Brad Thor - State Of The Union

“Nine millimeter?” said Herman as he accepted the round from Harvath and held it up to get a better look at it. “Why not use a high-velocity rifle round like a 308 or 223?”

“Because the shooter wasn’t using a rifle.”

“Why not? Why take the time to stake out the apartment, but not bring the right equipment?” asked Herman as he handed the round back to Harvath.

“Who said he didn’t bring the right equipment? Nine millimeter is a very fast round. With a ported silencer and a bipod, even a small weapon can be very effective at this range. This is a narrow street. The shot wouldn’t have been that hard. And the best thing about a small weapon is that it’s extremely easy to conceal.”

“Even with body armor on, that was a very brave thing you did,” said Herman.

“I reacted, that’s all.”

“Well, call it what you will, but I’m sure Sebastian appreciates it.”

“He would have done the same thing for me.”

“I’d like to think so. He’s a good man. That’s why I asked for his help. Now, tell me, did you have any idea the apartment was being watched?” asked Herman, his eyes searching Harvath’s for any indication that he might not being telling the truth.

“Of course not. I told you everything I knew,” Scot replied.

“About the apartment, but not about your friend. All you said was that he had gone missing and you had reason to believe he might be being held against his will in here.”

“That’s true.”

“What about the rest of it? Who is this friend of yours and what was he up to?”

Harvath had hoped things wouldn’t come to this. Herman had agreed to help him, no questions asked, but being ambushed by the sniper had now altered the arrangement and Harvath knew it.

“All I can tell you is that he is one of the good guys and we need to find him very soon,” said Scot.

“Or else what?” asked Herman, not happy that his friend was keeping him in the dark.

“Suffice it to say that there is a very serious time element at work here and an incredible amount of lives hang in the balance.”

“Yet you’re not working with the German government.”

“I told you, the assignment is too sensitive. I brought you in because I knew I could trust you.”

“But not with the full picture,” responded Herman, as he massaged his forehead with the broad palm of his hand.

Harvath remained quiet.

“I understand that in this business secrets must be kept, sometimes even between good friends, but Sebastian and his people don’t know you; not like I do,” said Herman. “They are doing this as a favor to me and they are going to want answers-answers that I’m not equipped to give them. What am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know,” answered Harvath, just as frustrated as Herman. “There’s got to be something here. Something that someone didn’t want us to find.”

“That, or they knew people were going to come looking for your friend and they wanted to stop them.”

“Either way, we’ve got to search the apartment again.”

“Well, we’d better search fast. According to Sebastian, the Polizei are already on their way.”

After another quick search of the apartment proved fruitless, Harvath, Toffle, and the rest of the MEK operatives had quietly stolen out of the building and fanned out in separate directions just as the first police cars began arriving on the scene to secure both ends of the Goltzstrasse.

Two hours later, they had met back up at their prearranged rallying point-a half-empty Bierstube on the eastern side of the city.

Sitting with the men at a quiet table in back, Harvath stared blankly at the old German movie posters covering the walls, stained a deep yellow from years of nicotine accumulation. He couldn’t help but feel that he had let Lawlor down by not finding anything of use in the apartment.

The men made small talk as they unwound and kept the waitress busy going back and forth for beers and shots of Jägermeister. The cold, caramel-colored liquor warmed Harvath’s stomach and, mixed with the strong German beer was beginning to deaden the throbbing pain coursing up and down his left side. It felt like he had been hit by a tank.

His mind drifted to what Meg had said back in his apartment in Alexandria. The idea that Harvath might have devoted most of his adult life chasing the elusive respect of his father was something he didn’t feel comfortable wrestling with. That in turn made him wonder about Meg. Things had moved quickly between them, and he began to wonder if maybe they had moved along too quickly. A feeling of hopelessness was beginning to well up inside him. Suddenly, he caught himself.What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t like him. He needed to get his head back in the game.Concentrate on the assignment, he told himself. People always leave clues-it’s just a matter of looking hard enough until you find them. He needed to uncover a lead, something that would help them find Gary.

Sebastian was talking on his cell phone as Herman raised his empty glass to get the waitress’s attention and said, “What do you want to do next?”

“What can we do?” replied Harvath. “The way I see it, the only option we have now is to canvass the neighborhood and see if anyone remembers seeing Gary.”

“That’s a lot of work,” said Herman, “and it could draw a lot of attention.”

“It might not be necessary,” said Sebastian, folding up his phone and placing it back in his pocket.

“Why not?” said Harvath.

“You’ll see. Follow me.”

As Harvath stood in the parking lot behind the Bierstube, he tried to find some way of keeping warm other than stomping his feet, which sent shudders of pain through his left side. Sebastian explained that he had been on his cell phone with his operative from the café across from the Capstone apartment building. Apparently, the man had something he wanted them to see. When Harvath asked what it was, Sebastian smiled and held up his index finger in a gesture that said, “Be patient.”

Moments later, a pair of bright halogen headlights came slicing into the lot and headed right toward them. They belonged to a brown BMW, which skidded to a stop directly in front of where they were standing. The driver climbed out of the car, walked over and shook hands with Sebastian and Herman. They spoke in rapid-fire German that was too fast for Harvath to understand. Finally, the driver motioned for Harvath to follow him.

“Sorry to have missed all the fun,” said the man, with only a trace of a German accent, as they walked around to the trunk of his car. “My name is Max.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Harvath, as they shook hands.

When they reached the trunk, Max pressed a button on his keyless entry device and the trunk popped open.

Harvath leaned forward to peer inside only to have Max say, “Be careful, he bites. Although we are working on that, aren’t we, Heinrich?”

The man lying on the floor of the trunk was dressed like a waiter, and as he began to sit up he let loose with a string of colorful German expletives, most of which, from what Harvath could gather, were directed at Max’s mother.

Max responded by slamming the lid of the trunk down on Heinrich’s head.

“What’s this all about?” asked Scot, as Max raised the lid again, revealing a somewhat stunned Heinrich who looked like he was ready to shoot his mouth off again, yet might be thinking better of it.

Max leaned in and grabbed Heinrich’s face between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing the man’s lips into a tight pucker that made him look like a fish. “Heinrich has a little present for you.”

“Let me guess. Did he see something?”

“Oh, he certainly did. You see, Heinrich is a waiter at a certain café on Goltzstrasse, and it turns out we used to know each other from the days when I investigated narcotics. He told me he was clean, but based on what I found in his pockets, I think he may be telling an untruth.”