Target Omega

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

For Dwyer, the last forty-eight hours had been largely consumed by all things Garin.

The call from his former partner came seconds after Dwyer had settled into his chair in the subbasement communications room. Dwyer pressed a button on the armrest to connect.

“Where are you?” Dwyer asked Garin.

“In town. Watching the FBI search for someone in the Crowne Plaza. Up on the rooftop a short distance away is a jolly old soul. Not Saint Nick, but a scary elf from Delta. Pretty sure he’s not there to deliver presents,” Garin replied.

“My, but you’re a popular fellow.”

“More popular than you know. Even the dead are coming out to see me today.”

“Anyone I know?”

“About two blocks down around Fourteenth and I is a man who’s a ringer for my old Georgian team member,” Garin said, referring to Gates, a native of Augusta.

“Impossible. The Georgian is confirmed dead. They dragged him out of the ashes of his house after it burned to the ground.”

“What do you mean confirmed dead?”

“I mean he’s not breathing. Horizontal. Cold to the touch. They pulled his body — what was left of it — from his house. And there wasn’t much left of the house, either.”

“How do they know it was the Georgian?”

“You think someone snuck into his house while he was away, set it on fire, and then decided to take a nap in his garage?”

Garin became slightly annoyed. “C’mon, buddy, you know what I mean and I don’t have much time. Forensics. DNA. Did they confirm it was Gates?”

“DNA sampling confirms significant traces of his blood in the garage.”

“What did the body look like?”

“Like it had been through a fire. Very little, if any, flesh remained. An accelerant had been used. Extreme heat. Primarily skeletal remains.”

“Did they check dental records?” Garin asked.

“They couldn’t. Apparently, he was shot once in the forehead right at the bridge of the nose. He fell next to a stack of cinder blocks. One or two fell flush on his face, pulverizing much of his skull, including his teeth. No way to do a meaningful comparison. Besides, after they checked the blood sample, they probably figured there was no need.”

“Very convenient,” Garin scoffed. “Crushed skull, burned corpse, blood helpfully spilled for forensics examiners. Whoever that poor guy was, he wasn’t the Georgian. He was planted there to make everyone believe he was the Georgian.”

“Well, you just might be right,” Dwyer agreed, nodding slowly as he thought about it. “Everyone thinks you snuffed your whole team. Who else had the knowledge and skill to pull that off? Who else could’ve gotten so close to a group of elite operators? And, just to be sure, they — whoever’s trying to pin this all on you — even shot the fake Georgian right at the bridge of the nose. Your signature. The question is, why?”

“And who? But look, I can’t discuss that now. I’ve got to get out of here and somehow find the Georgian. He should be able to provide some answers.”

“Before you go, two things,” Dwyer said quickly. “I got a call late last night. Your hunch was right. They found the Professor of Death and Destruction by the side of the road in Kings Canyon. He’d been shot twice and thrown — or fell — down a hill off Generals Highway. Somehow the tough SOB crawled up that hill and lay at the side of the road, where some hikers found him.”

Garin winced. “How is he?”

“Not good, buddy. He was out there for more than three days. He lost a lot of blood. Exposure, dehydration. One of my West Coast guys is at the hospital right now. He can’t get any information from the medical people, but the cops have told him what they know.”

Garin’s jaw tightened. He respected Laws more than any living being in the world. From feared instructor to close friend, Laws had taught Garin more than anyone, except Pop. The two mentors were alike in many ways. Outwardly mean, physically tough old bastards with impossible standards who unapologetically expected you to meet those standards. Men who had a clear, unsentimental understanding of the world and those who populated it. Laws, Garin knew, had been targeted because of their close association, the possibility that vital information had been shared.

“Keep me updated, buddy,” Garin said quietly.

“Just so you know, my guy says the Professor has got tubes going in and out of every orifice in his body, and he’s mostly unconscious. The cops say during moments of lucidity he tries to talk.”

“Tell your guy to find out what he’s saying. Whatever he says, let me know. Don’t discount anything.”

“All he’s said so far, strangely enough, is that he’s bored. Either he’s not all there or the wicked Laws humor can overcome even the most life-threatening wounds.”

“That’s not what he’s saying,” Garin countered. “I guarantee it. He’s trying to tell them something useful. Tell your man that the Professor has very important information. Hell, ask our newfound friends in high places to send one of their specialists over there to find out what he’s saying. Damn it, the man’s not delusional or being funny. This isn’t the first time he’s been near death. He’s a pro. He’s trying to convey information — probably about who did this to him.”

“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.