Brad Thor - State Of The Union

Once the report that Gary Lawlor was doing much better and would be transported Stateside soon was delivered, Secretary Hilliman turned over the meeting to General Venrick.

“The President,” began Venrick, “has asked me here to bring you up to speed on the operations end of things.”

“What’s our position with the Russians after all of this?”

“They still claim that the nukes we uncovered here had been stolen from them.”

“After everything that’s happened, they’re still denying it?” asked Harvath. “The Russians aren’t going to pay any price?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. They’ve definitely paid a price. Not only did you sink two of their Sokzhoi patrol boats, but thanks to you and the rest of the team, you were also able to sink theGagarin. That was a major tactical coup.

“In the meantime, we’ve got our people working around the clock on the notes and schematics that Dr. Nesterov left behind. The NSA already thinks they’ve found a way to subvert the Russian air defense system if they ever bring it back up on line.”

“What do you think the chances of that happening are?” asked Harvath.

“At this point, not so good. We’ve already quietly gotten word to the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund about what the Russians have been doing with their aid money, and they are not very happy.”

“So what’s next?”

Defense Secretary Hilliman leaned forward and taking a handkerchief from his pocket, took off his glasses and began cleaning them. “Things are going to get pretty frosty for Moscow. They were a pain in the ass for us during the whole Iraq situation, and we’ve now seen that we can’t trust them at all as an ally. While it would be foolish for us to completely break off ties with them altogether, they are going to be relegated to a very low rung on our ladder of diplomatic and international priorities.”

The president stood and walked around the table. Upon reaching Scot he extended his hand and said, “You are one of the most valuable assets the United States has. Your patriotism, loyalty, and service to your country is something that we will always be grateful for. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Harvath. “I won’t.”

“Good. There’s something else. Until Gary Lawlor is back on his feet, I need you to handle things at the OIIA. Do you think you can do that?”

“Those are some pretty big shoes to fill,” answered Harvath.

The president smiled. “I’ve already talked it over with Gary, and he agrees with me that there’s nobody better suited to do it. Just don’t get too comfortable. He’ll be back to work before you know it.”

“I’m looking forward to that. Thank you, Mr. President. I’ll do my best.” Sensing that the meeting was over, Harvath added, “Is there anything else, Mr. President?”

The president looked at his watch and indicated that Harvath should remain seated. Fifteen seconds later, the voice of Charles Anderson, the president’s chief of staff came over the speaker phone and said, “Mr. President, I have President Nevkin of Russia on the line.”

“Good,” responded Rutledge. “Put him through.”

“President Rutledge. Jack,” came the voice of the Russian president over the speaker phone. “You certainly have taken your time in getting back to me.”

“As you are well aware, we’ve been a little busy here.”

“So I have seen on the news, but so busy that you were not able to return my phone calls?”

“President Nevkin,” said Rutledge, “Let’s not waste each other’s time. Tomorrow afternoon at approximately 1300 GMT, an American C-130 is going to land on the Valhalla Ice Shelf three miles below the North Pole. Onboard will be the man-portable nuclear devices you planted in our country.”

“But, Jack, I told you they were stolen by the-” began Nevkin.

“Chechens, I remember. We also have eighteen sleeper agents from your country in custody complete with enough evidence to bury you for the next two hundred years.”

“These aren’t Russian agents. Whomever you have caught are terrorists,” replied the Russian president. “Plain and simple.”

“Terrorists,” laughed Rutledge, “If that’s what you’re calling your disavowed agents, that’s fine by me. But you and I both know who they are, why they were here, and who sent them.”

“This comes as a complete shock,” said Nevkin. “If it does turn out that these ‘sleepers’ as you call them were indeed sent by someone in Russia, I can guarantee you that I had no idea that-”

Rutledge was sick of listening to the Russian president’s BS and said, “No more lies, Dmitri. You made your move and you lost. There is going to be a very heavy price to pay for what your country has done. And believe me, Russia is going to pay it, whether you like it or not. In the days ahead, against my better judgment, I am going to exhibit tremendous restraint. That said, I suggest you get out of Moscow for a bit. I’ll give you my personal guarantee that your villa on the Black Sea won’t be targeted.”

The Russian president was aghast. “Certainly,” he implored, “you are not going to conduct a nuclear strike against the Russian Federation.”

“No,” replied Rutledge, “but we are going to respond. And whatever we do, you are going to absorb it without retaliation.”

“Jack how can you expect-”

“That’sMr. President to you,” said Rutledge. “You thought you could hold the United States of America hostage and you were wrong, dead wrong. Now it’s time to pay the piper. I’ll extend you the courtesy of telling you that we are only targeting military and governmental assets. You have twelve hours to get your people out. You brought this upon yourself and if you even think of engaging any of our fighter aircraft or attempt to shoot down any of our missiles I will not only double, but treble our retaliation. Is this clear?”

There was a long moment of silence before the Russian president responded, “Yes, it is clear.”

Rutledge disconnected the call and turned to Harvath. “So? How’d I do?”

“Perfect. I couldn’t have handled it better myself.”

“I’m glad you agree,” responded Rutledge. “Now get upstairs and enjoy yourself. No disappearing out the back door.”

Scot stood from his chair. “Is that an order, sir?”

“You’d better believe it.”

“Then I’m on my way.”

CORONADO, CALIFORNIA

TWO MONTHS LATER

Though it was two months overdue, it was finally the fitting memorial service Maureen Harvath had envisioned to mark the ten years since the passing of her husband, Michael.

The day had been long and emotional. After dropping Mrs. Harvath back at home, Scot, Meg, and Gary returned to the Hotel Del Coronado. While Gary had been given permission by his doctors to travel, he still wasn’t back to full speed and declined joining Scot and Meg for a drink in the bar.

Scot ordered a margarita for himself and a glass of wine for Meg, and when their drinks arrived, they took them outside. The sun was just beginning to set as they took off their shoes and walked down to the Hotel Del’s white sand beach.

As they strolled, Harvath reminisced about his grueling SEAL training, most of which had taken place not very far from where they were right now. Meg put her feet in the surf and got a laugh out of Scot when she commented on how cold the water was. Those had been some of the toughest days of his life, and he remembered at times envying the families and casual tourists strolling along the beach while he and his fellow classmates endured frigid swims, never-ending runs, and being forced to help hold a combat rubber raiding craft above his head until he thought for sure his arms were going to fall off. Looking back on it now he realized that while he was competing against his classmates and most definitely against the elements, more than anything else he had been competing against himself.