The First Commandment

by Brad Thor

  “It’s Emily.”

  Harvath didn’t need to be given a last name to know who Gary was talking about. Emily Hawkins had been Gary’s assistant and right arm while he’d been at the FBI. She’d been like a second mother to Harvath since he’d moved to D. C., and he had left the puppy with her after Tracy had been shot.

  “What happened?”

  “He got to her. Her and the dog.”

  Lawlor was not an overly emotional man, and Harvath could tell it was taking everything he had to keep it together. He was completely choked up. “Tell me what happened.”

  “He was hiding in her barn out near Haymarket. He beat both her and the puppy severely. They’ve each got multiple broken bones and contusions. He did a real number on them, but that was just for starters. This sick bastard had brought along two body bags, one for an adult and one for a child. He placed her in one and the dog in the other, but before he zipped them up, he tossed in something to keep them company.”

  Harvath’s stomach started to churn. He knew that body bags were nonporous. It was a horrible way to die. Harvath was definitely going to kill this guy. He pulled over to the side of the road and asked, “What did he throw in there?”

  “He filled Emily’s bag with horseflies. She was bitten over two hundred times.”

  Horseflies? That didn’t make sense. The next plague was supposed to be boils. “Gary, you’re sure that’s all there was? Just flies?”

  “The EMTs that showed up said he put over a thousand fleas in with the puppy.”

  “So fleas and flies? That’s all?”

  “No, that’s not all. He strung them both upside down from one of the rafters. If Emily’s neighbor hadn’t shown up when he did, they’d be dead.

  “Wait a second,” said Harvath. “They’re alive? Emily and the dog?”

  “Yes, but only barely. I’m on my way to the hospital in Manassas now.”

  “When you get there, make sure the doctor and the vet monitor them both for boils and any sort of plaguelike illness. In fact, you should recommend that they start courses of antibiotics right away. This guy has been combining scenarios from the ten plagues of Egypt. The flies and the fleas were the third and the fourth, or in this guy’s case, the seventh and eighth. Just tell them to be on the lookout.”

  When Lawlor said, “Scot, there’s something else I need to tell you,” dread seized him.

  “Who else?” was all Harvath could manage.

  “Carolyn Leonard and Kate Palmer. They were infected with some kind of staphylococcus aureus-bubonic plague hybrid.”

  The knife had been shoved into Harvath’s heart the minute he found Tracy lying in a pool of blood on his doorstep; now it felt as if acid were being poured down the blade. The pain of having it twisted for Emily and the dog was one thing, but with Kate and Carolyn added to the mix, it was almost too much to bear.

  “Where did it happen?” he asked.

  “At Tysons Galleria,” replied Lawlor.

  “The shopping center? In public?”

  “Some guy was offering perfume samples. We think he had the hybrid aerosolized. Kate gave the Bureau guys a description. Macy’s sent over pictures of all their employees, contracted or otherwise, and none of them are a match.”

  “Are they looking at CCTV footage?”

  “The tapes have already been pulled and both Kate and Carolyn are working with sketch artists.”

  “Will they be okay?” asked Harvath.

  “This bug is very fast-acting. They showed symptoms in less than twelve hours, which is pretty much unheard of with either staphylococcus aureus or bubonic plague.”

  “If I remember my medical training right, staphylococcus aureus causes some pretty nasty boils.”

  “And can be a real bear to treat because of resistance to most antibiotics,” said Lawlor. “The best thing they have going for them is the fact that it was caught early. Even so, the medical people are pretty concerned about how fast-moving it is. They’ve both been quarantined.”

  “There’s no question in my mind that we’re dealing with the same guy,” stated Harvath.

  “Nor in anyone else’s. They found a card in Carolyn Leonard’s purse, the kind perfume samples are sprayed onto. It had the name of some bogus perfume and a tagline written in Italian.”

  “Let me guess,” said Harvath. “That which has been taken in blood, can only be answered in blood?”

  “Exactly,” stated Lawlor.

  “Does the president know?”

  “Yes, he knows.”

  “And?” asked Harvath.

  “And it doesn’t change anything. He still expects you to turn yourself in.”

  “Well, he’s going to have to wait until I’m finished.”

  Chapter 71

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  J ack Rutledge prided himself on his ability to read his people. When Charles Anderson was shown into the residence, the president knew he hadn’t arrived bearing good news.

  “We’ve got a problem, sir,” said Anderson, confirming the president’s suspicions.

  Rutledge closed the report he’d been skimming and motioned for his chief of staff to take a seat. “What is it?”

  “I just heard from Director Vaile. His team managed to take Harvath into custody.”

  “That should be good news. What’s the problem?”

  “Harvath escaped.”

  “He what?” demanded Rutledge. “How the hell did that happen?”

  “It’ll all be in the DCI’s briefing,” replied Anderson, “but there’s more.”

  “How much more?”

  The chief of staff lowered his voice. “Before he escaped, Harvath was debriefed about his recent trip to Jordan. Apparently, he was able to lure Abdel Salam Najib out of Syria to Amman.”

  The president could feel his chest constricting. “Harvath killed him. Didn’t he?”

  “Yes, sir, he did.”

  “God damn it!” Rutledge bellowed. “First Palmera and now Najib. When their people realize what’s happening they’re going to strike back. We need to assemble the National Security Council.”

  The president had his work cut out for him. He knew there was no way the United States could provide continuous protection for every single school bus in the nation. It wasn’t just a logistical nightmare; it would also create widespread panic. American citizens would rightly wonder if school buses weren’t safe from terrorists, what was. Would movie theaters be safe? Would shopping malls? How about public transportation? Should they even keep their children in school? Should they even be going in to work?

  The specter of terrorism, especially when given weight and legitimacy by the government, had an amazingly corrosive effect on society. The president had read the classified reports on the impact of the D. C. sniper shootings and had studied the extrapolations of how quickly the U. S. economy would suffer if a similar threat was played out nationwide. After the economic ramifications began to unfold, the societal problems would erupt. If law enforcement couldn’t bring the perpetrators to justice, citizens would begin to take matters into their own hands. Hate crimes would spike, and groups who felt they were being persecuted would begin to strike back. If the situation was not addressed quickly and effectively, rioting would ensue. In a word, the situation would devolve into anarchy. The psychological effects of terrorism were absolutely insidious.

  The president’s chief of staff interrupted his thoughts by saying, “There’s also something else we need to talk about.”

  Rutledge shook his head as if to say What else could there be?

  “A reporter from the Baltimore Sun contacted Geoff Mitchell’s office for a statement on a story he’s about to run. As you know, being the White House press secretary, Geoff gets asked a lot of wild, conspiracyesque questions, but this reporter has his teeth into something. Geoff’s afraid it could get some traction if not put down immediately with a direct repudiation from you.”

  “What’s the story?”

  “The repor
ter is going to claim that you authorized the removal of a John Doe corpse from the Maryland Medical Examiner’s Office to dupe the people of Charleston, South Carolina, into believing that their school bus hijacker had been shot and killed.”

  Rutledge gritted his teeth and grabbed the arms of his chair. “Where the hell did that story come from?”

  “At this point, sir, it doesn’t much matter. What matters is that it’s pretty damaging, and he’s going to also allege the White House was complicit in a homicide.”

  “A homicide? What homicide?”

  “According to this guy Sheppard, a Maryland assistant medical examiner and one of his investigators were approached by two men posing as FBI agents who told them to leave the case alone. Shortly thereafter they were killed in a traffic accident.”

  The president was livid. “Why the hell wasn’t I told about this?”

  Anderson shrugged his shoulders and said, “I assume you’ll have to ask Director Vaile that.”

  “Get him over here right now,” ordered Rutledge. “And after I get to the bottom of this with him, I want to talk to Geoff. We absolutely cannot let that story run.”

  “Do you still want me to assemble the NSC?”

  The president thought about it for a moment and replied. “I want the confirmation on Najib directly from Vaile. Then I’ll decide what our next move should be.”

  The chief of staff nodded and disappeared.

  Once he was gone, Rutledge drilled his thumbs into his temples. He could feel a monster migraine coming on. Things were spinning so wildly out of control that they were starting to fly off the track. He didn’t want to even think of what might happen next. Deep down, though, he knew that things were going to get much worse before they even had a prayer of getting better.

  Chapter 72

  O n Twelfth Street, just south of Logan Circle, Harvath doubled back once more to make sure he wasn’t being followed and then crossed the street and entered the bank.

  The bank officer was professional and polite. After checking Harvath’s ID and signature, she gestured for him to follow her to the vault that contained the safe-deposit boxes.

  Harvath produced his key and in a synchronous fashion that he felt certain was designed to impress, the bank officer followed his lead, inserted her key, and turned it at exactly the same moment as if they were about to unleash a nuclear weapon.

  Once the box was withdrawn, he was shown to a small, private room where the door was shut behind him and he was left alone.

  Harvath lifted the lid off the box and removed the normal things one would expect to find—stock certificates, bonds, and legal papers. Beneath them was what Harvath had really come for.

  As he stared at the items, he felt a strange sense of reluctant contentment for having had the foresight to be prepared for such an event. Actually, who was he kidding? It wasn’t foresight. He was just practical. His own government had turned on him repeatedly. What prompted him to keep the stash of items was a keen instinct for survival, plain and simple.

  There had been the president’s kidnapping years ago, the more recent setup in Iraq with Al Jazeera, and now this. Each time the people he served had left him on the outside looking in. They had branded him a criminal and now, a traitor.

  He had always known he was expendable. It was part of the territory, but to lump his family and friends in that category was unacceptable.

  Every time he’d been forced to the outside, Harvath had had to muscle his way back in. He’d had to make the powers that be see that he was right and that they were wrong. This time, though, he didn’t know if things were that black and white. He wasn’t going to just sit back while someone stalked the people in his life. And for the first time ever, Harvath thought he might actually burn for what he was doing.

  He’d always been about doing the right thing. He had pursued the correct course of action repeatedly throughout his career, often at his own peril, but with the knowledge that as long as he did what he felt was right, he’d be able to look at himself in the mirror and that was all that mattered.

  Now, he was confronting something new—two versions of what was right: the president’s version and his own. The decision Harvath had to make, though, went much deeper than simply what was right. It was about protecting the people he cared about who had been put in harm’s way for no reason other than their love or friendship with him.

  In Scot Harvath’s mind, there could be no bigger betrayal, no larger disloyalty than to allow these innocents to be harmed. Whatever the cost to himself, he had to stop that from happening.

  Chapter 73

  H arvath gathered the things he needed from his safe-deposit box and left the bank.

  As he stepped outside, his eyes rapidly scanned everything—rooftops, parked cars, the people on the street. The president had put an Omega Team on his trail, and Harvath knew that they would use all necessary means to stop him.

  The team could be anywhere at this point, and he needed to be prepared for what he would do if they found him.

  Harvath made it back to his SUV without incident and headed northwest out of D. C. As he drove, he removed another cell phone from the bag on the backseat and dialed.

  He wanted to check on his mother and Tracy, but it was too risky. If the CIA was looking for him, they’d be watching for calls that came in to either of the hospitals. Instead, he dialed the outside access number for his BlackBerry’s voicemail system to check for messages.

  There were several from Gary Lawlor. Having just spoken with him, Harvath deleted them. The only other message was from Ron Parker. He was urging Harvath to call as soon as possible and left a different number than usual to contact him.

  Harvath punched the digits into the phone and waited. The quality of the ringing changed halfway through and it sounded as if the call was being routed. Harvath started to grow uneasy. If the CIA had used Tim Finney’s pilots as well as Rick Morrell against him who might be next?

  Realizing that any CIA interference would be virtually undetectable, he decided against hanging up. A moment later, Parker answered.

  “Are you someplace safe?” he said.

  “Safe enough for now,” replied Harvath. “Is this line secure?”

  “Our mutual fly-fishing friend set it up. As long as we stay away from specifics, I think we’ll be okay.”

  Harvath knew immediately what Parker was talking about. Tom Morgan had set up the communication link and the need to stay away from specifics was because as good as Morgan was, the CIA and NSA were better. If they wanted Harvath bad enough, which apparently they did, the CIA and NSA could have programmed the Echelon eavesdropping system to monitor all calls for certain keywords relating to Harvath and what he was embroiled in.

  Therefore, Harvath needed to choose his words very carefully. “Did you know about the change of plans on my trip home?”

  “Not until after you had already deplaned. If we had known, we would have told you.”

  Harvath knew Parker well enough to know that he was telling him the truth. “How’d they find out?”

  “They learned about our little trip south of the border. But not until you were already on your way back from overseas. How’d everything work out?”

  “It was quite enlightening. Apparently our little buddy has not been completely forthcoming.”

  “About what?” asked Parker.

  “His list was light by one name.”

  “Do you think it was a mistake?”

  Harvath laughed. “Not a chance. He knew what he was doing. We just need to find out why.”

  There was a long pause before Parker responded. “We need to talk.”

  Those four words had never meant anything good when uttered to him by a woman, and Harvath felt even less confident about their being anything but a prelude to bad news right now. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “All of our contracts have been canceled,” said Parker.

  “Canceled? What are you talking about?”

&
nbsp; “We received calls from our special clients back east and they all invoked the same cancellation clause. No discussion, no explanation.”

  Harvath didn’t know what to say. The contracts for Site Six and the Sargasso Program were their bread and butter. They represented a tremendous amount of money. “I guess that’s the big boys’ subtle way of telling you that I’m persona non grata.”

  “Actually,” replied Parker. “It wasn’t so subtle. One of the larger dogs in the five-sided kennel called to let us know that all of the contracts could be immediately reinstated.”

  “If you only agreed to sever all ties with me.”

  “Pretty much.”

  Harvath didn’t like having put his friends in this position. They’d already done more than enough for him. With the Pentagon offering them a way out, Harvath decided he’d make it easy on them. “Thank your boss for everything and tell him to consider all contact between us severed.”

  “You can thank him yourself. He told them all to go to hell.”

  That was very much like Finney. With all the betrayals Harvath had suffered lately, it was nice to know he still had some real, true friends, which was all the more reason not to let Finney devastate the business he’d worked so hard to build and so loved operating. “He’s a charmer. He’ll bring them around.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going to finish what these people started,” said Harvath.

  “They can cancel our contracts, but they can’t stop us from helping you.”

  “Yes, they can. The contracts are only the tip of the iceberg. The pressure only gets more intense as your heads get pushed beneath the water. You guys don’t want that. You’ve already helped me a ton and I’m grateful for it.”

  Parker didn’t like being cut out of the loop any more than Harvath. “So we won’t actively do anything else unless you ask us. The babysitters will remain in place, though, and that’s not an item open for discussion.”