Brad Thor - The First Commandment

He acknowledged the president’s remarks with a quiet “thank you” and listened as the man continued.

“Scot, you have been one of this nation’s greatest assets in the war on terror. I don’t want you for a moment to doubt how much your service has been appreciated. I know too well that yours can often be a thankless job and that is why I am thanking you once again.”

Harvath had a bad feeling about where this was going. He could sense the other shoe was about to drop. He didn’t have to wait long.

Jack Rutledge looked him right in the eye and stated, “We’ve known each other for several years and I’ve always been straight with you.”

Harvath nodded. “Yes, you have, sir.”

“Often against the advice of my advisors, I have filled you in on the big picture because I wanted you to understand your role in it and why you were being asked to do certain things.

“What’s more, I filled you in because I knew I could trust you. Now, I am asking you to trust me.”

The president paused as he tried to get a read on Harvath. The counterterrorism operative’s face was inscrutable, forcing Rutledge to ask, “Can you do that? Can you trust me?”

Harvath knew the correct answer was, Of course, I can trust you, Mr. President, but those were not the words that came out of his mouth. Instead, he replied, “Trust you regarding what, sir?”

It was not the answer the president wanted to hear, but it didn’t come as a surprise. There was a reason Scot Harvath was so good at what he did. He wasn’t a pushover, not by a long shot.

“I’m going to ask you to do something. I know you’re not going to like it, but this is where I need you to stay with me.”

Harvath’s alarm bells began ringing. He nodded slowly, encouraging the president to continue.

“I want you to let us track down the gunman who shot Tracy.”

The president wasn’t offering him a yes or no proposition. Even so, Harvath had no intention of being sidelined. Being careful of his word choice and his tone, he stated, “I’m sorry, Mr. President, I don’t understand.”

Rutledge didn’t mince words. “Yes, you do. I’m asking you to sit this one out.”

Too often, the fine art of diplomacy eluded Harvath. Looking the president right in the eyes he said, “Why?”

As president of the United States, Jack Rutledge didn’t have to explain himself to anyone, much less Scot Harvath. He didn’t even have to have this meeting with him, but as he’d stated, the president felt the nation owed Harvath a great debt-not only for what he’d done in New York and then afterward in Gibraltar, but on many other occasions.

What’s more, Harvath had once saved the president’s life, as well as his daughter’s. He deserved a better explanation and Rutledge knew it. The president just couldn’t give him one. “There are forces at play here I am not at liberty to discuss, even with you,” he said.

“I can appreciate that, Mr. President, but this isn’t a random act of terrorism. Whoever did this did it because it’s personal. The blood above my door, the shell casing, the note-somebody is calling me out.”

“And I’ve assembled a team to take care of it.”

Harvath tried to keep his cool as he replied, “Mr. President, I know you’ve got the FBI working overtime, but as good as they are, they’re not the right agency for this job.”

“Scot, listen-” began the president.

“I don’t mean any disrespect, but from everything we’ve seen this guy is a professional assassin who’s probably affiliated with a major terrorist organization. If we’re going to catch him, the people hunting him have to understand his mindset. They need to be able to think like him, and the FBI just can’t do that.”

“The people I’ve put on this job can. They’ll find him, I promise you.”

“Mr. President, this guy shot Tracy in the head. The doctors say it’s a miracle she wasn’t killed. She’s lying in a coma she may never come out of and it’s my fault-all of it. I owe it to her to find who did this. You have to bring me onboard.”

Rutledge had worried things would go this way. “Scot, I can’t stress enough how important it is that you trust me on this.”

“And I need you to trust me, Mr. President. Don’t sideline me. Whoever is on this team you’ve put together, I can help them.”

“No you can’t,” said Rutledge as he rose from his chair. It was a clear signal that their meeting was over.

Forced to stand, Harvath repeated, “Don’t shut me out of this, sir.”

“I’m sorry,” replied the president, extending his hand.

Reflexively, Harvath took it. Rutledge covered their clasped hands with his left and said, “The best thing you can do for Tracy right now is to be with her. We are going to get to the bottom of this, I promise you.”

Harvath’s shock was slowly being shoved aside by a surge of anger. But before he could say anything, Gary Lawlor thanked the president and steered Harvath out of the Oval Office.

As the door behind his visitors closed, the door to the president’s study opened and the tall, gray-haired, fifty-something director of the Central Intelligence Agency, James Vaile, stepped into the Oval Office.

Rutledge looked at him. “What do you think? Will he cooperate?”

Vaile fixed his eyes on the door Scot Harvath had just exited through and thought about the president’s question. Finally, he said, “If he doesn’t, we’re going to have a lot more trouble on our hands.”

“Well, I just promised him that your people were going to handle this.”

“And they will. They’ve got plenty of experience dealing with this kind of thing overseas. They know what they’re doing.”

“They’d better,” replied the president as he readied himself for a briefing in the situation room. “We can’t afford to have Harvath involved in this. The stakes are just too damn high.”

Harvath and Lawlor rode back to the hospital in silence. Harvath didn’t like being hamstrung, especially when they were facing a problem he was more than qualified to handle.

Lawlor didn’t push him to talk. He’d known before they even got to the White House how the meeting was going to unfold. The president had made it absolutely clear that he didn’t want Harvath or anyone else poking around in this investigation. What he didn’t say was why.

Though Lawlor wasn’t happy with the president’s decision either, he had to give Rutledge credit for telling Scot in person. He was right-it was the very least he owed him.

At the hospital’s entrance, the driver pulled the car to the curb and Harvath climbed out. There were a million things Lawlor wanted to say to him, but none of them seemed appropriate at this point. Instead, it was Harvath who broke their silence. “He has put together a special team to hunt Tracy ’s shooter, yet I can’t have anything to do with it? That doesn’t make any sense. There’s a lot more to this than he’s telling us, Gary, and it pisses me off.”

Lawlor knew he was right, but there was nothing either of them could do about it. The president had given them a direct order. Though he was just as bewildered as Scot was, Lawlor only nodded and replied, “Let me know if anything changes with Tracy.”

Disgusted, Harvath closed the car door and walked into the hospital.

Upstairs in Tracy ’s room, her parents were eating lunch. As he entered the room, Bill Hastings asked, “Any news on the investigation?”

Harvath had no desire to burden Tracy ’s parents with his problems, so told them a half truth. “They’re working it from all sides. The president has taken a personal interest in the investigation and is doing everything he can.”