Brad Thor - The First Commandment

Harvath had seen a lot of safe houses in his day, and all things being equal, the quality of the décor in this one suggested the Central Intelligence Agency’s involvement over any other group.

The closet was empty, as was the bureau against the far wall. In the nightstand was a Bible with a stamp claiming the Gideons had placed it there, which was obviously someone’s idea of a clever joke.

Harvath noted that the model ships throughout the room were named for Ivy League universities. He was definitely in an Agency safe house, but why? Why bring him here?

There were two doors on either side of the room. One led to a bathroom, conspicuously missing the normal hardware such as a shower rod or mirror that could be fashioned into a weapon. Harvath turned on the tap and took several servings of water from a small paper cup before returning to the bedroom.

The other door presumably led to the interior of the house, but it was locked. No big surprise there. Harvath figured that there was at least one, maybe two guards posted on the other side. Knowing the penchant of the CIA for electronic surveillance, he also assumed his room was wired for both sound and video.

With nothing else to do, he removed the Bible from the nightstand and sat down on the bed. A product of the Sacred Heart school system as a boy, Harvath was embarrassed that it had been so long since he had held, much less read, a Bible.

He respectfully leafed through the pages until he arrived at the second book of the Old Testament, Exodus.

The book was broken into six sections, all of which Harvath was familiar with. He read about the Israelites’ enslavement and escape from Egypt, the ten plagues bearing especially painful significance for him now.

If the attack on the ski team and its facility in Park City was meant to represent hail and fire, there were six more plagues that were yet to come. He read through them in their reverse order-boils, pestilence, beasts or flies, fleas or lice, frogs, and lastly a river of blood.

While some of them sounded tame by modern standards, Harvath knew the man responsible for all of these attacks, the man he believed to be the fifth terrorist released from Guantanamo, would find an exceptionally deviant and terrifying way to incorporate them into his attacks.

The thought of any more attacks made Harvath’s present situation an even more bitter pill to swallow. He had to find some way to get out of here and stop the person who was responsible for all of it.

Placing the Bible atop the nightstand, Harvath rose from the bed. He would take another look around the room. There had to be something here that could aid in his escape. He didn’t care if they had him under surveillance or not. Just sitting there doing nothing was not an option.

After checking the closet over thoroughly, he was on his way back into the bathroom when he heard voices outside his door. Looking down he saw the knob slowly begin to turn and he knew that he’d run out of time.

When the door to his room opened, Harvath was surprised to see who was on the other side of it.

Before he could open his mouth, the man raised his Taser and pointed it at Harvath’s chest. He threw a pair of handcuffs at him and said, “Your right wrist to the bed frame, now.”

When Harvath hesitated, the man yelled, “Now!”

Harvath did as he was told.

With his prisoner secure, the man holstered his weapon, turned to the guard at the door, and nodded.

Once the guard had closed the door and the man with the Taser heard the click of the lock, he threw Harvath the keys to the handcuffs. “We’ve only got fifteen minutes of talk time while the surveillance servers are rebooted.”

“What the hell is going on here?” asked Harvath as he removed the handcuff from around his wrist and threw the keys back to Rick Morrell.

Morrell was a CIA paramilitary operative whom Harvath had worked with on several occasions in the past. After a considerably rocky start to their relationship, they had developed a professional respect for each other and even a friendship. Harvath didn’t know if his being here was a good thing or a bad thing. In the intelligence world, friendships were all too often subverted for matters of national security. Harvath hadn’t forgotten that President Rutledge wanted him for treason. He’d have to tread very carefully.

“You are in a shitload of trouble. You know that?” replied Morrell.

Harvath did know it and he didn’t need Rick Morrell or anyone else reminding him of it. “You’d have done the same thing in my situation.”

Morrell nodded. “That still doesn’t make my job any easier.”

Harvath didn’t like the sound of that. “Exactly what is your job?”

“By order of the president, I have been charged with stopping you from taking any further steps in relation to the attacks on Tracy Hastings, your mother, and the U. S. Ski Team.”

“So, the president does believe the ski team attack was by the same person?”

“Yes, he does,” said Morrell. “They found a note at the scene matching ones from the other two attacks.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that the president wants you out of the picture.”

“I’ve got every right to-” began Harvath, but Morrell interrupted him.

“You don’t have any rights. Jack Rutledge is the president of the United States. When he tells you to do something, you do it.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Well, it’s going to have to be,” said Morrell.

Harvath looked at him with disbelief. “Jesus, you are an asshole. You know that? A minute ago you agreed that you would have done the same thing in my position.”

“And I meant it.”

“So what’s your fucking problem?”

“My problem is that I and the other five members of my Omega Team on the other side of that door have been ordered to take you out if you refuse to cooperate.”

The response took Harvath by surprise.

“Dead or alive,” said Morrell as he read the expression on Harvath’s face.

Harvath had felt betrayed when the president had first turned on him, but now there were no words to describe what he was feeling. “And for an extra twist of the knife, you were chosen to head the hit team up. Should I call you Brutus or is Judas a better fit?”

“Rutledge didn’t choose me, Director Vaile did.”

“What’s the difference? You still accepted the assignment.”

“I accepted it all right. The DCI laid out a very compelling case.”

“I’m sure he did,” replied Harvath, the contempt evident in his voice. “I always liked Vaile, but apparently he never thought that much of me. Hell of a poker player. He had me fooled.”

“For the record,” said Morrell, “Vaile sucks at cards. And just so you know, he’s a decent guy. He’s probably one of the best directors the Agency has ever had. He’s a patriot who puts our country above everything else, even his own welfare.”

“What are you talking about?”

Morrell waved his arm around the room. “He’s the reason you’ve been brought here instead of some federal lockup. He’s the reason I’m here heading this team.”

“I don’t get it,” replied Harvath.

“Vaile has a lot of respect for you. While he may not think going head to head with the president of the United States is a great career move, he understands why you’re doing it. At the same time, he understands why the president is doing what he’s doing. The bottom line is that Vaile knows you’re not a traitor.”

“So then why am I here?” asked Harvath. “Why are we even having this conversation?”

Though all the monitoring devices were supposedly offline, Morrell leaned closer to Harvath, his voice barely above a whisper, though no less intense than it had been, and he said, “Because Director Vaile feels partly responsible for what has happened-Tracy, your mother, the ski team, all of it. He wants you to know why it’s going down.”