Najjir jumped up just as the two women with the packages, coming from the dining room, walked past, and he drew his pistol with one hand and clamped his free arm around the neck of the woman in the blazer. The other one dropped her bags and scrambled away.
McGarvey jumped up, pointing his pistol directly at Najjir’s head as the Saudi dragged the struggling woman a few feet back, then stopped. “Otto, we have a situation. Pull the pin.”
“I’m on it,” Otto’s voice came from the cell phone in Mac’s jacket pocket.
“But with velvet gloves. We have a hostage situation here, Marty and the other two are heading our way.”
Pete was pointing her pistol at Miriam, who was sitting back, her hands in plain sight.
“You’re either going to die here in the next few seconds or you’re going to come with me,” McGarvey said.
“You shoot and the woman dies.”
“Do you think Kazov gives a shit about one hostage?”
“Of course not, but they’re here to take you down. And if they can do that I’ll suddenly be worth something. I’m holding the winning hand.”
Marty, Rodak, and the Russian were less than fifty feet away. Everyone else in the lobby, realizing that something was going on, had either scattered or dropped to the deck. People in every big city in the world had become attuned to developing terrorist situations. Five men and one woman all holding pistols was not a good sign.
Without a word McGarvey walked directly toward Najjir and the woman, who was so frightened she couldn’t scream.
“We can deal,” Najjir said.
The woman, almost as if it had been rehearsed, moved her head sharply to right, just out of line with the muzzle of the pistol at her temple, and Mac fired one shot, hitting Najjir in the middle of the forehead.
The Saudi’s pistol discharged, the bullet ricocheting off the tiled floor, and he collapsed, dragging the now hysterical woman with him.
McGarvey turned as Kazov began shooting, his first rounds going wide. Marty had stopped, the pistol in his hand lowered, but Rodak began firing, one of his shots just grazing Mac’s left arm, above the shoulder.
Pete had turned and begun firing at the three men, momentarily drawing their attention, as McGarvey sprinted to the left, away from her, at the same time directing his fire at Rodak, who went down.
An instant later one of Pete’s rounds hit Kazov in the side, staggering him back, and McGarvey switched aim to the Russian and began firing at the same time as Pete.
The man was hit at least three times and he dropped to the floor beside Rodak.
SWAT team police rushed in from the viaduct entrance as well as up the escalators from Forty-Second Street.
Marty laid his pistol on the floor and raised his hands high above his head. “I’m Martin Bambridge, deputy director of the CIA,” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
Miriam had taken out her pistol and was pointing it toward Pete. “Bitch,” she swore
Mac caught the action out of the side of his eye and turned on his heel. “Incoming.”
On instinct Pete ducked left as Miriam fired, the round going wide.
Mac fired two shots, one catching Miriam in the shoulder, the other in the side of her head, and she went down.
“Put your weapons down, now!” one of the cops shouted.
McGarvey and Pete both made a show of placing the guns on the floor and raising their hands.
“All clear?” Otto asked.
“All clear. But Marty’s come out of it,” McGarvey said.
Otto laughed. “Not for long, kemo sabe, not for long.”
SEVENTY-ONE
McGarvey, Pete, and a belligerent Marty Bambridge were driven by the FBI to the Teterboro Airport private jet terminal across the river. On General Gibson’s orders Otto had sent a CIA Gulfstream VIP jet up to fetch them, and once the confusion at the Hyatt had been brought under control by the FBI, working with NYPD, McGarvey and Pete were released into the custody of Bambridge, to be returned to Langley.
Their weapons had been taken from them, but not their cell phones or any other personal belongings, nor had they been placed in restraints, though a pair of special agents had been sent along as escorts.
The jet was warming up on the tarmac outside one of the hangars when they arrived and got out of the car.
“Quite an afternoon, sir,” one of the FBI agents said to Bambridge.
“Yes, and thanks for your help,” Marty said. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”
The other agent turned to McGarvey. “Hope this all gets straightened out, Mr. Director,” he said.
McGarvey nodded.
Bambridge broke in. “It sure the hell will, and I promise that heads will definitely roll,” he said, but his words held no real conviction.
Their Bureau minders left, and they boarded the aircraft, where the pilot and copilot were already at the controls.
“Good afternoon,” the steward, a young man from the Company’s housekeeping division, greeted them warmly. “Your hotel rooms were cleared out and your bags just now arrived. I put them in back, not in the hold, in case there was anything you needed.”
“No weapons?” Bambridge demanded.
“No, sir,” the steward said, and he led them back to their seats. “We have immediate permission to take off as soon as you’re settled.”
“I have something to get out of my bag first,” Bambridge said, and he went aft to where the few pieces of luggage had been jammed on the floor between a pair of facing seats.
“Drinks?” the steward asked. “A cognac, Mr. Director?”
“Champagne,” Pete said. “For two.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the steward said, and he went to the galley.
“Well?” Pete said when he was gone. “You haven’t said a word in last hour.”
“Because I’ve been trying to work it out.”
“It’s over. The principals have been bagged and Marty’s feet will be put to the fire as soon as we get back. What’s left?”
“This is something between Putin and Weaver that’s been brewing since before the election, and as crazy as it sounds, Marty’s the only one left with the keys to the kingdom.”
“Are you talking about some kind of a deal between Putin and Weaver?” Pete asked, shocked.
“I don’t know, except that it seems important to the Russians to bring down the president. Even to the point that there’s an ongoing rift between the SVR and the Kremlin.”
“The reason being?”
McGarvey had been thinking of nothing but, since Putin had secured his release from Novorossiysk. “I don’t know, but it was something Putin said to me in his office before he sent me back. He said that he and I were kindred spirits in many respects.”
“With a translator?”
“No, just us.”
“Could you have mistaken his English?”
“I don’t think so. And he said that he and I had a close connection some years ago. Said that we were adversaries.”
“Do you have any idea what he was talking about?” Pete asked.
“Not a clue. But Marty knows something that might help.”
“Mac,” Otto’s voice came from the cell phone, still in speaker mode.
McGarvey took it out of his pocket. “We’re about to get airborne.”
“Don’t,” Otto practically shouted. “He made another call to his wife just a minute ago. Told her that everything had fallen apart. The center would no longer hold. She told him that it was too bad, but he knew what had to be done and he had the means to do it at his disposal.”
McGarvey jumped up and turned around, almost knocking into the steward coming back with their wine. Marty was seated in the rear, his back to them.
“I think the crazy bastard is going to try to hijack the plane and bring it down,” Otto shouted.
The steward heard that, and he dropped the wine and raced to the cockpit to alert the flight crew.
Mac went to Marty, bu
t the deputy director wasn’t moving. He was slumped slightly to the right side, his eyes half open, a little foam at the corners of his lips. He was not breathing.
Pete was at this side. “Christ, the son of a bitch committed suicide.”
The captain came back. “What the hell is going on?” he said, but then he stopped when he understood the situation.
“Now we’ll never know,” Pete said.
“Don’t be so sure,” McGarvey said, and he looked up at her. “My past has always had a way of catching up with me.”
“How do you want to handle this, Mr. Director?” the pilot asked.
“Take us home. I’ll strap him in.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I always like hearing from my readers, even from the occasional disgruntled soul who wants to pick a bone with me, or point out a mistake I’ve made.
You may contact me, McGarvey, Pete, and Otto, by sending a message to kirkcolloughmcgarvey@gmail.com. Please understand that because I’m extremely busy, quite often I won’t be able to get back to you as soon as I’d like. But I will make every effort to answer your queries.
For a complete list of my books and reviews please visit Barnes & Noble, Amazon, or any other fine bookseller.
If you would like me to do a book signing at your favorite store, something I have absolutely no control over, or if you would like me to attend an event as a guest speaker or panelist, please contact:
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If you wish to discuss contracts, movie or reprint rights, or e-business concerning my writing, contact my literary agent:
Susan Gleason Literary Agency
Email: sgleasonliteraryagent@gmail.com
BY DAVID HAGBERG
Twister
The Capsule
Last Come the Children
Heartland
Heroes
Without Honor*
Countdown*
Crossfire*
Critical Mass*
Desert Fire
High Flight*
Assassin*
White House*
Joshua’s Hammer*
Eden’s Gate
The Kill Zone*
By Dawn’s Early Light
Soldier of God*
Allah’s Scorpion*
Dance with the Dragon*
The Expediter*
The Cabal*
Abyss*
Castro’s Daughter*
Burned
Blood Pact*
Retribution*
The Fourth Horseman*
End Game*
Tower Down*
Flash Points*
The Shadowmen*+
24 Hours*+
Face Off*
WRITING AS SEAN FLANNERY
The Kremlin Conspiracy
Eagles Fly
The Trinity Factor
The Hollow Men
Broken Idols
Gulag
Moscow Crossing
The Zebra Network
Crossed Swords
Moving Targets
Winner Take All
Kilo Option
Achilles’ Heel
WITH BYRON L. DORGAN
Blowout
Gridlock
NONFICTION WITH BORIS GINDEN
Mutiny!
*Kirk McGarvey adventures
*+Kirk McGarvey Ebook original novellas
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DAVID HAGBERG is a former U.S. Air Force cryptographer who has traveled extensively in Europe, the Arctic, and the Caribbean and has spoken at CIA functions. He has published more than seventy novels of suspense, including Flash Points, Tower Down, and the bestselling Allah’s Scorpion, Dance with the Dragon, and The Expediter. He makes his home in Sarasota, Florida.
Visit his website at www.david-hagberg.com, or sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Part One: Paris
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Part Two: Istanbul
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Part Three: Novorossiysk
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Part Four: Washington And New York
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Author’s Note
Also by David Hagberg
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
FACE OFF
Copyright © 2018 by David Hagberg
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Paul Youll
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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eISBN 9780765386007
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First Edition: October 2018