Gambit by David Hagberg (fantasy novels to read txt) 📕

to keep telling himself that a man, even one as good as McGarvey, could not keep up against a constant stream of attackers, each one better than the last. Sooner or later, McGarvey would make a mistake. And in the meantime, the game was getting as interesting as climbing the north face of the Matterhorn without safety ropes except for his wealth, to which he wanted to add something significant.

He forced a smile. “Even I get to be noble every now and then,” he said.

She raised her glass to him and took a drink.

Tarasov’s advice was to continue as normal.

“Anyway, I have a surprise for you once we land.”

She brightened. “Friends to meet us?”

“Something you like even more than that.”

The landing went smoothly, but it wasn’t until they had taxied across the field to Clay Lacy Aviation’s private terminal and Susan spotted the KOMO television remote truck and the cameraman and woman reporter waiting out front that she became her old self—or at least her public self.

“You son of a bitch!” she shouted, laughing and unbuckling.

“I thought you’d like a little publicity,” Hammond said.

“I do, but I look like the Wicked Witch of the West.” She jumped up and headed to the rear. “Give me five.”

Toni Hopkins, the pretty stew, came from the galley. “Looks like your call made a hit,” she said, grinning.

“The lady does like to be in front of the camera. Any camera.”

“Captain Bellows would like to know if we should take the plane back to LA.”

“Yes. And you guys can have a couple of weeks off. We’re taking the boat up to Anchorage.”

“Supposed to be spectacular this time of year, if a little isolated.”

“Something new,” Hammond said, and he didn’t know why.

Susan had done her face, fluffed up her blond hair, which she’d had colored last week, and put on a pair of skintight designer jeans with bangles up the seams, a very low-cut white blouse, and spike heels. “How do I look?” she asked, coming forward.

“Stunning as usual, Ms. Patterson,” Toni said sincerely.

“Give that girl a raise.”

“Consider it done,” Hammond said.

The copilot, Joe Barnes, had opened the forward hatch and stood aside, and Eddie Bellows, the pilot, had turned in his seat.

“Good flight, guys,” Hammond said.

“Thank you, sir,” both men said.

Hammond took Susan’s arm as they descended the steps to the tarmac.

“It would have been better if at least a handful of fans had shown up,” she said.

“A handful would have been tacky, sweetheart, and it was too late to arrange for more.”

They walked across to where the reporter and her cameraman were waiting, and Susan struck one of her hipshot poses.

“Susan Patterson, still as gorgeous as ever,” the reporter said.

“Well, thank you, darlin’,” Susan said. “It’s lovely to be back in Seattle.”

“A little bird told me that you might be here scouting out locations for an upcoming project. Any truth to the rumor?”

“You know I can’t reveal too much about what might or might not be in the works, whoever the naughty boy was who let the cat out of the bag, but let’s just say that Seattle has always been in my heart as one of the most photogenic cities on the entire planet.”

“A beauty in the heart of beauty,” the reporter said, and Susan lapped it up, practically purring.

Mac was due from Canada in two hours, and Mary and Pete were out back having a glass of wine and talking when Otto was coming downstairs.

“A possibly interesting development,” Lou said.

Otto didn’t stop. “The Moscow airport search?”

“No. I thought I might turn up something if I were to search backward to all of Mac’s contacts over the past four years.”

“Yes, go on, please.”

“The business in Cannes after the attack on the AtEighth pencil tower on East Fifty-Seventh Street in Manhattan brought Mac in contact with a number of people.”

“I know this. Please elaborate.”

“Two of the principals who helped Mac gain access to the pencil tower across from the UN are being interviewed on television at this moment.”

“Where?”

“An ABC affiliate in Seattle. You might want to watch the playback.”

“What is your confidence that this may be of some significance?”

“Less than 20 percent.”

Otto pulled up short on the last step. “How much less?”

“Two percent less, so eighteen percent total.”

TWENTY-TWO

At Andrews, McGarvey thanked the navy crew for the quick flight to and from Petawawa before he got off the Gulfstream. “Interesting place,” the pilot said.

“Out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Maybe, but once we were out of Ottawa’s TCA, we picked up a RCAF F/A-18 escort that landed just behind us and took off again a minute before you showed up.”

“Making sure that we didn’t stray?”

The pilot shook his head. “Making sure that the former CIA director got in and out safely. Somebody put out the word that you might be at risk.”

“Did you talk to the crew?”

“No need, sir. It’s SOP. We sometimes provide an escort for incoming noncommercial flights carrying VIPs who could be targets for assassination.”

“I guess I must have stepped on someone’s toes,” McGarvey said.

“Yes, sir.”

They had called ahead for a taxi, and as soon as they left Andrews’s main gate, he gave the driver his Georgetown address, then phoned Pete, who was still with Otto and Mary.

“You’re back?” she asked.

“I’m on my way to our apartment to pack a few things. Have Otto book me an overnight flight to Johannesburg.”

“Okay, I’ll wait until you get here to tell me what’s up. But we have military stuff going over there all the time; we can probably get you a ride.”

“Make it commercial this time.”

“Okay, but that’s two explanations you owe me. Do you want me to tag along?”

“No need. It’s just going to be a quick in and out.”

“In the meantime, Lou has come up with something interesting.”

“She got a hit on the Moscow airport search?”

“It’s something else,” Pete said. “But you have to pass right by here from our place to get to Dulles, so we can go over in person what Lou came up with. Maybe you