Brad Thor - State Of The Union

“There’s Gary’s involvement and how he fits into hopefully stopping this from happening, but that has to remain classified,” said Harvath.

Both of the men sat back in their chairs, staring off into separate directions.

After several minutes, it was Herman who broke the silence. “What’s the timetable?”

“The deadline is the president’s State of the Union address in six days.”

“And you’re sure the Russian government is behind this?”

Harvath broke off from what he was staring at and said, “If it weren’t for the air defense system, we might have our doubts, but there’s enough evidence pointing to the people at the top. They claim they know nothing about what’s going on, but we believe otherwise.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Herman.

Harvath was about to answer, when he noticed one of the admitting nurses walking in their direction.

“Herr Harvath?” she asked in German as she approached the two men who immediately stood up.

“Ich bin Herr Harvath,” replied Scot, wondering why it wasn’t one of the operating room staff coming out to give him an update on Gary’s condition. Suddenly, he had a bad feeling.

“Es tut mir leid, Sie damit zu belästige-,” the nurse began.

“I’m sorry,” said Harvath. “Sprechen Sie Englisch bitte?”

“Yes, I speak English.”

“Good. What’s going on?”

“You have visitors.”

“Visitors?I’m not expecting any visitors. Who are they?”

“I don’t know. Foreigners of some sort.”

“They’re not German?” said Harvath, thinking that it might be Sebastian or one of the guys from the MEK team.

“No, these men are definitely not German. Only one of them spoke, and his German is very bad.”

A man who speaks very bad German?Harvath shot Herman a look, before continuing. “What do they look like?”

“Big,” replied the nurse, holding her hands way out.

“How many are there?”

“There are two of them. I explained that this area is off limits and that they are not welcome here. I offered the waiting area in the ICU, but they declined. They asked me for something more private.”

“Where are they now?”

“In the surgeons’ conference suite down the hall,” she said pointing. “Room 311. I can show you if you like.”

“No, thank you,” replied Harvath. “I can find it.”

The nurse smiled and walked away. Once she was out of sight, Harvath removed his H amp;K, made sure that a round was chambered and then tucked back beneath his jacket.

“Who do you think it is?” asked Herman.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. You stay here and watch over Gary. No matter what happens, don’t leave him. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Herman, putting his hand on Scot’s shoulder. “Be careful.”

“Me? I’m always careful,” replied Harvath.

Herman forced a smile as Scot walked off down the hall.

Arriving at room 311, Harvath found the door closed. He listened, but didn’t hear anything coming from the other side. He pulled out his H amp;K and wrapped it in a towel he had taken from one of the hospital’s linen closets.

“Zimmermädchen,” he said, not knowing what the appropriate term for housekeeping was in a German hospital. At the same time, he didn’t care because whoever was in this room wasn’t a very good German speaker to begin with. His goal was to get whoever was inside to peek their head out so he could get the drop on them.

“Danke, wir haben schon gegessen,” replied a voice from the other side of the door.Thank you, but we’ve already eaten.

“Ich komme morgen zurück,” I’ll come back tomorrow morning,replied Harvath, who pretended to be leaving, but instead stepped just beyond the doorframe and began counting. When he got to ten, he grabbed the handle and threw the door open.

The men on the other side immediately reached for their guns, but then dropped their hands.

“Where the hell did you learn your German?”

“High school, Hogan’s Heroes, and the occasional trip to Milwaukee to visit my uncle for Oktoberfest,” replied a tall, muscular, blond-haired, blue-eyed man in his mid-twenties who looked as if belonged on a beach in Southern California, or in a Chippendales review somewhere.

“You trusted this guy to do your talking for you?” asked Harvath to the other man.

“My mistake. He said he could speak German. If I had understood what he was saying, I never would have let him open his mouth,” replied the second man who was just as tall, but slightly less muscular than the first. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with close cropped, jet-black hair with a little bit of gray showing at the temples. His impassive, angular face could have been carved from a solid block of granite, and the deep cleft in his chin looked as if it had been chipped there with an axe.

Harvath lowered his weapon. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally shoot two friends. Gordon Avigliano was a good kid and had a bright future ahead of him, and Rick Morrell was not only a skilled operative, but also someone Harvath had grown to respect. They were both members of the CIA’s paramilitary division known as the Special Activities Staff. Scot had known Rick Morrell during his SEAL days when Morrell had left to join the CIA and they had become reacquainted during a top-secret operation to track down the extremely deadly Middle Eastern terrorist duo of Adara and Hashim Nidal. “What the hell are you guys doing here?”

“The boss sent us,” replied Morrell.

“Vaile?” said Harvath, referring to the Director of the CIA. “Why the hell would he have sent you guys here?” Then it hit him and he raised his H amp;K again. “If he thought because we’re friends you two could just walk in here and take Gary into custody, he was sorely mistaken. He’s still in surgery, for Christ’s sake. He’s not going anywhere with you guys. You have no idea how far off the mark your boss is on this one.”

“Easy breezy, cover girl,” said Avigliano. “We’re not going to take Gary anywhere.”

“Bullshit,” said Harvath, backing away from the two men. “How’d you even know we were here? I only made one communication and I know you are not surveillinghim.”

Harvath was referring to the anonymous voice mail box that only the president had access to where Harvath could leave coded updates. He had only left one, stating that he had recovered the package, but that the package was damaged. As best he could, he explained the situation and that he would leave another message once Gary was out of surgery.

“For fuck’s sake, Harvath. Would you calm down?” said Morrell. “Vaile didn’t send us. In fact, he has no idea we’re all here.”

“Who’swe?”

“Carlson and DeWolfe are back at the hotel.”

“Then if Vaile didn’t send you, who did?”

“Ourboss,” repeated Morrell, as he waved his index finger in a circle, taking them all in. “Goaltender.”

Morrell had used the president’s call sign assigned to him as part of the Dark Night operational plan.

“And what exactly is your assignment?” asked Harvath, even more concerned now that it was obvious that Morrell and his team were on the inside.

“There’s been a change of plans.”

“Change of plans?”

“Apparently something has happened. I was instructed to tell you that we don’t have any pieces left to rebalance the chessboard. Somehow the other side has found where we were hiding our toys. Goaltender said that would make sense to you. Does it?”

Harvath’s blood ran cold. “They’ve found our nukes?”

“I was just supposed to give you that message. Goaltender wants to talk to you,” replied Morrell. “We brought a sat-radio with us, and Carlson and DeWolfe are busy setting up a secure link.”