Brad Thor - The Apostle

Highlighting the digits, Campbell selected the option to dial and waited. Three rings later, Herb Coleman answered the phone at his home in Naples, Florida.

“Mr. Coleman, this is Elise Campbell. Christine De Palma told you I would be calling?”

“Yes, she did,” said Herb Coleman. He had a calm and relaxing voice. “I’d ask you what I can do for you, but Chris already explained everything to me.”

“I want to make sure that you also know that this is all off the record and you are under no obligation to speak with me.”

“But you’re operating within your capacity as a Secret Service agent, so this is somewhat official, isn’t it?”

Elise took a deep breath. “Mr. Coleman, I wouldn’t blame you if you hung up on me right now. Ms. De Palma was very clear that your settlement agreement with Mrs. Gallo and President Ald-”

“Senator Alden,” corrected Coleman. “He wasn’t president yet when all of this happened.”

“Correct. He was not yet president when this happened. Nevertheless, as part of your settlement you’re required not to talk about the case in any way.”

“Agent Campbell, I’m not going to the papers with any of this, and from what I understand, you’ve got your own reasons for playing things pretty close to the vest. Alden was under oath when he responded to those interrogatories at the beginning of our lawsuit against him. If he lied in any of them, then that’s a felony. That’s pretty damn serious. But from a court of public appearance perspective, it’ll be a supernova if he did so to cover up what happened that night to our son, our daughter-in-law, and our two little grandchildren.”

“So you’re prepared to read me the president’s answers to your interrogatories?”

“I am,” said Herb Coleman, “and I hope you’re sitting down. I think you’re going to find this very interesting.”

NANGARHAR PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN

The name of the village they were headed to was Dagar, which in Pashtu meant open space. It also meant battlefield, which Harvath hoped wasn’t going to turn out to be prophetic.

As per Captain West, it had been Fontaine’s idea to mushroom him, and as much as Harvath regretted having to feed the guy so much BS and keep him in the dark, they had no choice. Until Julia Gallo was recovered, operational security was of primary importance.

This wasn’t the first time Harvath had lied to get what he needed. It was just how the game worked. If West had been in his shoes, he would have done the same thing. Sometimes, the ends did in fact justify the means. It was the height of moral folly to play by a set of self-imposed rules when your enemy played by none whatsoever. While Harvath would readily admit that rules were important, there were also times when they weren’t, and this was one of them.

Harvath stuck to the same story they had told West in the beginning and kept his embellishments as simple as possible from there. While they did get their interpreter out of the first village, he informed them, the al-Qaeda bomber they were after had fled. They had proceeded to Massoud’s village to gather more info on the bomber and his Taliban accomplice only to be ambushed on their way out. Now they wanted to hit Dagar in the hopes of getting up to Massoud’s summer grazing pasture to confirm that the bomber was there, and either take the men into custody or call in another airstrike to make sure they never carried out another attack.

Whether West fully believed Harvath was beside the point. Wiping out seventy-plus Taliban fighters and helping to weaken a local Taliban commander was a good thing, regardless of who got the credit for it. Taking out forty or fifty more would only run up the score and make for a much better night. West only wished his men could help.

Understanding that he couldn’t roll his armored column right through Dagar and that even if he could, he’d have considerable difficulty actually getting his men to the final objective, Captain Chris West proved that he and the Canadians were true partners in the international war on terror by offering Harvath anything else he needed.

Harvath eagerly accepted the help. West and his team transported them back to Asadoulah’s village, where Fayaz provided a Toyota pickup truck and offered to send along as many armed men as the vehicle could carry.

While the idea of having extra men was appealing, Harvath declined. He did, though, accept the truck and promised to have it returned as soon as he was done. It was exceedingly generous of Fayaz, considering the fact that the village had just lost two vehicles in a firefight and would need to return to reclaim their dead.

From the Canadians, Harvath took as much ammo for Gallagher’s sniper rifle, the MP5s, and his and Fontaine’s pistols as could be spared. He also changed out the batteries in their NODs and was extra-grateful when West handed them several fragmentation grenades.

Daoud knew Dagar, so they let him drive the truck while Harvath rode shotgun and Fontaine sat in back.

“So how do you know Dagar?” asked Harvath as they drove.

“I have a friend there,” said the interpreter. “We grew up in the same refugee camp in Pakistan. We used to play cricket together.”

“Would your friend be willing to help us?”

“He is a good man,” replied Daoud. “He doesn’t like al-Qaeda and he does not like the Taliban. He will help us.”

“I hope he can help us to some coffee,” Fontaine added from the backseat.

Harvath looked at his watch and then rubbed his eyes. It was well after midnight, his back was throbbing again, and he was out of Motrin. Baba G’s med kit had gone up in flames with his Land Cruiser. The only things he wanted as much as finding Julia Gallo were a hot shower, a stiff drink, and a soft bed. In fact, despite how grimy he was, he’d be glad to forgo the shower and move right to the drink and the bed.

In order not to focus on his fatigue, he tried to envision again what Julia Gallo was going through. The fact that she had scratched her initials into her previous cell meant that she had remembered her training. That was a good sign. Harvath hoped she also remembered the part about keeping her spirits up and not allowing herself to slip into depression as she imagined the worst that might befall her. It was an easy lesson to teach, but much more difficult to actually put into practice.

As the truck, with its worn-out shocks, bounced and jostled toward Dagar, Harvath closed his eyes and allowed his mind to rest. He knew all too well that the next couple of hours were going to be extremely tense and most likely, extremely dangerous. Fontaine and Daoud seemed to be thinking the same thing, as both men were silent for the rest of the ride.

A deep pothole a kilometer outside the village drew Harvath’s mind back to the here and now.

“I’m sorry about that,” said Daoud. “I couldn’t avoid it.”

“That’s okay,” replied Harvath. “Are we close?”

“Yes, we’re very close now.”

“Fontaine?” said Harvath looking into the backseat. “You up?”

“No,” replied the Canadian.

“Too bad. I think I just saw a Molson sign.”

“Well, when you see one for Labatt’s, we’ll stop. Until then, leave me alone.”

Harvath smiled, turned back around, and checked his weapon, knowing full well Fontaine was doing the same. He was an exceptional operator and, like Harvath, was now 100 percent switched on.

Turning to Daoud, Harvath said, “Are you ready to make the call?”

The interpreter nodded and pulled out his phone. Scrolling through the address book as he balanced it on the steering wheel, he found the number and connected the call. Within two rings, his old cricket pal was on the other end and they were chatting as if Daoud had called him in the middle of the day rather than the middle of the night. At one point, the chubby interpreter began laughing.