Brad Thor: State Of The Union

Scot’s desire to always do the right thing had made him an unwilling to compromise or bend even a fraction of an inch when it came to his principles. He had been called arrogant at times, and Meg could understand why, but people who saw arrogance in him were missing the point. Scot Harvath believed. He believed in himself. He believed in his abilities, and what’s more, he believed in his country and the jobs it sent him to do. No matter what the risk or how great the danger he always willingly stepped up when his country needed him.

Right now though,he needed something and it was more information. “What would make Gary jump up and demand to be let off the plane like that?”

“All I can think is that maybe he received a call or got paged at the last minute or something. He wouldn’t go through all of that just because he forgot to turn the iron off at home.”

“Have you tried the office again?” asked Meg, who was equally concerned and growing more worried by the moment.

“I’ve left messages everywhere and have been ringing his pager and his cell every half hour. Not only is he not answering, but nobody seems to know where he is-nobody. And that’s not typical Gary. The guy sets up lunch dates months in advance. You should see his Day-Timer. I think people back in DC are beginning to get nervous about it.”

“Do you think something happened to him?”

“At this point, I don’t know what to think. Gary was a friend of my father’s since before I was born. Half the reason he chose to head up the Bureau’s San Diego field office instead of Miami was so that they could be closer together. They were like brothers and I know how much my mom means to him. It’s not like him to miss something like this and not call.”

Meg had known the memorial was going to be tough, and the absence of Gary Lawlor had only made things more stressful. Though Scot hadn’t said anything, she knew he appreciated having her along.

“Okay,” she replied, after the bartender had poured her a glass of wine and then walked to the other end of the bar, “what about calling hospitals? I hate to go that route, but it seems to be one of the only rocks we haven’t looked under.”

As Harvath was reaching for his margarita, his cell phone rang again. On the other end was Alan Driehaus, the director of homeland security. “Where the hell are you?” he demanded.

“ Coronado,” answered Harvath.

“Where’s Lawlor?”

“I’ve got no idea. He was supposed to be out here.”

“Has he tried to contact you at all?” asked Driehaus.

“No and that’s what I’m worried about,” responded Harvath.

There was a pause as the homeland security director cupped his hand over the mouthpiece of his telephone. Harvath could make out several voices in the background as Driehaus came back on the line and said, “I want you on the next plane back to DC.”

“What for?”

“You’ll be briefed when you get here. This is an urgent matter of national security, so don’t waste any time getting back. And if Lawlor does make contact with you, I want you to find out where he is and let us know right away. Is that clear?”

“ Crystal,” said Harvath.

“Good,” replied Driehaus, who then terminated the connection.

Harvath punched theend button on his cell phone, set it onto the bar and reached for his wallet.

“What is going on?” asked Meg.

Scot finished downing his margarita and said to her, “I need to call my mother and let her know that we won’t be making the memorial service.”

BERLIN, GERMANY

Gary Lawlor had taken his time getting to the apartment. Though more than twenty years had passed, he had not forgotten his tradecraft. After arriving at the airport in Frankfurt, he had taken a short commuter flight to Nürnberg and then a train to the outskirts of Berlin. Two taxis and a short subway ride later, he was back in the heart of a city that he had once known all too well. He dropped his suitcase off at an intermediate location and wandered the streets for a bit, getting his bearings before making his way over to check out the safe house.

The apartment had been selected because of its proximity to the Tiergarten, not far from the heart of what was then the commercial district of West Berlin. Lawlor noted that the reunification had only added to the area’s hustle and bustle. The Bahnhof Zoo, the bombed-out Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche, and the towering Europa Center all drew large crowds, which made it easy to blend in. With his neutral-colored overcoat and dull gray suit, Gary Lawlor looked like any other German or Western European businessman making his way to an important luncheon meeting.

He took a circuitous route southward from the Nollendorfplatz, doubling back three times to make sure he wasn’t followed. With the situation as it was, it was utterly impossible to betoo careful.

The nondescript Schöneberg district was filled with smoky cafés and a wide variety of ethnic restaurants. Though some of the businesses had turned over in the last two decades, most of the neighborhood was still exactly the same as he remembered. As Lawlor reached the top of the Goltzstrasse, where the apartment was located, he was ready to breathe a sigh of relief when something caught his eye. Three doors before the apartment, two men were sitting in a black BMW. One was smoking a cigarette while the other appeared to be reading the paper. Ordinarily, this might not seem like odd behavior, except that the car was parked right in front of a half empty café. Europe was all about café society and for these two men to be waiting for whatever it was they were waiting for in their car, instead of inside the café, gave Lawlor more than enough reason to pause. But, he couldn’t pause, not now. It would create too much suspicion. In the world Lawlor had been thrust back into, there had to be two reasons for every move you made, every word you said and every thing you did-the real reason and the completely plausible lie.

There were no stores or businesses to casually pop into where Lawlor was now walking. He had no choice but to keep moving and to hope that these men were just waiting for a friend.

It had been a long time since Lawlor had done actual fieldwork. His heart was pumping faster than it should have been and he fought to get it under control. All of his senses were on fire as adrenaline slammed through his bloodstream with each rapid thump of his heart. This was more than just an overactive imagination or the jitters. No, Lawlor knew the feeling all too well, just as he knew Berlin all too well. It was a feeling he had had many a night walking down the deadly backstreets on the other side of the wall. Something wasn’t right.

As he came up behind the BMW, he could see the cigarette smoker watching him approach in the side mirror. A quick glance toward the driver showed that though he still appeared to be engrossed in his newspaper, his eyes were actually riveted on the rearview mirror. Lawlor’s body stiffened. These men were not idly passing time, waiting for a friend to leave the café. They were conducting surveillance and Lawlor was willing to bet a year’s pay on what they were surveilling. The decision to abandon the apartment came so quickly, it was more of a reflex than a conscious choice, but that was how they had all been trained.

If the apartment had been compromised that could only mean one thing-someone knew about them. But who? How could that be possible? The operation had been one of their most closely guarded secrets.

There was no time to figure it all out now. Lawlor needed to get the hell away from the area and find a way to warn the others. At least he had picked up on the surveillance before entering the apartment building. God only knew what was waiting inside.