Peter Kirsanow - Target Omega

Katy came into the pantry and gave him a bear hug. She seemed in good spirits given the circumstances.

“Michael, you gotta tell me, how in the world did you build this place? I mean, setting aside the whole idea that anyone would ever need something like this, it’s amazing you did it by yourself.”

“I didn’t.”

Katy looked slightly puzzled. “But I thought you told Joe that no one knows about it.”

“No one does.”

“Okay, wise guy, stop it.”

“Pop helped me. More accurately, I helped Pop. He worked on it almost nonstop for nearly two years. I helped him when I could between deployments. The cabin above already had a cellar. We made it a little larger and Pop did most of the rest. He finished it less than a year before he died.”

Katy had a faint smile of wonderment on her face. “I saw him every day. I would go over to the house to fix sandwiches, his favorite soups, do laundry. I had no idea. He never said a thing.”

“I guess when you go through the kinds of things he went through, you know how to keep things to yourself. In many respects, this place was his idea. My old boss used to say guys like us needed to be able to disappear at a moment’s notice. But he was talking about holing up in some fleabag motel in Tangier or Bangkok. Pop said if people can see you — even people who don’t know you — your enemies can and will find you.”

Katy shook her head, still trying to comprehend how her grandfather could have kept a project like this secret from her. “That tough old SOB. So when he died, no one else besides you knew the place existed.”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure I ever expected to use it. It was more a security blanket than anything else. I’d come up here every once in a while — usually when I was in town to visit you — and do a little upkeep. But it was mainly out of respect for all the work Pop put into it, not because I actually thought I had to keep it ready for action.”

Garin led Katy back into the main room, where Joe and the kids were wrestling on the floor. Upon seeing Uncle Mike, the kids ran over and performed their ritual of hugging his legs.

“Before I go, just a few things you should know. The temperature stays pretty constant, but if you need to run some fresh air through, just turn on the air for a few minutes, preferably at night. The exhaust is under the porch so no one should see it, but don’t take any chances.”

Joe held up his hands. “Mike, not going outside is going to be tough, especially for the kids.”

“I know, but people do it all the time — subs, air raid shelters. That doesn’t make it any easier, but you’ll adjust. Now, if you feel you absolutely must get out or you’ll kill each other, do it at dusk. The park closes at nine P.M. Heck, I’ve never seen anyone anywhere near this place, but to be safe, we have to presume someone is looking for us in the park and that they’re using all of the resources at their disposal. Thermal, drones, nightscopes, the works.”

“Thermal? Drones? Are you serious?” Joe sounded incredulous.

Garin chose his words carefully in front of the kids. “Taking out my team was the work of extremely serious, sophisticated people who are involved in something extremely big. They will spare no resource.”

For the first time since last night, both Katy and Joe had worried looks on their faces, as the gravity of the situation continued to sink in. Garin tried to reassure them.

“Look, I’m not without resources either, and they’re very good. When I get to Spencer, I’ll begin putting them in motion. I know you don’t think it can be done in a few days, but believe me, it can.

“Joe, in the locker I showed you last night there’s a bunch of cell phones with prepaid minutes. Don’t use them unless you’ve been discovered. Don’t even turn them on. They’re programmed to call only one number. That number will bounce the call all over before relaying it to me. Wherever I am in the world, you’ll be able to reach me.”

“But what if you need to reach us?” Joe asked.

Garin thought for a moment. “Turn on the phone for five minutes at six A.M. every day. If I need to reach you, I’ll call then. You know what, I’ll call then anyway just to check in. Otherwise keep the phone off unless you must call me.”

“What if you don’t call at six?”

Garin remained silent. Joe understood.

Garin bent down to hug the kids good-bye and then gave Katy a kiss. He shook Joe’s hand and, before climbing up the stairs, whispered, “I know you’ll take care of my sister and the kids, Sergeant Major. Just try not to scare the living hell out of the bad guys.”

CRYSTAL CITY, VIRGINIA

JULY 14 3:34 P.M. EDT

Olivia was encouraged by the progress she was making. A contact at the Pentagon had provided her with Dan Dwyer’s unlisted phone number as well as a cell number.

Dwyer was the president and cofounder of DGT, a closely held, sprawling security services firm. Though slightly less than a decade old, it was one of the premier private military contractors in the country. It drew many of its field personnel from special forces and clandestine units — American as well as foreign — and it regularly discharged highly sensitive duties for both public and private sector clients.

Despite the firm’s propensity for secrecy, Olivia was able to glean useful kernels of information from a two-year-old Wall Street Journal profile on Dwyer. The salient points in the article were that he had been a BUD/S instructor at Coronado at the same time Garin was there and that it was unclear to which SEAL team he had been attached. That left open the possibility that Dwyer had been a member of SEAL Team Six and involved in WMD disposal.

Olivia called Dwyer’s home number. There was no answer and the call didn’t go to voice mail or an answering machine. She then dialed his cell and he answered instantly.

“Dwyer.”

Olivia, somewhat surprised to have reached him, decided to be direct. “Hello, Mr. Dwyer, my name is Olivia Perry. I’m an aide to National Security Advisor James Brandt.”

Dwyer was equally direct. “Hello, Ms. Perry. I know exactly who you are. I read at least one essay coauthored by you and Professor Brandt in Foreign Affairs, the one on cyberwarfare strategies.”

Olivia was caught slightly off guard. For some reason she had expected Dwyer to be reticent, if not outright hostile. “Mr. Dwyer, I’ll get right to the point, and admittedly, it may sound somewhat peculiar. In the next day or two we expect the United Nations to vote on a Russian-Iranian resolution condemning Israel’s actions in the latest Middle East crisis. Without going into detail, we have some concerns about what the Russians and Iranians are up to and we think that a friend of yours could help us address those concerns.”

“What friend?” Dwyer’s tone was still friendly, but there was now a hint of guardedness to it.

“I can’t go into it over this call. To be honest, I’m not even certain he is a friend of yours, but I have reason to think you know him.”

“Why not just call this person directly?”

“We can’t locate him.”

There was a pause before Dwyer asked, “Is this urgent? I’m sorry, that’s obviously a very silly question. The Office of the National Security Advisor doesn’t call on a Sunday afternoon unless it’s pretty important. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to ask you some questions about your friend — acquaintance — in person. I know this is short notice, but I see you live near Mount Vernon. That’s not that far from me. I could be at your house in forty-five minutes. It shouldn’t take much of your time. Jim Brandt would be very grateful.”