by Brad Thor
“But bureaucrats are the government,” Harvath insisted. “And the government has to remain impartial. It doesn’t get to pick sides.”
He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Both Mordechai and Carlton chuckled. Ryan was the only one who didn’t find it amusing.
“The tendency of bureaucrats to favor more bureaucracy notwithstanding,” she said, “we’re still a nation of laws, and they take an oath. They don’t get to unilaterally decide what’s best for the country and the rest of us.”
“True,” Carlton agreed, as the smile passed from his face. “What I’m trying to explain is that if your oar-pullers start pulling more in one direction, and nobody—i.e., the American citizens—is up on deck watching, your ship is going to be headed in another direction before you know it.
“Introduce someone belowdecks with charisma and personality and anything is possible. You could introduce the devil himself, and if the oar-pullers felt he was sympathetic to their wants and desires, and had their best interests at heart, there’s no end to what he could achieve.”
Harvath didn’t want to believe it was possible, but to do that would be to ignore the story of history and every palace intrigue, coup, and revolution within it.
“Let’s say you’re right,” Harvath offered. “Let’s say there is some sort of connection between the people at Damien’s house last night and the goals of this Plenary Panel. Do you think he would actually tell a bunch of middle management Federal workers what his grand plan was?”
“I suppose we would have to ask them.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“Who would you start with?”
“Her,” Carlton said, pointing to the image of Linda Landon from DHS. “The one who stayed after all the others had gone home.”
“And as soon as she knows we’re on to her, the first call she’ll make is to Damien,” said Harvath. “He’ll flee or assert diplomatic immunity. Then he’ll deny he knows Hendrik and claim the documents Mordechai found in his room were planted by the Mossad in order to impugn his integrity because he’s pro-Palestine. That’ll be it. Game over.”
“What if we snatch and render him?” Ryan asked.
It wasn’t a bad question. In fact, Carlton himself had already raised the issue with the President. But contrary to Mordechai’s earlier quip, there were bright, Constitutional lines the President wouldn’t agree to cross, not without a lot more actionable intelligence. For better or worse, Pierre Damien was an American citizen on American soil. They would have to find another way.
Harvath shook his head. “Nobody in our government is going to touch this. Not at this stage. We have to have enough to stop him cold.”
“What do you propose then?”
“Everyone who was at Damien’s house last night needs to be under around-the-clock surveillance. That includes phones, email accounts, all of it.”
Ryan looked at him. “You’re going to go to the Department of Justice and ask them to prepare the warrants?”
Harvath knew they couldn’t do that, especially not when one of their members was on the list. Plus, the Attorney General would want to know how he got the information out of Hendrik and where the South African was now. And when you threw the Israelis in the mix and the fact that they were running an unsanctioned operation on U.S. soil, you were asking for everything to implode on the spot.
He knew, though, that the bad guys counted on America playing by the rules. It allowed them to keep the advantage and stay several steps ahead. Harvath was a big proponent of leveling the playing field by tossing out the rulebook. If the bad guys wouldn’t fight fair, why should the United States?
He had heard countless arguments made about being no better than our enemies if we abandoned our laws and principles. There was merit to that argument. There was also merit to the argument made by Ben Franklin that those who would trade a little liberty for a little added security deserved neither and would lose both. That was why there needed to be a very dark, covert, third way.
Harvath understood that it was a slippery slope. If the United States was willing to color outside the lines when it came to foreign enemies, how long until it justified those tactics on its own citizens? In a sense, it had already happened.
U.S. citizens who had gone overseas to fight with Islamic terrorists had been killed in drone strikes without the benefit of trial. Harvath had no problem with that. If you were seen anywhere near those savages, on the battlefield or off, you deserved what was coming to you. Actively targeting Americans at home, on American soil, though, was where the slope got slipperier.
Over beers and lobster rolls on his dock, he could argue the finer points of national security policy all day long. As far as he was concerned, the government should be forbidden from looking in people’s windows, recording their phone calls, and reading their emails without compelling probable cause. Government fishing expeditions, in his opinion, should result in the government getting its ass kicked in the parking lot before it can ever make it to the boat ramp.
Mass surveillance opened the door to incredible abuse. It also corroded the soul of a nation. People under constant surveillance ceased to be individuals with their own thoughts and ideas. They began to comport themselves in a manner which they believed was in accordance with what the “authorities” wanted. In a word, it was total bullshit.
The best kind of nation was one where the government feared the people. When the government feared the people there was liberty. When the people feared the government, there was tyranny. Harvath had vowed that he would obey his oath to protect and defend the Constitution and always side with the people.
What he was suggesting now, though, begged an important question: was he siding with the Constitution if he was taking it upon himself to circumvent the law? Was it “siding with the people” to decide that some people needed to be put under secret surveillance just because they had been seen at the home of someone who was under suspicion? If the shoe was on the other foot, how would Harvath feel about being surveilled himself?
They were all legitimate questions, none of which he had time for. Was he going to bend some laws? Absolutely. Was he likely to break a few? Probably. Was he going to feel guilty about any of it? No.
Harvath’s attitude was: If you break into my house in the middle of the night with a butcher knife, I’m not going to leave my shotgun under the bed out of “fairness.” If you come at me, if you threaten my family, my home, or my country, I’m coming right back at you with everything I have. Don’t want the horns? Stay the hell away from the bull.
Looking at Lydia Ryan, he smiled and said, “We’re going to hold off on the Department of Justice for the time being. It’s just going to be us.”
CHAPTER 33
* * *
CLIFTON FARM, VIRGINIA
WEDNESDAY
Helena had never eaten farm-fresh eggs before. Even Jeffery, who never smiled, took pleasure in watching her eat.
“This is the way people were meant to eat,” Damien said approvingly. “Fresh, local food.”
She was embarrassed with how fast she had finished her omelet. The flavors from the eggs, the fresh spinach, the farm goat cheese—they were amazing.
Damien laughed. “Would you like another?”
“I shouldn’t,” Helena replied.
“Nonsense,” he said. “Jeffery, make another please, and we’ll split it.”
The man nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen.
“I’m going to have to add an extra half hour on the treadmill this morning.”
Damien reached out and pulled her chair closer. “You are absolutely perfect. Do you know that?”
Helena smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. “If I’m perfect, it’s only because I’m honest about how long I need to be on the treadmill.”
&n
bsp; “I’m not talking about your body. I’m talking about you.”
She had no idea what had gotten into him.
“You’re in a good mood this morning.”
“Aren’t I always?” he asked.
She smiled. “Most days, yes, but you seem especially happy today.”
He took a moment to compose his thoughts. “I look at you. I look at this farm. We have everything we could possibly need right here. The world could come to an end tomorrow and we’d be absolutely fine. In fact, we would be wonderful.”
“Do you know something I don’t?” she teased. “Is there a comet headed our way or something?”
Damien held her chin in his hand and kissed her. It was a long, slow, soft kiss. “What do you want to do today?”
“What are my choices?” she whispered, moving closer to him.
He smiled. “I meant here on the farm. I have to go out for a while. You have the horses, the ATVs, whatever you want. Just speak to Jeffery, and he’ll take care of it.”
Helena kissed him back. “I may want to ride later, I don’t know. I have to finish my trafficking presentation for the UN.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that.”
“Because the comet’s coming.”
It took Damien a moment to grasp her joke before he laughed.
“Pierre,” she said. “Do you not take my work seriously?”
“Of course I do. It’s just that it’s going to be a beautiful day. Promise me you won’t waste all of it inside.”
“I promise,” she replied. “As long as you promise that when you get back, we can swim naked.”
He gave her another long kiss before breaking it off and standing up. “Should we go into town for lunch this afternoon, or would you prefer to stay here?”
She pretended to think about it and then said, “Can we bring our own wine?”
“Of course we can. Whatever you want.”
“Wonderful. Let’s go into town then.”
“Okay. You choose the spot,” he said. “Jeffery will make our res-
ervations.”
She smiled as she watched him walk out of the dining room. He picked up his coat in the front hall and exited the house.
There was the sound of his security team opening and closing car doors, engines starting, and then vehicles rolling away down the driveway. One down, she thought. Now all she had to do was wait for Jeffery to leave.
Damien had given him a list of errands he wanted him to run that morning. As soon as he was gone, she could get to work.
Changing into her running clothes, she walked to the outbuilding that held the gym. With its floor-to-ceiling windows, she had a perfect view of the driveway. After ten minutes of stretching, she popped her earbuds in and began running on the treadmill. Twenty minutes later, she saw Jeffery pull away in the farm’s vintage Jeep Wagoneer with its wood-paneled sides. Hitting the stop button, she grabbed a towel and headed back up to the house.
After checking each room to make sure no one else was there, she made her way to the library. Damien had only taken his coat with him, which meant his laptop had to have been left behind. Setting her phone on the desk, she opened its lower right drawer. The safe, with its digital keypad, was identical to the one in Geneva.
Punching in the code, she waited for the light to turn green and then opened it. Inside was Damien’s laptop. She quickly pulled it out and powered it up.
Thankfully, the keystroke reader differentiated between last night’s entries on that bitch Linda’s computer versus Damien’s. Looking at her phone, into which she had inserted the reader’s memory card, Helena made ready to enter the first string of letters, symbols, and numbers.
When the password screen came up, she plugged everything in and held her breath.
It felt like an eternity, but seconds later the main screen appeared, and she had access to Damien’s machine.
As in his personal life, Damien’s files were perfectly organized. Each one was labeled with a logical heading and subdivided into appropriate folders and documents.
Helena had six key words she was looking for. None of them were in any of the corresponding folder or document titles she was looking at.
Opening up the search function, she searched for the first word on her list. Nothing.
She then tried the second. Nothing.
Not allowing herself to become discouraged, she tried the third and fourth. The results were both the same. Nothing.
The fifth word also produced no results. Now, she was becoming nervous. Entering the sixth word on her list, she allowed her finger to hover over the return button for several seconds. If this didn’t work, she didn’t know what she was going to do. Finally, she pressed the button and waited for her search results.
Jackpot!
Smoothing her ponytailed hair, she began opening the documents. It was all there—all of it and more.
Picking up her phone, she switched it to camera mode and slowly scrolled through the documents, clicking picture after picture.
She had made it about halfway through when she heard a noise from outside the library. It sounded like it had come from the entry hall. Was it one of the farm staff? Had Damien come back already?
She rushed through the documents, taking picture after picture. There was the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway. Whoever it was, it sounded like they were making their way right toward her. Helena took a deep breath and tried not to panic. She needed to photograph the rest of it.
She fired the camera repeatedly, capturing page after page.
The footsteps now sounded like they were right outside the door, but it was a long hallway and the echoes could be playing tricks on her ears. There was perspiration above her eyebrows, but she didn’t dare waste a second wiping it away. She had to finish. It needed to be done.
Her heart was pounding in her chest. Her instincts were screaming for her to get the hell out of there.
Suddenly, there was a hand on the knob. Slowly, it began to turn. When it opened, Jeffery found Helena standing at Mr. Damien’s desk, the local paper spread out across it.
“Jeffery,” she said as he walked in. “Mr. Damien and I are going out to lunch this afternoon. I’m supposed to pick, but I can’t decide. Which do you think? Violino or La Niçoise?”
Pointing at the paper, she added. “Violino has a ten percent off coupon, but La Niçoise has reduced corkage.”
Jeffery seemed momentarily at a loss for words. Finally, he said, “I’m sure the finances won’t be a problem. As to Mr. Damien’s preferences, he enjoys them both, equally.”
Even when caught off guard, he could be a smug son of a bitch. Helena smiled at him. “You’re not much help. You know that right?”
“May I ask what you’re doing in the library, miss?”
“Reading,” she said, rattling the newspaper. “How about you?”
The direct approach seemed to confuse him. The man didn’t have much of a sense of humor. She had only seen him smile once, and that was this morning.
“I’m looking for the list Mr. Damien gave me. I left without it,” he said.
“Try the sideboard in the dining room. I saw you make a note on it there.”
“Thank you,” Jeffery replied as he backed out of the room and closed the door.
As soon as he was gone, Helena pulled Damien’s laptop from under the newspaper, powered it down, and returned it to the safe.
CHAPTER 34
* * *
The second time his phone went off, Harvath gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed.
Walking downstairs to the kitchen, he put on some coffee, booted up his laptop, and turned on the TV. So far, there was nothing on the news.
Nicholas was tapped into the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta. He had hacked into the sys
tem and had been monitoring their Epi-X, or Epidemic Information Exchange. It was a password-protected area where local, county, state, and national public health officials could rapidly access and share disease outbreak surveillance information.
In the last twelve hours, two people— one in Chicago and one in Houston—had presented to their local emergency rooms with high fevers and flu-like symptoms. Each had rapidly deteriorated and bled out. They had bled from everywhere including their eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and gums. Any path the blood and liquefying organs could take to escape the body, it did. The ooze was so dark it was almost black. The ICU floors were covered with it and looked like something out of a horror movie.
Though the rapid test kits were not confirming it as Ebola, officials on Epi-X were already referring to it as “some form” of Hemorrhagic Fever. Samples had been dispatched to the CDC for analysis.
While Harvath wasn’t a doctor, he already knew what they were looking at. Weaponized African Hemorrhagic Fever had been set loose.
Once Nicholas had the names of the two patients, he began working up backgrounds on them. The sample was too small to prove a pattern, but Harvath was worried. Both were male and both had Muslim names. His gut told him this was going to get much worse.
Looking at his watch, he debated calling Carlton, but decided against it. He already knew the questions he was going to ask. Until he and Nicholas had more information, it didn’t make sense to wake him up.
Harvath also made a mental note to remember to thank him. It was Carlton who had invited Lara down from Boston so that she could be there when he got back from Congo. The Old Man knew Lara was special to him, and that she was someone he cared about.