Peter Kirsanow - Target Omega

He then went to the NLRB website and viewed the members’ office numbers on the eleventh floor. Satisfied, Garin shut down the laptop, walked to the next bedroom, and after placing the SIG under the frame, lay down to rest.

Tomorrow he was going on offense.

MOUNT VERNON, VIRGINIA

JULY 15 9:00 P.M. EDT

Several hours later, Olivia was still on edge.

When the security alarm had sounded, Dwyer and one of his bodyguards, whose name, Olivia learned, was Ray, had hustled her into a small vault-like room in the subbasement of Dwyer’s house. The room was equipped with multiple surveillance monitors that permitted them to view every corner of the estate. Olivia watched as approximately a dozen armed men supported by two canine teams covered every inch of the grounds. They found nothing.

A large alarm monitor next to the surveillance cameras displayed a facsimile of the grounds divided into twenty sectors. Sector 17, the easternmost portion of the property near the street, was lit red, indicating a breach in the area. Olivia could see the dogs become agitated as they searched the grounds; they had picked up the scent of someone who didn’t belong. Whoever it was, however, was long gone.

Dwyer manipulated a mouse on the console in front of the surveillance monitors and a digital recording of Sector 17 began to play back, beginning ten seconds before the alarm had gone off. When the replay reached the time of the alarm, Dwyer enhanced and froze the image. At the top left corner of the screen, the head of a man was visible above the stone wall that surrounded the estate. The right side of the man’s face was obscured partially by a tall hedge near the wall.

Dwyer magnified the image of the intruder as far as he could without losing resolution. He was olive-skinned and appeared to be in his early to midthirties. No distinguishing features were readily apparent.

Dwyer played the recording in real time. The intruder remained visible for approximately two seconds. Olivia thought he looked composed, despite the shrieking of the security alarm.

“See that?” Ray said in a clinical voice as he pointed to the intruder’s image. “He’s not startled by the alarm. It doesn’t look like he was trying to get in. And he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to take off. He knew exactly what he was doing.”

“A probe,” Dwyer said.

Ray nodded in agreement. “He wasn’t testing the security system. He knows we’ve got security and that it’s good. He was testing our response.”

“Gauging manpower and response time. Looking for weaknesses and opportunities,” Dwyer said. “We’ve probably been under surveillance for a while. They won’t try anything here. He’ll go back and tell his friends it’s a no-go.”

“If they’re going to make a move, it’ll be elsewhere,” Ray agreed.

“But haven’t they blown it?” Olivia asked. “Haven’t they lost the element of surprise?”

Dwyer shook his head. Olivia’s question was logical and Dwyer avoided any hint of patronizing her. “If they’re any good, they know not to underestimate their opponent. They’ll operate from the premise that we’ve already been alerted to the possibility of an attack. So for them to be successful, it’s much less about surprise now than it is finding the right spot and the right time. They probably took photos of all of our men.”

Dwyer recalled the intruder’s image on the monitor and froze it. He turned to Ray. “What do you think?”

“Could be,” Ray said.

“Could be what?” Olivia asked.

“It’s not the best image,” Dwyer said, “but our friend here could be Iranian. Admittedly, he could be two dozen other nationalities, but we can probably rule out ethnic Norwegian.”

“Do you think they know I’m here?” Olivia asked.

“They know you’re here but they probably don’t know who you are,” Dwyer replied. “Whoever’s watching this place is likely rank and file and doesn’t know you’re an aide to James Brandt. If they did, they might’ve decided that attacking was superfluous.”

“Why?”

“Mike says someone’s killing just about anyone he’s talked to over the last few days. The logical inference is that someone thinks Mike has information they don’t want disclosed to higher-ups in our government. You, Olivia Perry, are definitely a higher-up. So, if they know you’re Olivia Perry, aide to the national security advisor, from their perspective the cat must already be out of the bag. There would no longer be a reason to come after us. The issue’s moot.”

“Not really,” Olivia argued. “It doesn’t necessarily follow that just because Garin told you, and you told me, that the higher-ups believe Garin. After all, Garin’s wanted by the FBI for killing two men in Dale City.”

“He’s probably going to kill more before we figure this all out,” Dwyer added, judging this wasn’t the time to tell Olivia that Garin had already dispatched several more Iranians.

“What?”

“Mike thinks he’s being tailed by more Iranians, so he might have to act,” Dwyer said, easing slowly toward the truth.

“When were you planning on telling me this?”

“I was getting to it before we were interrupted by our friend there,” Dwyer said, pointing to the surveillance monitor.

“Is this how Garin typically solves problems? By killing people?” Olivia’s exasperation increased as she spoke.

Dwyer paused as if seriously considering the question. “Pretty much,” he said, and shrugged.

“Dan,” Olivia admonished, “this isn’t funny. Your friend can’t go roaming the countryside killing people. That’s not a prescription for enhancing his credibility. Where are those brains of his you keep talking about? He’s in very deep—”

“Excrement,” Dwyer finished. “Yeah, I told him the same thing this afternoon. He’s a big boy. He knows exactly how this would look. Mike would kill them only if they were about to kill him. His brains aren’t very much use if he’s dead.”

Olivia softened a bit. “But he’s—”

“No buts, Olivia,” Dwyer interrupted. “Mike is our best bet at determining exactly what’s going on with the Iranians and Russians. And clearly, based on the events of the past few days, something serious is going on. Understand one thing, though.” Dwyer leaned forward in his chair and pointed a finger at Olivia. “Mike is going to kill more people before this is over. If he doesn’t, he’s dead. So be prepared.”

There was a buzz. A security monitor showed Matt and Carl standing outside the door to the vault. Dwyer pressed a button and the door opened.

“We’ve combed the grounds and the perimeter’s secure,” Matt said. “We’ve also alerted the police. They’ll do a standard drive-by. Would you like us to escort Ms. Perry home?”

“Ms. Perry will be joining us for dinner and will remain here tonight,” Dwyer said. Dwyer turned to Olivia. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m not that fond of the idea of you being in your apartment tonight. Unless you can wrangle an invitation to spend the night at the White House, this is the most secure residence you’ll find in the Washington metro area.”

“I guess this is where I’m supposed to politely decline and say I don’t need the protection, but after everything that’s happened, I’d be foolish not to accept the offer. The only problem is, I don’t have any toiletries or change of clothes. Something tells me, though, that’s not going to be an issue?”

“No. We should have everything you’ll need, and if we don’t, I think you can probably convince Matt to make a run to the closest store,” Dwyer assured her. He gestured ceremoniously toward Carl. “This gentleman makes the best gumbo outside Louisiana, and it tastes just as good in the kitchen as it does in the formal dining room. So if you don’t mind, why don’t you join us there in about an hour?”