The Fourth Horseman by David Hagberg

and the look in his eyes that didn’t sit quite right. But McGarvey let that slide as well.
    “Here’s the situation as I see it. The president wants to see me. Since I shut down my phone and computer—I wanted to be left alone—Miss Boylan was sent to talk me into coming up here.”
    Bambridge started to say something, but McGarvey held him off.
    “Did anyone at the White House know I wasn’t taking calls?”
    “Her chief of staff, Tom Broderick, I would imagine,” Page said. “It was he who phoned to ask if you were in town.”
    “Who else here on campus?”
    “All of us in this room—except for Carlton,” Page said.
    “A couple of people on my staff, including the housekeepers who arranged the aircraft,” Bambridge said.
    “Me and Louise,” Otto said. Louise was Otto’s wife, who sometimes did contract work for the Agency.
    “Someone knew Miss Boylan was coming to see me, and they didn’t want that to happen,” McGarvey said. “Means two things: there’s a leak here or at the White House, and whatever the president’s going to ask me to do involves the situation in Pakistan.”
    “We don’t know that for sure,” Bambridge said.
    “There were two guys in the boat. Small, dark. Almost certainly Middle Eastern.”
    “Inconclusive,” Patterson said, but without much conviction.
    “Enough for me,” McGarvey said.
    “That being the case, what do you propose?” Patterson asked.
    “Well, we’re not going to invade Pakistan. From what Otto gave me they still have thirty nuclear weapons and the means to launch them on rockets, from aircraft, from surface ships and possibly even from their Hamza submarines. The Indians know this also so it’s not likely they’ll launch a preemptive strike. And from what this Messiah character told the mob in front of the Presidential Palace, the Taliban are once again friends of Pakistan. Trained well enough, or helped by someone in Pakistan’s military—probably someone from Quetta Air Force Base—to set off one of the weapons as a demonstration.”
    “So what’s left?” Page asked, but it was a rhetorical question and everyone knew it.
    “That’s up to the president.”
    “We’ll provide any sort of backup you need. And our COS Ross Austin in Islamabad should be able to fill you in on what’s going on.”
    “I’d like to talk to Haaris before I head over to the White House, maybe get together with his team.”
    “And I might have something more for you,” Otto said.
    “I have a foolish question, my dear boy,” Patterson said. “Since you believe the attack upon your person has something to do with the Pakistan issue, would you like some help, maybe a couple of bodyguards?”
    McGarvey had to smile. “As you said, a foolish question.”
    “They could try again.”
    “I hope they do. It’d mean that I was irritating someone.”
    Bambridge couldn’t hide a slight smile. “Are you armed?”
    “I will be when I leave the building.”
    “Let us know what the president wants of you, if you would,” Page said. “If it involves what we all believe it will, we’ll need to adjust our thinking, and Ross will have to be given the heads-up.”
    “The president is going to ask me to assassinate the Messiah,” McGarvey said.
    “Indeed,” Page said.
    “I don’t know if I’ll do it.”

 
    SEVENTEEN
    Pete walked across the connecting walkway from the Original Headquarters Building into the new building, past the cafeteria that faced the inner courtyard with its copper statue “Kryptos,” which had recently been totally decrypted. The debriefing room was on the second floor, its windows also facing inward to the pretty courtyard with its walkways, statues and landscaping.
    Haaris was seated at the end of a small conference table for six when Pete walked in. He was faced by Don Wicklund and Darrel Richards from the Directorate of Intelligence. His product and in general his conclusions on the Pakistan issue over the past several years had