by Brad Thor
There wasn’t much, short of highly specialized or highly technical surgeries, that they couldn’t handle.
The remaining team members were given room assignments and told to help themselves to dinner in the kitchen. Harvath stumbled back there, poured himself a large mug of coffee, and walked to his room. He wanted to grab a quick shower, change his clothes, and then check on Haney and Gage. As tired as he was, he couldn’t turn in until he knew they were both okay.
Dropping his clothes in a pile in the corner of the bathroom, he turned the water on and waited for it to get hot. As he did, he looked in the mirror. His body was covered with bruises. Diving out of a Land Cruiser and getting knocked to the ground by RPG explosions had a way of taking their toll.
When the water was good and hot, he grabbed his coffee and stepped into the shower, afraid he’d fall asleep without it.
He let the water pound against him, and for the first time in a long while, closed his eyes.
Taking a sip of coffee, he tried, for just a moment, to push everything out of his mind. He wanted to not think of anything, to not be responsible for anything or anyone, for just ten seconds.
And for once, he got exactly what he wished for.
CHAPTER 45
* * *
* * *
Harvath stood under the water for a good ten minutes, drinking his coffee, and not thinking about anything.
When his mug was empty, he set it down, picked up a bar of soap, and scrubbed his entire body. Then, after rinsing off, he shampooed his hair.
Throwing the temperature control all the way to cold, he forced himself to stand beneath the icy needles of water for a full twenty seconds. It was like dropping two shots of espresso into his coffee.
Wide awake, he stepped out of the shower and retrieved a courtesy kit from the medicine cabinet. Inside, he found a comb, a razor, shaving cream, a toothbrush, and toothpaste.
After he was done in the bathroom, he pulled a set of clothes from his bag and got dressed.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the minifridge as he exited the room, he swallowed a couple of Motrin and headed down the hall toward the stairs that led to the infirmary.
The house always smelled like maple syrup to him, which seemed strange, as it was on a farm in the middle of Malta. No doubt it had something to do with Vella wanting to create a certain atmosphere outside the Solarium.
The doctor held Ph.D.s in both psychiatry and neurochemistry, and was obsessed with smell, particularly its ability to open up pathways into the brain.
In fact, Harvath had once watched him interrogate someone using “liquid fear.” It was a synthetic pheromone he had created that triggered the “flight” portion of the famous fight-or-flight response. It was amazing to behold.
Upon arrival, everyone had been issued a key card. Harvath held his up to the reader that controlled the stairwell door. When it clicked, the door opened with a hiss, and he headed down to the Solarium.
The moment the door closed behind him, the maple syrup smell was gone. It was replaced by something colder, more institutional. The black site smelled like what it was, a prison.
As he passed the cell doors, they were all open. The Solarium was only a temporary detention facility. Anyone requiring a long-term hold was transferred elsewhere.
Everything was painted gray—the walls, the floors, even the ceilings. The only exceptions were the stainless-steel sink and toilet units in the cells themselves, and the bright white of the infirmary.
Walking into the outer office area, Harvath saw Vella in front of a large computer screen, chatting with one of the doctors.
The three men shook hands and Harvath asked, “How long do they each have?”
The doctor grinned. “Considering their luck, they’ll both probably live to be one hundred.”
“The rest of the guys will be sorry to hear that,” Harvath replied. “Haney has a pretty wife.”
Still smiling, the doctor shook his head and pointed at the computer screen. There were two digital X-rays up. “The wounds on both men were through and through. No bone fractures, and based on the rest of the tests, no vascular injury. We’ve got them on oral hydration and have started antibiotics and pain meds.”
“How soon can they move?”
“I’d let them sleep tonight, but there’s no reason they can’t be on a plane tomorrow.”
“Back CONUS?” he asked, using the military acronym for the Continental United States.
The doc shook his head. “U.S. Naval Hospital Sigonella is the closest American facility able to give them a full workup. If they’re on Agency contracts, that’s where they’ll go. If they’re at capacity, they’ll turf them to Ramstein Air Base. Either way, they have to be cleared on this side of the pond before they fly home.”
“Understood,” said Harvath. “Have they been told the news yet?”
“I was just about to go in.”
Grabbing a folder from a stack sitting on the desk, he replied, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
He walked down the hallway and entered the four-bed infirmary. Haney and Gage had been set up in beds right next to each other.
“They sent Harvath,” said the burly Green Beret as he walked in. “The news must be terrible”
Haney chuckled. “Yeah, the human bullet magnet. That’s close enough, Harvath. Neither of us wants to get shot again.”
He was glad to see them in good spirits. Getting shot wasn’t fun. He took the ribbing in stride.
Opening the folder, he said, “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.”
Both men looked at him, not sure if he was serious, or if he was kidding around.
Haney spoke up first. “What’s the bad news?”
“You’re going to lose the leg. The good news,” he said with a smile, turning to Gage, “is that you’ll just have to use your other arm to shave your back.”
“Fuck you,” they both said, laughing.
“In all seriousness,” he continued, “the Agency is going to want to get you checked out at a base hospital in Europe before you fly back. Sigonella is the closest, so that’s probably where we’re headed tomorrow.”
“What about you?” Haney asked. “Any update from Rome?”
“Not yet. We’ll probably hear something in the morning. In the meantime, get some sleep.”
• • •
Walking back upstairs to the kitchen, Harvath decided to get some real food in his stomach.
Vella had done a good job of anticipating what his American guests might like. There was a large vat of Texas chili on the stove, cornbread still warm in the oven, and cold bottles of Belgian beer in the fridge.
Harvath fixed himself a meal, grabbed a beer, and headed out to the patio. The rest of the team had already eaten and gone to bed.
It was a warm, quiet night. Flickering light spilled from old lanterns placed around the patio.
As he sat down, he realized he’d forgotten a bottle opener. Too tired to go back and get one, he made sure nobody was watching, and then used the edge of the table to pop the cap off.
Leaning back, he took a long pull and closed his eyes. Every muscle in his body was sore. A cold beer was exactly what he needed. If he never saw Libya or another shitty, third-world country like it ever again, it would be too soon.
He knew it was the fatigue talking. Taking another sip, he opened his eyes and leaned forward. He didn’t want to fall asleep outside.
Though Vella had done a good job with the food, Harvath was too wiped out to finish. Carrying everything back inside to the kitchen, he then headed down the hall to his room.
When he got there, he drew the blackout curtains, kicked off his boots, and turned his phone all the way off—something he rarely ever did.
If a life or death situation arose, he didn’t want to get that call. Not tonight. Someone else would have to handle it. All he wanted to do now was sleep.
Falling on the bed, he closed his eyes, and within sec
onds was completely out.
CHAPTER 46
* * *
* * *
WEDNESDAY
When Harvath awoke, he felt worse than when he’d gone to bed. His body was stiffer and in more pain.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, he swallowed several Motrin, turned on his phone, and returned messages. Then after a quick shower, he swung by the kitchen for a mug of coffee. Everyone else was already up.
Barton and Morrison were in the gym working out, while Staelin was outside in a pair of cargo shorts, working on his tan and reading another paperback, this time by Erik Larson.
It was the same hot sun overhead and same ocean off in the distance, but they were worlds away from Libya. Harvath didn’t begrudge his team some leisure time. Especially not after everything they had been through. They had more than earned it.
Making his way to the stairwell, he waved his card in front of the reader, the door unlocked, and he headed down to the infirmary.
The overnight medical team had gone home and a new team had come on.
Harvath stopped briefly to speak with the doctor before walking back to check on Haney and Gage.
Part of the new medical team included an attractive nurse, named Olivia. When Harvath walked in, she was in the process of checking Gage’s blood pressure.
“Speak of the devil,” the Green Beret said as Harvath entered. “Harvath, tell this lovely woman how Haney and I threw ourselves in front of those bullets to save your life.”
Harvath caught a smile, accompanied by an eye roll, from the young woman. She obviously knew a couple of liars when she saw them.
“Whatever you’re giving them,” he said to her, “you may want to let the doc know that it’s affecting their memory—”
“One hundred men!” Gage continued. “When we ran out of ammo, we had to go after them with our bare hands.”
Harvath ignored him and walked over to Haney. “How’s the leg?”
“I think my modeling career is going to be okay,” he replied.
Harvath smiled. “I’m glad you have something to fall back on.”
“We still going to Sigonella today?”
Harvath nodded. It was one of the messages he had returned from his room. “They’re working on getting us a plane. The doc says you’re good to travel. Have you eaten breakfast yet?”
Haney pointed to an empty tray off to the side. “Omelets and fresh squeezed OJ. It’s like being at the Ritz.”
“Your tax dollars at work.”
The nurse removed the blood pressure cuff from Gage’s arm and asked, “Is there anything else I can get for you gentlemen?”
“I’m good,” said Haney.
“If you see Cupid on the way,” Gage replied, “tell him I’m going to need my heart back.”
This time Harvath rolled his eyes. “Try ketamine,” he told her. “I guarantee he’ll stop bothering you.”
Olivia was a good sport. Smiling, she reminded her patients where their call buttons were and left to report back to the doctor up front.
Harvath looked at his watch. “As soon as I have an exact time on the plane, I’ll fill you in. And though I know I’m going to regret asking, is there anything you guys need?”
“There is,” said Gage. “According to Haney, you owe me two hundred bucks.”
Harvath shot Haney a look.
“A bet’s a bet,” Haney replied.
“You’re going to a Navy hospital,” said Harvath. “What are you going to spend two hundred bucks on?”
“What are you, my accountant?” Gage asked. “You’ve got a bag upstairs with one hundred grand in cash. Go peel off a couple c-notes for me.”
“That’s Uncle Sugar’s money. I’ll square up with you when we get home. In the meantime, leave the nurse alone. Copy?”
Gage winked at him in response and began bugging Haney, asking him how walking with a limp might affect his relationship with his wife.
“Tell the nurse to hurry up with that ketamine,” Haney yelled after Harvath as he exited the infirmary and headed back upstairs.
• • •
They stayed at the Solarium for lunch and drove out to the airport an hour later. There, a Citation XLS was on the tarmac fueled and waiting for them. The midsize jet was just big enough to accommodate their team.
Haney took two of the seats facing each other so he could prop his leg up. Harvath and Gage sat facing each other across the aisle. Barton and Morrison took the two seats in the back. Staelin boarded last.
As such, he was left with the side-facing seat up near the cockpit, normally reserved for a flight attendant. And the minute he sat down, that was exactly how the team treated him.
As the jet taxied out onto the runway, the Delta Force operator checked the galley to see if any catering had been done for the hop over to Sicily. In typical CIA fashion, it was bare bones—no liquor, not even soft drinks—only small bottles of water. He accepted drink orders anyway.
When the pilots took off the brakes and the Citation began to roar down the runway, Staelin tossed Harvath, Haney, and Gage their bottles of water. He placed the two for Barton and Morrison on the floor. As the plane took off, the bottles rolled to the back of the cabin, where Morrison reached down and picked his up.
Barton did the same, but thoroughly wiped it off with his shirt before opening it and taking a drink.
After a few more shots at Staelin for being a lousy “stewardess,” the team quieted down. Gage and Haney put their earbuds in, while Staelin opened his book.
As the Citation climbed into the sky and banked out over the Mediterranean Sea, Harvath closed his eyes. He had a lot to process. Not the least of which being what he was going to have to do once they landed in Italy.
CHAPTER 47
* * *
* * *
NORTHERN VIRGINIA
Lydia Ryan looked at both men with disbelief. There was no way the CIA would ever allow what they were asking for. Absolutely not.
“You want what?” she repeated.
“Access to the Malice source code,” said Nicholas.
Malice was an ultra-top-secret program developed by the CIA’s Center for Cyber Intelligence that allowed the Agency to skirt both the NSA and the FISA court, in order to intercept and trace encrypted Internet communications.
The program was so highly effective that the CIA had gone to great lengths to mask its existence. Neither the President nor the intelligence committees had ever been briefed on it. Only in the most extreme circumstances was it ever used.
She knew better than to ask how Nicholas even knew about it. She didn’t want to know.
Instead, she directed her next remark to Carlton, “We’re talking about the most valuable weapon in the Agency’s hacking arsenal.”
“I understand that,” he replied.
“I don’t think you do. This goes beyond anything they’ve ever developed. Beyond putting smart TVs into fake off-mode in order to listen in on people’s conversations. Beyond hacking smartphones in order to capture audio and message traffic before it gets put through an encryption app.
“You’re talking about launching the cyber equivalent of a nuclear-tipped missile, just because somebody looked at you sideways in a dark parking lot. And unlike a nuke, once a cyber weapon like Malice is loosed, it is out there for anyone to discover and turn back around on us.
“This isn’t a fire-and-forget system. The moment it detonates, you have to send a team into the blast zone, right into the rubble, to physically recover it. Every device it has touched, every packet of data it has stowed away inside, all of it has to be accounted for. That’s what you don’t understand.”
“I do understand,” Nicholas countered. “That’s why all I want is access to the source code. I don’t want the entire missile. I only want its guidance system.”
“So you can do what? Play Frankenstein? That could end up being even worse.”
“Lydia, I know you don’t like any of this.”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” she replied.
“Which is why we have to do it this way.”
“First you tell me that for your hack to be convincing, you’ve got to turn over all my personal emails, including ones that are a little too personal. Then, you drag Malice into this—something I shouldn’t even be discussing with you.”
“If there was another way to do this,” said Carlton, “we wouldn’t need to ask.”
“There has to be.”
“There isn’t,” Nicholas replied. “Believe me. For the last twenty-four hours, I’ve been trying to come up with one. Your personal emails, along with Mr. Carlton’s, are the Trojan horse. They’re the only means by which we can get Malice into the pipeline and figure out who ordered the hack.”
“I can tell you right now that Bob McGee is never going to authorize this.”
“You let me worry about Bob,” said Carlton. “What I need you focused on is coming up with a plan to get Nicholas inside the Center for Cyber Intelligence.”
“Inside?” Ryan repeated with a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Malice can only be accessed from inside,” Nicholas stated.
“You know you’ve got a bit of a reputation at the CIA, right? They’ll go batshit if they see you in there.”
“Which is why nobody can see him,” Carlton clarified.
“Any other requirements?” she asked, turning to face him. “Maybe he can ride out of Langley on a unicorn.”
The Old Man smiled at her. “If anyone can make it happen, it’s you.”
Ryan didn’t smile back. Instead, she asked, “How much time do we have to put this together?”
“Nicholas needs to go in tonight.”