Brad Thor - Path Of The Assassin

“You were all very helpful to me during the situation, and I thought the least I could do was bring something back for you from overseas.” “Situation” was how the staff around the White House quietly referred to President Rutledge’s kidnapping.

“Hey, you brought the president back safely and that’s the best thing any of us could have asked for,” said Hollenbeck.

“Though chocolate runs a close second,” offered Palmer as she began sorting through the box.

“Speaking of seconds,” continued Hollenbeck, who had been named interim director of White House Secret Service Operations. “When are you coming back to work? I’m starting to get tired of keeping your seat warm for you.”

“Don’t listen to him,” said Longo. “You could stay away for another six months and it wouldn’t bother him a bit. I think the power has gone right to his head.”

“There’s nothing worse than people who only feel bitterness and jealousy as their betters zip past them on the ladder of success,” replied Hollenbeck.

“See what I mean?” responded Longo. “And you know what? On top of it all, he’s become quite arrogant.”

“Arrogant? Me? Palmer, you’ve got to come to my defense here. Tell Harvath I am the same old Tom Hollenbeck you’ve always known and loved.”

“Well,” she began slowly, “loved is a pretty strong word.”

“Okay then, known,” he replied.

“Jeez, Tom-wait I’m sorry-Jeez, Mr. Interim Director-that is the way you told us all to address you, isn’t it?” she joked.

“I can’t believe this,” cried Hollenbeck. “Every time I turn around, another knife in the back!”

“Well, I’m glad nothing’s changed around here,” said Harvath as he joined his friends at their table.

They made small talk until it was time for Harvath’s meeting. When he got up to leave, Palmer asked, “So, what’s the deal? When are you coming back to work?”

He was as honest with her as he could be and said, “Right now, I don’t know.”

They all shook hands and wished each other well as Harvath left to make his way to the situation room downstairs. It wasn’t unusual for President Rutledge to conduct his more sensitive meetings in this room. It was one of the few places in the entire building where he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed unless there was a dire emergency or matter of grave national consequence.

Though both of the Marines standing guard outside the situation room knew him, they still closely examined the credentials hanging from around Harvath’s neck. Even a facility as secure as the White House had decided that it could use a few improvements. Nothing was left to chance, and things were done strictly by the book. After waiting a few moments outside, Harvath was told he could enter. He heard a click and then the faint hiss of the situation room’s seal and door lock being released.

The first person to stand and greet him was President Jack Rutledge himself. “Scot, it’s good to see you,” said the president as he offered him his hand, which Harvath shook carefully. He was happy to see the president using it again. The kidnappers had cut off one of his fingers and sent it to the former vice president as a threat.

“It is good to see you too, Mr. President,” replied Harvath. “How is the hand?”

“So far so good. We’ll see how I do when pheasant season rolls around. That’ll be the real test.”

“You outshot so many of us last year, Mr. President, we were hoping you might take up a different sport. It’s embarrassing for a lot of the agents that you can shoot better than they can.”

“You weren’t embarrassed, though, were you, Scot?”

“No, sir.”

“And why was that?”

“Because I brought down three more birds than you did.”

“Ah, ah. Let’s tell the truth here. You only brought down two more than me. The third one, supposedly went down somewhere in the woods. As it was never found, you couldn’t rightfully count it, could you?”

“No, Mr. President. I couldn’t. But I know I hit that bird. If I’d only had a better dog-”

“Stop right there, Agent Harvath. I spent a lot of money and a lot of time training those dogs, and I won’t have you disparage my fine pedigreed animals.”

“Fine pedigreed animals? No offense, Mr. President, but Crackle is so lazy, he won’t even chase cars. He just sits on the South Lawn and jots down license plate numbers.”

The other attendees gathered in the situation room began laughing. It was a brief but welcome respite. They hadn’t had anything to laugh about in a while. Harvath had gotten the last word and the president knew it. He slapped him on the back and showed Harvath to his seat. “I believe you know the rest of the gentlemen present,” said the president as he motioned around the table. Indeed he did.

Harvath nodded in turn to FBI director Sorce, CIA director Vaile, Homeland Security director Dreihaus, Secret Service director Jameson, and deputy FBI director Gary Lawlor. Harvath had been expecting to meet with just the president and Director Jameson to discuss his new White House position. With all of the additional people present, he had a feeling he was here to discuss something entirely different. Part of him wondered if he was going to be taken to task for spiriting Meg Cassidy out of Egypt, but he knew he had done the right thing and decided not to stress about it. Harvath knew President Rutledge didn’t like to waste time and would get to the point soon enough.

“First of all,” began the president, “I want to commend Agent Harvath for what, in my opinion, was a job extremely well done. I’ve read the after-action reports of both the Delta and SAS commanders and think you prevented a very bad situation from getting worse. It’s precisely this ability to assess and appropriately react to hostile situations that has made you such an asset to the Secret Service and the White House.”

Harvath was uncomfortable with such fulsome praise, especially when bestowed by the president in front of so many other people, but he accepted it humbly. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

“Now, moving forward,” continued the president. “I will be convening a meeting this evening of the National Security Council to discuss the escalating tensions in the Mideast and tightening the net around Hashim Nidal by applying direct pressure to anyone who is known to be harboring or assisting him, or any other members of his organization. I don’t want to talk right now about how this hijacking happened. I plan to take that issue up later. What I do want to talk about is how we’re going to get Nidal back in the crosshairs before he pushes the Middle East into all-out war. With that said, I’m all ears.”

CIA director Vaile cleared his throat and waited for the president to nod in his direction before he spoke. “Mr. President, as you are aware, it was the CIA who gave birth to Operation Phantom and who initiated the hunt for-”

“Director Vaile, the clock is ticking. Don’t waste my time telling me things I already know. How are we going to stop Hashim Nidal before he strikes again?” commanded the president.

Vaile’s nuts were in a vise. Not only had his agency been behind the curve in discovering the existence of Hashim Nidal, but they had let him slip through their grasp in Cairo. If Vaile wasn’t very careful, the vise would begin to tighten real quick.

“Pinpointing the whereabouts of Nidal and his base of operations so we can take them out is the highest priority of all our agents right now, both at Langley and in the field.”

“Which brings us to Ms. Meg Cassidy, correct?” asked the president.

Upon hearing her name, Harvath leaned into the table.

“Exactly, Mr. President,” continued Vaile. “As she is the only known person outside of his organization to have ever seen him and survived, she is of the utmost importance to the success of Operation Phantom.”