEF’s office. I got a call from some White House weenie. President’s orders, he said.”

“Which weenie?”

“Frank Harless. He’s some sort of ass kisser or cigarette lighter or political guru over there. About a month ago.”

“You sure it was him?”

“Yep. Told me if I didn’t like it I could talk to Al Grantham.”

“Did you?”

“Hell, yes. Told that son of a bitch that putting all those ships in one port was a really stupid idea. Asked him if he’d ever heard of Pearl Harbor.”

“And…”

“And he told me that the order came from the president. I asked for it in writing.”

“What did he say?”

“The subtle bastard asked if I wanted to retire early.”

“Thanks, Cart.”

“Yeah. You hear anything, anything at all, and I’ll keep those ships at sea or dock them somewhere else. They didn’t put it in writing. You know as well as I do that if anything goes wrong, they’ll either flatly deny that they gave me an order or say that they merely suggested a course of action and expected me to use my best professional judgment. If
anything
goes wrong, it’ll be the navy’s fault. None of the mud or blood is going to stick to them. I’ve been there before and so have you. Fuck Grantham. And fuck the president. He can have a piece of my ass at the country club if he can catch my golf cart.”