Peter Kirsanow - Target Omega

“Will do. That brings me to the second point. I had a very long talk with our ‘friend.’ I think she’s someone who’s actually on your side. Given the crap you’re in and that you’re generally a pain in the ass, I’d say that’s a pretty big deal.”

Garin thought for a moment. “What about her boss?”

“Well, obviously, I can’t be certain. But he’s the one who sent her over here in the first place. And if she has any influence, I think he’ll be sympathetic. Do you want me to put him in touch with you?”

“No. But you can tell her I’m in D.C., and you can tell her everything I’ve told you.” Garin paused. “And tell her I need their help now. If they can’t call off the FBI, at least tell them to call off a certain sniper. He’s military, and that’s illegal. They should have some pull with that.”

Garin hesitated before adding, “And ask them to at least tell the FBI my version of what’s going on.”

“And if the FBI asks where they got information about a wanted fugitive?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Our friends are smart. They can just say they’ve heard from sources. Nothing wrong with that. It’s not like they’re aiding and abetting.”

Dwyer wasn’t wholly convinced but saw little harm in making the request. “Okay. Anything else I can do?”

“You’ve done plenty. But don’t get any ideas that I owe you or anything like that.” Garin disconnected.

Dwyer immediately hit another button and placed a call to Olivia Perry.

WASHINGTON, D.C.

JULY 16 11:38 A.M. EDT

Arlo guided James Brandt through the halls of the White House, Secret Service agents parting to permit them to pass.

Brandt had just come from a short briefing for Vice President David Wilson, who was stepping in for the president while the latter was convalescing in Walter Reed. Wilson had quizzed Brandt on his take on the imminent UN resolution sponsored by the Russians and Iranians but seemed only mildly interested in what Brandt had to say. It was almost as if Wilson was just going through the motions, which past occupants of the office have, in colorful fashion, described as the primary function of the position.

Olivia Perry was waiting in Brandt’s office when he arrived. “Good morning, Olivia. Your meeting with Mr. Dwyer was productive?”

After patting Arlo on the head and taking a seat in one of two chairs in front of Brandt’s desk, Olivia wasted no time with pleasantries. “Michael Garin is being set up by the Iranians to take the fall for the assassination of his team. The most rational motivation for the Iranians to do so is to facilitate their intended use of WMD against Israel.”

Olivia’s lack of equivocation drew a loud chuckle from Brandt. “Whoa, whoa, slow down there. No other possibilities, Olivia? None at all?”

“There are always possibilities. But my conclusion is the most logical probability,” Olivia asserted.

Brandt chuckled again as he scratched Arlo behind the ears. His aide had rarely suffered from self-doubt or second-guessing when it came to her work, the product of usually being right. “Tell me how you came to that conclusion.”

Olivia related her conversation with Dwyer in exacting detail: Garin’s peculiar disappearance from BUD/S and SQT; the Garin apparitions in various operational theaters; his Russian heritage; the Omega team; his probable operations in Iran; the Iranian assassins; and the possible involvement of Delta Force. Olivia became most animated while describing the rescue of Dwyer’s SEAL team in Kunar Province.

The national security advisor listened intently, his sightless blue eyes directed toward Olivia’s face. Arlo lay on the floor throughout, making groaning noises, as if bored.

When Olivia was finished, Brandt sat pensively for several seconds, mental wheels in motion. When he spoke, it was in a sedate, almost grave tone.

“Well, I’ve learned one very important thing beyond all doubt.”

“What’s that, Professor?”

“That Ms. Olivia Perry — the woman who, despite her intimidating intellect and looks, was by far the shyest woman on campus — has a crush on the rough-and-tough Mr. Michael Garin, gentleman, scholar, and American action hero.” Brandt paused dramatically. “Finally.”

Brandt burst into laughter, causing Arlo to sit up alertly and place a paw on his master’s lap. Although he couldn’t see it, Brandt correctly sensed Olivia’s discomfort, causing him to laugh harder and, in turn, Arlo to bark excitedly. Brandt’s secretary appeared at the door to investigate the commotion. A flustered Olivia waved her away.

“I’m sorry,” Brandt said as he gasped for air. “It’s just that your tone was so earnest. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you so impassioned, Ms. Perry.”

“I’m simply reporting what I believe to be the relevant facts.” The indignation in Olivia’s voice was unmistakable.

“All right, okay,” Brandt said, catching his breath. “Just having a little fun at my protégé’s expense. In truth, what you’ve told me may be useful.”

Olivia watched as Brandt’s demeanor quickly became more serious. She’d seen the transformation many times before. Brandt, having processed disparate bits of data, was about to make an analytical leap, arriving at a destination others would find only in hindsight.

“I gather you don’t think my conclusions are sound.”

“No, no,” Brandt assured her. “They are. I think that Mr. Garin is being set up by the Iranians to cover, or distract from, their intended use of WMD. Also, I do think that we may be looking at an attempt to obliterate Israel during the conflict. I doubt, however, that the Iranians have the assets or capability to pull off the elimination of Garin’s entire unit on American soil. Too sophisticated. The Russians might be a different story. Given their cooperation with the Iranians on the UN resolution, we have to assume the Russians are, indeed, involved. But to what end? What do they hope to gain from the Iranians’ strike against Israel? What’s their next move? And how do we stop it?”

“In the long term, perhaps very long term, Russia would benefit from chaos in the Middle East. Oil and gas prices rise, benefiting the Russian treasury and consolidating its power over not just the former Soviet republics, but Eastern Europe and anyone else dependent on Russia for energy,” Olivia said. As soon as she did, she noticed the buzzing was back. Warehouses, fuel depots, oil tankers.

“That’s correct,” Brandt said as if he were responding to a student in class. Olivia sensed that Brandt’s mind was on something more. Two chess moves ahead.

“Professor, we need to talk to Garin.”

“Obviously, yes. The president needs to be advised on the next move once the UN resolution passes. And it most certainly will. We’re making critical policy in a dangerous informational vacuum. The secretary of state says one thing, Defense tells him another. And I prefer that his options aren’t reduced to only military ones. But for that we need information. Something we can confront the Russians with and deter them. Mr. Garin may be able to supply that intel, whether he knows it or not. I’m afraid, however, that things are moving rather quickly, Olivia. So please impress upon Mr. Dwyer the urgency of our request. We don’t have much time. The Congress and leadership are saying ten things at once. We must give the president clear, concrete counsel. We have little, if any, room for error.”

In her mind, Olivia kept turning over images of Soviet-era industrial equipment sitting unused in various locations throughout Russia. Unused and, by all indications, not even being moved to market. At a time when the Russian economy needed a large infusion of revenue.