The Apostle

by Brad Thor

  “Call it professional curiosity.”

  “It was a sad night for everyone,” he said, raising his coffee cup again and taking a sip.

  “I understand you saw her shortly before she died.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Max Holland did,” she replied.

  “Why were you and Max talking about Nikki Hale?”

  Campbell ignored his question and gently pushed forward with her own. “Do you think the president was sleeping with her?”

  “Who?” responded Hutchinson. “Nikki? How would I know?”

  “The night she died she had been alone with him for a while.”

  “Maybe they were sleeping together. Who cares?”

  “Max says that after she left the president, she was still on the estate for a little bit before she finally climbed into her car to drive back to her hotel,” stated Campbell.

  “So?”

  “So,” she replied, “he also said while she might have had a drink or two with Alden, she didn’t look drunk to him when she left.”

  “What does any of this have to do with me?” Hutchinson asked.

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

  As a Secret Service agent, Campbell had been trained in detecting microexpressions, small facial clues that indicated someone was either lying or trying to mask an intent to do harm. As she glanced at Hutchinson’s face, she could clearly see the man was under stress and did not like answering her questions.

  “Elise, listen,” he said. “If Max knows where Nikki Hale went after leaving the president that night, he should tell you. If he doesn’t want to, then that’s between the two of you.”

  “Hutch, he did tell me. That’s why I’m talking to you.”

  “It’s unprofessional.”

  “Why?”

  “Because by pointing you to me, he’s casting aspersions on the first lady.”

  Campbell looked at him. “I don’t get it.”

  “Listen, I know Holland doesn’t care for me,” said Hutch as they passed Blair House and entered the park. “There are plenty of senior agents just like him that I’ve either butted heads with or not gotten along with over the years. I don’t want to lose my position. I like being on the first lady’s detail.”

  “How are you going to lose your position by talking to me?”

  “If I start telling tales out of school and the first lady hears about it, how long do you think it’ll take for her to have me reassigned?”

  Elise couldn’t argue with him. It was the same fear she’d had, still had actually, about pursuing the conversation between the president and Stephanie Gallo. “So this is a job security issue for you.”

  “No,” said Hutchinson, pointing to a nearby bench. “It’s a loyalty issue. We’re here to protect these people. That’s our job. And their job is to let us, and that can’t be easy for them. They aren’t allowed many private, unguarded moments.”

  “Okay,” said Elise as she sat down on the bench with him. “We all know that. It’s drilled into us as agents, but—”

  “No ‘buts’ for a second,” said Hutchinson, interrupting her. “I want to know why you suddenly find Nikki Hale’s death so interesting.”

  Elise had no intention of lying to Hutchinson. He had the same training she did and would be able to smell a lie a mile away. At the same time, she had no intention of being completely truthful with him either. “Someone is considering bringing a civil suit over her accident.”

  Hutchinson was clearly taken by surprise. “Who?” he asked.

  “Christine De Palma. The business partner of Sheryl Coleman, who was killed that night.”

  “The wife of the man driving the minivan,” Hutchinson said absentmindedly.

  “Who also,” added Elise, “was the mother of the two children killed in that crash.”

  “Why now?”

  “Maybe she wants justice.”

  “It was an accident. A lawsuit is not going to change anything. What grounds could this woman possibly bring a civil suit on?”

  “Hale obviously had way too much to drink before she left the estate. I’m not an attorney, but from what I understand, if anyone contributed to Nikki’s intoxication, and knowingly allowed her to drive drunk, they could be in some serious trouble.”

  Hutchinson balanced his coffee cup on his knee and stared across the park toward the statue of Andrew Jackson.

  “How do you know about this lawsuit?” he asked.

  “I’m friends with a detective in East Hampton.”

  “Do you think this De Palma woman is serious about the suit?”

  “I don’t know,” Campbell replied. “But if she does go through with it, everyone who was there that night is going to get subpoenaed.”

  Hutchinson closed his eyes and shook his head. Exhaling a long breath, he opened them again and said, “The first lady is not fond of the women the president surrounds himself with. Stephanie Gallo and Nikki Hale in particular. She resents the access Gallo has to her husband. It makes her feel like she has been cast aside. Wherever the president was on the campaign trail Gallo was always close by. In fact, she traveled with him more than Mrs. Alden did. Rumors of affairs have been rampant—”

  “As have rumors of the first lady’s drinking,” interjected Campbell, wondering aloud about something many insiders had long suspected. “Some say that played a part in the president’s not putting her out front as much as other candidates do with their spouses.”

  Hutchinson shrugged. “From what I saw, I’d say the stress was pretty hard on her.”

  “How does Nikki Hale fit into all of this? Was she with the first lady that night?”

  Whether Hutchinson was resigned to the fact that the information was bound to come out at some point, or simply needed a colleague to unburden himself to, Elise couldn’t tell. All she knew was that for some reason, Hutch had decided to come clean with her.

  “Stephanie Gallo is a beautiful, powerful woman, but with all her money there is one thing she doesn’t have—youth. That was something Nikki Hale had in abundance, and it was her that the first lady most suspected her husband might be having an affair with,” he said.

  “Did she have any proof?” asked Campbell.

  “Not that I know of. I think she was going more on intuition than anything else. The president sure seemed to spend a lot of time alone with her.”

  Elise looked at him. “From what I understand, she was one of the primary architects of his web campaign. Considering how influential it was and how much money it raised, I’d say she was an important player.”

  “I’m not defending the first lady. I’m just telling you what I saw.”

  “Well, what did you see the night she died? Was she with the first lady?”

  “Yes, she was,” said Hutchinson as he turned away and looked off at the statue again.

  “Why? What did the first lady want with her?”

  “She had decided to confront her. She asked me to find Hale and bring her back to the guesthouse.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Elise. “What was the first lady doing in the guesthouse?”

  “She and the president had had an argument that evening over something. I wasn’t there, so I don’t know what it was about. All I know was that when I came on duty, he was still in the main house and she had moved to the guesthouse.”

  “Okay, so you tracked down Hale and brought her back there.”

  “No,” said Hutchinson. “She was with the president at that time, so I left word with Max to send her to the guesthouse whenever they were finished.”

  “Then you went back and reported to the first lady.”

  “Correct.”

  “And how did Mrs. Alden take that piece of information?” asked Campbell.

  “Not well,” said Hutchinson. “She grabbed a glass and a bottle of wine and went upstairs.”

  “When did Nikki Hale get there?”

  “About a half hour later.”

  “What
happened then?”

  “I brought her up to Mrs. Alden’s room and left them alone.”

  “Were you the only agent posted to the guesthouse?”

  “There were other agents on the grounds outside,” said Hutchinson.

  “But you were the only one inside,” clarified Campbell.

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you hear anything or see anything after that?”

  Hutchinson was slow to respond. “Mrs. Alden asked if I would bring a glass upstairs for Ms. Hale.”

  Elise looked at him askance. “That’s somewhat inappropriate, isn’t it? You’re there to protect her, not wait on her. Did you say no?”

  “No, I didn’t,” said the man with a shake of his head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it wasn’t a big deal, all right?”

  Elise couldn’t help but feel that Todd Hutchinson had grown a bit too close to the first lady. Nevertheless, she let it slide. “So,” she continued, “now Mrs. Alden and Nikki Hale were up there drinking together?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Do you think the first lady was trying to get her drunk?”

  “I think she was trying to get to the bottom of Hale’s relationship with her husband. She probably thought the wine would help,” replied Hutchinson. “You know what they say. In vino veritas.”

  “In wine there is truth.”

  Hutch nodded.

  “Then let’s suppose the first lady was trying to loosen Hale up to get at the truth,” she said. “Did you hear any arguing? Anything like that?”

  “Not at first.”

  “So they did argue.”

  “Yes.”

  “How long into their meeting was it?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Twenty minutes, maybe a half hour.”

  “Did you overhear any of the specifics?”

  “No, I was downstairs. It was just a lot of raised voices.”

  “Then what happened?” asked Elise.

  “Hale came down the stairs and walked right out the front door. That was it.”

  “That was it? Didn’t you think maybe you should try to stop her from leaving?”

  “Why should I? I didn’t have any way of knowing how much alcohol she had consumed. Besides, I’m not paid to conduct field sobriety tests. I’m paid to protect Mrs. Alden.”

  “And fetch wineglasses for her.”

  “Fuck you, Campbell.”

  “You couldn’t have at least radioed one of the agents at the gate?” she asked.

  “How the hell should I have known she was going to get in her car? She could have been going back into the main house to ask Stephanie Gallo to put her up for the night so she didn’t have to drive back to wherever she was staying. Listen, from what I understand, Nikki Hale had a lot of experience holding her liquor. She didn’t tumble down the stairs or weave on her way out the door. Could she have been drunk when she left? Sure. Was it my duty to know? Absolutely not.”

  “Does the president know all of this?”

  “I would imagine the first lady filled him in,” said Hutchinson.

  Elise tried to think of something else to ask him, but her mind was blank. She was missing something, but she couldn’t figure out what.

  More confused than when she had started, she felt that she should wrap things up and let Hutchinson get home. She could think of only one other thing to ask him. “You said the president and the first lady had been fighting. Did he come to the guesthouse that night?”

  “Yes,” he said. “After Hale left.”

  There was something about his answer that bothered her. It came quickly—too quickly, and came off rehearsed. And as he was speaking, he turned back to look at the statue, and Elise thought she detected a telltale microexpression.

  “So, what happened?” she asked. “Did they fight some more? Did they make up? What?”

  “Nothing happened,” Hutchinson replied, and there the microexpression was again. This time she was certain of it. He was lying about something. That had to have been why he had looked away from her.

  Elise watched his face closely and pressed her point. “What do you mean nothing? Something must have happened.”

  Hutch turned back and looked her square in the eyes. “By the time the president arrived, the first lady had passed out.”

  CHAPTER 41

  NANGARHAR PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN

  Back at the cordon, Daniel Fontaine made two phone calls, and within fifteen minutes, Captain West had been given orders to allow the former JTF2 operative to leave the village with whomever he wanted. As his superiors failed to provide him with an excuse to give the inbound Americans if they happened to show up in the middle of this Canadian-sanctioned exodus, West encouraged Harvath and company to move quickly.

  They compared the captain’s maps with the one the shura had given them, which included the layout of the village and the location where Asadoulah had seen Julia Gallo. Convinced the information was reliable, Harvath gave the order for everyone to mount up. Including the elders’ security detail, they numbered fifteen people.

  Anticipating at least two checkpoints on the way into Massoud’s village, Fayaz, the chief elder, rode shotgun in Gallagher’s Land Cruiser with one of his men at the wheel. Harvath, Gallagher, and Fontaine rode in back, their patoos pulled up high to help disguise their faces.

  The rest of the men, including Asadoulah and Daoud the interpreter, who had agreed to come along for an additional fee, were divided between another SUV and a severely beaten-up pickup truck.

  By the time the small convoy drove around the roadblock and out of the village, the sun had already disappeared from the sky. And as it did, the temperature began to drop.

  As the shura had predicted, they encountered precisely two checkpoints on the way into Massoud’s village. Before each of them, Harvath watched as Fayaz removed a special SIM card from his pocket and used it in his cell phone to make calls to notify the elders of the opposing shura that they were coming and should be allowed to pass through the checkpoints. He was a clever old man. Using different SIM cards clearly demonstrated that he wasn’t as provincial as he looked and that he took his own operational security very seriously.

  Thanks to the phone calls, at each checkpoint the speeding convoy was waved right through and not asked to stop. So far, so good.

  Crumbling rock walls and the occasional abandoned mud brick building were the only signs that they were actually headed toward a populated settlement. Other than that, the landscape was completely desolate.

  When they had driven as close as they dared with Harvath, Gallagher, and Fontaine, the convoy stopped. The three men hopped out of the Land Cruiser, quickly gathered the weapons and supplies they needed from the back, and with Daoud and Asadoulah in tow, signaled for the convoy to take off again. The drop had worked like clockwork, and the vehicles were moving again in less than sixty seconds.

  Gallagher wasn’t thrilled about relinquishing control of his SUV, but there was no other choice. It was now completely dark, and at the speed with which the vehicles had zoomed through the checkpoints, the men manning them never would have been able to count how many people were inside. All they would be able to report was that there was a total of three vehicles on their way into the village.

  The other advantage to doing it this way was that though Harvath and his team would have to sneak into the village by foot, the Land Cruiser would be waiting for them when they got there.

  According to Asadoulah, the structure where Julia Gallo had been held was less than a kilometer away, if you were walking straight through the center of the village. Wrapping their way around the outside of the village as they tried to avoid all human contact meant that their trip was going to take a little longer.

  As they had been when they had gone after Mustafa Khan, Harvath and Gallagher were both wearing night vision goggles. Fontaine was wearing a pair he had brought as well, and to allow Daoud and Asadoulah to see where they were going
without attracting any attention, Harvath had clipped the Streamlights Marjan and Pamir had used in the tunnel under Darulaman Road to each of their belts. He also made sure they both knew how to operate them in case they needed to be extinguished in a hurry.

  Harvath, Fontaine, and Gallagher also had their bone mics in and carried their encrypted Motorola radios with them. Even though they had been switched to a new frequency, they had adopted call signs specific to this assignment. If anyone heard them, they intended to sound like a convoy of some sort. Harvath was “Convoy 1,” Fontaine was “Convoy 2,” and Baba G was “Cover 6.”

  With the temperature dropping, they now donned Afghan-style coats with plenty of pockets to hold everything. Over their coats they wrapped their patoos, and they still wore the pakols on top of their heads.

  Eyeballing the impressive array of weapons and equipment, Daoud and Asadoulah asked to be given firearms. Though Harvath knew most Afghans had experience with firearms, he didn’t see any upside to these two carrying and turned them down. The men tried to argue with him, but Harvath shot them a look that quickly shut them up.

  The village was built in a valley with a stream that ran right down through it. The terrain was rocky and steep. Though Harvath worried about his Afghan charges, of whom one was wearing sandals and the other was wearing the Afghan equivalent of penny loafers, his concern was misplaced. Even in the dark, with nothing but the small pool of light from their Streamlights, they steadily picked their way along like a couple of Afghan mountain goats. In fact, had they been leading instead of following, Harvath had a strong suspicion that he, Gallagher, and Fontaine would have been working very hard to keep up with them.

  Fortunately, the village had no dogs and very little livestock that could be disturbed. The men gave all of the dwellings a wide berth and reached a concealed area about two hundred meters away from their target without incident.

  Gallagher removed his NODs and placed them over Asadoulah’s eyes. Once the boy had become accustomed to seeing things through the goggles, Harvath illuminated the structure with an IR laser and they quietly asked if that was where Dr. Gallo had been held.