Peter Kirsanow - Target Omega

Garin hesitated for a moment, coolly scanning the images on the monitor to confirm that any attempt to exit the building would result in significant casualties. Several guards were deployed at every exit. These weren’t rent-a-cop security guards, but DGT personnel — all of whom were former military. Garin looked at Dwyer and gave a barely perceptible nod. Matt, who had not dared escalate matters by reaching for the Glock under his shirt, exhaled audibly.

“Situation is Blue Zero,” Dwyer responded to the voice on the speaker.

“Say again.”

“Blue Zero.”

“Copy. Blue Zero. Thank you, sir. Could you please open your door?”

Dwyer opened the office door, permitting the guards to peer inside. Dwyer detected a look of recognition on one of the guards as he spotted Garin.

“Just giving Mr. Webster here a demonstration,” Dwyer said as he gestured toward Garin. “Make sure you put that in your reports. Tell everybody they did a good job.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Dwyer.” The guards retreated. Dwyer closed the door and turned to Garin.

“Okay. I’m back on your shit list for maybe the seventeenth time. And woe to anyone on that list. But now let’s talk about your wanting to rush off and commit suicide by going to see Day at his office.”

There were several moments of silence as Garin considered his response. Dwyer, despite his perpetual spring break demeanor, was able to assess the benefits and detriments of a course of action as well as anyone Garin had ever met. He sat on the edge of Dwyer’s desk and spoke calmly, as if the pandemonium of the last few minutes hadn’t occurred.

“Dan, hear me out. The Russians are working with the Iranians on a UN resolution that likely will lead to war between Israel and several of its neighbors. Bor infiltrated my WMD team and, with the help of the Iranians, killed everyone but me. Then I get a flurry of messages from an Israeli agent whom I’ve trusted for years asking me to contact him ASAP. A short time ago he leaves me a voice mail that says — ready for this? The US is going to be the target of an EMP strike. You know what that means. Armageddon. And Singer is as reliable as they get. If he says an EMP attack’s coming, it means he’s worked this to death, eliminating possibilities. But the voice mail is cut off. My bet is Quds Force got to him. So I don’t know where the strike’s coming from, when it’s coming, or how it’s going to happen.

“Now, we know the Iranians don’t have the capability of hitting us with an EMP strike. Even if they attempted to do so from a cargo ship or other vessel along our coast, we have countermeasures in place to thwart them. Besides, an EMP launch from a cargo ship wouldn’t get sufficient amplitude, so it would only affect a relatively small area. The Russians, on the other hand, could do it, but they’re not nuts.”

Dwyer made a rolling motion with his hand, urging Garin to move it along.

“So we’ve got Iranians who want to hit us but can’t, running around with Russians who wouldn’t dare hit us, and a Mossad agent saying we’re going to be hit.”

“And Bor, the guy in the middle of it all, is in a picture with a Russian SVR agent who just happens to be dining with Julian Day,” Dwyer finished.

“And that, my dear friend, is why I need to see Day.”

Dwyer understood immediately that Garin was right. If Day had any information about a possible EMP strike, it wasn’t going to be pried out over the phone. A personal visit from Mike Garin, however, was another matter entirely.

“I’ll concede the point,” Dwyer acknowledged. “But let me play devil’s advocate for a second. Why not just tell Brandt about Day? He can then tell the FBI and they can interrogate Day.” As soon as the question left his mouth, Dwyer knew Garin’s response — because Olivia Perry had provided a similar one just yesterday.

“Even if Brandt did go to the FBI, what’s he supposed to say? ‘Hey, you know that guy Garin the entire bureau’s been looking for? The threat to national security? Well, I thought you should know he told me the counsel to the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence has been consorting with the Russians. Something about starting a world war.”

Dwyer sighed. “Well, what are you waiting for, Mikey? Go get ’em. Time’s a-wastin’, man.”

“Really? That fast? After hitting that buzzer and siccing half of the former special ops community on me, you’ve seen the light that quickly?”

“You knew I would all along, you stinking sack of shit,” Dwyer growled. “That’s why you backed down so fast when my guards showed up. You knew I’d agree with you.” He pointed to himself and Matt. “Now, what do you need us to do?”

Garin turned to the former SAS man. “Matt, keys to the SUV?”

Matt dug into his pocket and tossed the keys to Garin.

“Why don’t I have one of our helos take you instead?” Dwyer asked. “Save some time.”

“No. Too much attention. Besides, where I’m going, there’s no good place to land. Don’t worry. If I get stopped, I’ll say I stole your vehicle so you won’t get into trouble.”

“That ship’s sailed, buddy. They’re bound to find out eventually that we’ve been helping you. Just make sure you succeed. That’s our only ticket out of this mess,” Dwyer said. “What else do you need?”

“How do I reach Olivia?”

“Wherever she is, a half dozen of my men are close by. If she’s not in her office at the Old Executive Office Building, she’s at my place.”

“I need to use secure comms to talk to her right away.”

“I can only guarantee a secure line if she’s at my place,” Dwyer said.

“It’ll have to do.”

“You can use the phone on the desk. You know the number.”

“One last thing,” Garin added.

“What’s that?”

Garin cast a bemused look at his old friend. “Blue Zero? Seriously?”

NORTHERN VIRGINIA

JULY 17 1:45 P.M. EDT

The summer heat and humidity of Washington, D.C., weren’t as oppressive as the residents made them out to be, thought Taras Bor. Still, a nation as great as the United States could’ve selected a more temperate location for its capital city. No matter. His assignment was drawing to a close and he would be gone soon.

Nearly everything was in place. There were just a couple of loose ends to take care of, and he was on his way to taking care of them, the Beltway traffic being his only real impediment.

It seemed the only loose end Bor wouldn’t be able to eliminate was Michael Garin. From the very outset, Bor suspected that might be the case. He knew Garin to be smart and tough. Over the last few days he had also proved resilient.

It had been a mistake to delegate Garin’s elimination to the Iranians. But that had been Moscow’s call. The Iranians took offense at any slights, real or imagined, no matter how small. Giving them the task of taking out Garin was designed to keep them happy. Bad move. They were horribly overmatched.

Fortunately, the Iranians’ failure proved unimportant. It hadn’t been necessary to kill Garin. He was on the run, discredited. Even if he had seen anything of consequence in that tunnel in Pakistan, no one would believe him now. Besides, Bor had bought himself an insurance policy against Garin. Something to freeze him in place should he get too close. He wouldn’t be a problem. He would be no problem at all.

MOUNT VERNON, VIRGINIA

JULY 17 1:48 P.M. EDT

Olivia Perry expected the call from Garin to come through any second. A few minutes earlier, Carl had informed her that Garin would be contacting her. Carl then guided her to a room in the basement of Dwyer’s mansion that appeared to be a replica of Houston Control. She was seated in the captain’s chair in the center of the room, Carl standing a few feet to her left, when there was a buzzing sound. He pointed to the console in the right armrest. She pressed the flashing button and heard Garin’s voice.