by Brad Thor
“I gave you the wrong button,” he said, pointing to the one on Harvath’s chest. “Give that to me.”
Harvath unpinned it and handed it over.
“This is yours,” he said, slapping the new button into Harvath’s hand and waddling away.
Harvath turned it over. In place of the blue square, he now had a gold star.
“What’s this mean?” he asked one of the DHS officers standing next to him.
“Stop asking questions and put it on,” the man replied.
Harvath did as he was told.
No sooner had he pinned on the new button than the DHS team made an abrupt left turn and took him toward a completely different part of the train station.
CHAPTER 51
* * *
Amtrak’s ClubAcela lounge had been turned into a high-security, makeshift holding area. There were no windows, it had its own bathrooms, and its limited exits were all covered by heavily armed agents in black tactical gear like those who had shown up to collect him at his house. Harvath looked, but didn’t recognize any of them.
DHS, like every other Federal agency, was a mixed bag of the good, the bad, and the indifferent. He was certain that these men had no idea what Main Core was and the unwitting role they were playing in its implementation. The fact that they were even still at their posts as the virus raged around them spoke volumes about their dedication and professionalism.
After being checked in at the front desk, Harvath was told to help himself to food, water, or coffee. When the train was ready, an announcement would be made. Harvath asked when that might be and of course, the response was “I don’t know.”
He poured himself a cup of coffee and slowly took in the room. Everyone else was wearing the same gold stars. There were a few women, but the crowd was predominantly male. Some were chatting and seemed to know each other. Others seemed to want to keep to themselves. There was a wide range of ages and colors. Harvath found Chief Justice Cameron Leascht toward the back, reading a newspaper, one of the ones trying to keep to himself.
“Judge Leascht?” Harvath asked as he approached.
The man folded the corner of his paper down long enough to examine the stranger, before returning to his article.
Harvath took the seat next to him. “Director McGee sent me.”
Slowly, he turned his head and looked at Harvath.
“Mrs. Leascht called him as soon as you were taken away.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How do I know that you aren’t part of all this?” Leascht asked, pointing at the room with his chin.
“You don’t. You’re going to have to trust me.”
“And why should I trust you?”
“For two reasons,” Harvath replied. “One, it’s my people who discovered the Main Core list McGee warned you about. And two, Mrs. Leascht is waiting for you nearby, and I’m going to get you out of here.”
He now had the judge’s full attention. “Where are we going?”
“Where I wish you would have gone to begin with. Camp Peary.”
The Chief Justice put his paper down. “What’s the plan?”
Harvath was silent for a moment. “We’re still working on it, but when I say it’s time to go, stick close and do everything I tell you.”
The judge began laughing.
“What?” Harvath asked.
“For the last several hours, I’ve been kicking myself for not listening to Bob McGee and praying for the Cavalry to come. But as I pictured them bursting through those doors, ‘We’re still working on the plan’ wasn’t what I thought they’d say.”
Harvath instantly liked Leascht. “What would you want them to say?”
“I don’t know,” the judge replied. “Something from the movies like ‘Navy SEALs, we’re here to get you out.’ ”
Now it was Harvath’s turn to laugh.
“What?” Leascht asked.
Harvath winked at him.
“You’re a SEAL?”
“And I’m here to get you out. By the way, that movie was filled with inaccuracies.”
“What was wrong with it?”
“For starters, SEALs are much better looking.”
Leascht smiled and Harvath was glad that he had kept his sense of humor. Extracting a panic-stricken hostage was a nightmare. If the Chief Justice could continue to keep his spirits up and along with them, his wits, then that would help tilt the odds in their favor.
The judge hadn’t eaten, so Harvath prepared a plate of sandwiches and returned with a couple bottles of water. As he ate, Harvath filled him in on everything they had learned so far.
“Salus populi suprema lex esto,” Leascht said. “Cicero. The good of the people should be the supreme law.”
“Inter arma enim silent leges,” Harvath replied, reciting a familiar Latin phrase. “In times of violence, the law falls mute.”
Leascht shook his head. “In times of violence, the law remains mute. Silence too often helps give rise to violence. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, ‘Silence in the face of evil is itself evil. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.’ ”
Harvath was about to reply, when the overhead speaker crackled to life and the “Gold Stars” were alerted to the departure of their train.
Harvath looked at Judge Leascht. “It’s time to act.”
•••
Moving down the platform, Harvath’s head was on a swivel. He took in the position of every guard, every would-be passenger.
Some passengers seemed unconcerned about what might await them and continued to chat amiably. Others shuffled slowly, subconsciously resigned to what could lay ahead.
He counted the columns as they passed each one by. It was the correct platform, so it should be any moment now.
As he caught sight of the designated column, Harvath began to slow. He bent at the waist as if he was in pain.
“Are you okay?” Judge Leascht asked.
“Get ready,” Harvath said. “Stay behind me. Move when I move.”
Leascht nodded.
Nearing the column, Harvath made ready. Anywhere else, he would have felt like he had this under control. Headshots. Pop them and drop them. But not here, not DHS officers. They were not his enemy. These were good men and women just doing their job. Linda Landon, though, was another story. He would have no compunction about killing her. He’d kill her and Pierre Damien in a heartbeat, but none of these officers deserved to die. He hoped they felt the same way about him.
Reaching the designated column, Harvath paused, feigning nausea. He leaned against a garbage can, pushed back its flap, and prepared to get sick. The judge put a comforting hand on his back.
As soon as Harvath’s fingers touched the inside of the lid, he swore. Where was the rest of it? He was supposed to exfil the Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court with only two smoke grenades? There had to be more.
Dropping his hands, he realized the weapon he had requested was sitting right there, beneath a layer of newspaper. It was inside a styrofoam take-out container along with four loaded magazines.
He shoved the spare mags into his pocket and charged the weapon. He counted at least six uniformed DHS agents and four tactical officers along the platform.
Looking up at the judge, he said, “Ready?”
“Ready,” Leascht replied.
Pulling the pins from the smoke grenades, Harvath tossed them in opposite directions and then leapt off the platform onto the tracks. Leascht was right behind him. He was much older than Harvath, but he moved fast enough.
They jumped onto the next platform and into a waiting train. Activating the emergency switch on the opposite doors, Harvath helped Leascht down onto the track area, and they kept moving.
Over the noise of the trains, he could hear men shou
ting. They were somewhere behind them and closing.
Harvath and Leascht crossed another platform and then another. When they came to the next train, they got on. But instead of opening up the opposite doors and jumping down again, they moved through the cars, parallel to the tracks.
Harvath removed his coat and had Leascht do the same, stuffing them down into a garbage can. He untucked his shirt to help hide his weapon.
Bursting into the next car, Harvath surprised two Amtrak cops who were doing a sweep. Their guns came out just as fast as his did.
“Drop your weapon!” one of them yelled. “Do it now! Drop your weapon!”
“U.S. Marshall,” Harvath replied. “You lower your weapons.”
“ID. Let’s see it,” the second cop said.
“I’m his ID,” Leascht stated, as he leaned from behind Harvath. “I’m Cameron Leascht.”
“The Supreme Court Justice?” the first cop asked.
“Yes.”
“They didn’t tell us that’s who they’re looking for,” the cop replied as he lowered his weapon. “DHS only put out a description.”
“That’s because they don’t want you to know,” Harvath replied lowering his weapon.
As he did, cop number two lowered his as well and asked, “What the hell is going on?”
Harvath played it as honestly as he could. “Somebody in the government has targeted Chief Justice Leascht for assassination. I have to get him out of here, but DHS is standing in our way. Can you help us?”
The cops looked at each other and the first one said, “None of it has felt right. People being forced onto trains to take them to God-knows-where? I haven’t liked any of this from the beginning. What do you want us to do?”
“Put out a call and draw them off. Someplace on the other side of the station.”
“I can do that,” said the cop.
“Thank you,” Harvath replied as he moved the judge past the officers. “Give us thirty seconds to reach the end of the train.”
The cop nodded and Harvath and Leascht picked up their pace. When they got to the final car, Harvath stopped for a moment to allow the judge to catch his breath.
“When we step off the train, just keep your head down and stick with me, okay?”
Leascht nodded and Harvath peered out one of the windows. The coast was as clear as it was going to be. They had caught a break with those two cops, but he didn’t expect to get that lucky again. Only a fool would think that Murphy didn’t ply his trade in D.C. as well.
“Let’s go,” Harvath said.
Stepping off the train, they saw two DHS officers running in the direction the Amtrak police had sent them. Leascht kept his head down as instructed and kept pace with Harvath as he moved.
Every time Harvath thought he had a clear path, though, he would catch sight of a DHS officer and be forced to change course. The last thing he wanted was an altercation, but it was beginning to look almost impossible to avoid. Then, they found an exit.
Facing Union Station Drive Northeast, and set into the stone arches of the building’s façade, was a wall of two-story panes of glass. Pulling his pistol, he aimed high and began firing.
The sounds of gunshots and the shattering of glass sent the throngs of people outside into a panic. The barricades collapsed and the crowd began running in all directions.
Harvath grabbed Leascht, and they ran out of the building and onto the sidewalk.
They raced across the street and leapt over the stone railing onto the sidewalk that ran downhill toward F Street and the Securities and Exchange Commission.
Up ahead, he could see 2nd Street. That was where Chase Palmer would be waiting. He couldn’t tell if the judge was going to make it. He was breathing heavily and appeared pained.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he replied. “Keep going.”
Harvath slowed his pace.
“I told you,” the judge repeated. “I’m fine.”
“It’s a long block.”
“All the more reason to move faster,” Leascht said, picking up the pace.
At 2nd Street they turned left and found Palmer exactly where he had said he would be, parked in the alley on the opposite side. They could hear sirens nearby. Palmer waved for them to hurry up.
They were less than fifteen yards away, moving down the middle of the street, when Palmer sprang from his truck with his rifle and seated the stock against his shoulder.
Harvath didn’t need to look at what the man was going to shoot. He could hear the siren right behind him and see the reflection of the vehicle’s blue strobes bouncing off the glass SEC building to their left.
“Move, move, move!” Harvath shouted, guiding Justice Leascht out of the street and up onto the sidewalk.
As soon as they were clear, Palmer began to press his trigger. The rounds pounded into the engine block and left front tire of the DHS Crown Victoria. Immediately, the officer threw the vehicle in reverse and backed up as fast as he could.
It had bought them some time, but not much. “Let’s go!” Palmer shouted.
Harvath and the judge ran the rest of the way to Palmer and jumped in his SUV.
Palmer slammed his SUV into reverse and screamed down the alley. In a small parking area, he spun the vehicle around so he could continue forward and then headed for 3rd Street.
Exploding from the alley, he clipped two parked cars as he pulled a hard right turn and went south.
They blew through the intersection at E Street, headed toward D.
“Where are you going?” Harvath asked.
“They had to move to the alternate extraction point. Someone stumbled upon them.”
Murphy, Harvath thought to himself. “We’re going to need to get off this street then. It becomes one way, coming at us after D.”
“Roger that,” Palmer replied, pressing on the accelerator even harder.
At D, he slammed on his brakes and skidded into the intersection, pulling hard on the wheel to avoid a collision.
“I hear sirens, but I can’t see where any of them are,” he continued as he weaved through the traffic.
“Don’t worry about that,” said Harvath as they passed the Heritage Foundation and Massachusetts Avenue. “I’ll watch for cops, you watch the road. Louisiana Avenue is coming up on your left. Take it.”
Palmer did as Harvath instructed. When they crossed 1st Street NW, Harvath saw several blue light bars racing up Constitution Avenue in an attempt to cut them off.
“Now I see them,” he said. “Eight o’clock.”
“This is going to be close.”
They hit Constitution and turned right with such speed that Palmer drifted into oncoming traffic and sideswiped three cars. DHS was now right on their tail.
“Make a left,” Harvath ordered at the next intersection and Palmer swung onto 3rd Street.
They had barely made it a block before the traffic in both directions ground to a halt.
“Right turn! Right turn!” Harvath shouted. “Use the mall.”
The National Mall was a park that stretched just under two miles from the Capitol steps to the Lincoln Memorial. With 3rd Street in their rearview mirror, there were five more thoroughfares that cut across the park in different places. Palmer didn’t slow down for any of them.
They missed getting T-boned three times and left multiple accidents in their wake, dramatically slowing down the pursuit of DHS.
Harvath glanced at Palmer’s speedometer as he reached for his radio. They were doing almost ninety miles an hour.
“We’re coming in hot,” Harvath relayed.
“Roger that,” Sloane replied. “We’re ready.”
Blasting across 15th Street and then 17th, they passed the Washington Monument and the National World War II Memorial, and were now even with the Reflect
ing Pool. Up ahead, he could see the Lincoln Memorial. They were almost home free.
Palmer hung a hard left after the Reflecting Pool and headed for the Potomac.
Waiting under the Arlington Memorial Bridge was the high-speed, extreme weather Naval Special Warfare Rigid Hull Inflatable Boat, or RIB for short, that General McCollum had arranged. McCollum was one of the only people Reed Carlton fully trusted.
The RIB was powered by dual turbocharged, aftercooled Caterpillar diesels and crewed by three Special Warfare Combatant-Craft, or SWCC, crewmen.
Mrs. Leascht was already aboard, as was Sloane Ashby who had collected her from her house.
Bailing out of Palmer’s truck near the John Ericsson National Memorial, they ran up the Rock Creek Park Trail toward the bridge. With their night vision goggles, the SWCC team picked up on them right away and brought the blacked-out boat forward.
Up on the mall, Harvath could hear the DHS sirens, but it was too late. Once they were all on board, the driver punched it, and they disappeared down the Potomac.
CHAPTER 52
* * *
CAMP PEARY
The CIA was down two helicopter pilots due to the virus. They couldn’t spare anyone to sit on a rooftop somewhere in D.C. not knowing when Harvath would show up with Justice Leascht. That was why the Old Man had turned to General McCollum.
McCollum had access to helos and pilots, but with a potential coup under way, he didn’t want to send a military bird into metropolitan D.C. They were too easy to spot, and there was too much that could go wrong. And so, they had come up with a compromise.
The SWCC team with the RIB had provided the first part of the extraction. Once they were safely under way, McCollum got a helicopter aloft.
They rendezvoused at Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling, just across the Potomac from Reagan National Airport. The base’s only aeronautical facility was a 100-by-100-foot helipad.
The RIB arrived just as a UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter was touching down. After the passengers had been transferred, it lifted off for Camp Peary.