Brad Thor - The First Commandment

With payments recently made from her account in Switzerland to the private burn treatment hospital in Italy, Harvath doubted it. If Adara were up to it, she would have been the one hunting him, not her son. Harvath and Adara would have their final dance soon enough, but before that, he needed to stop Roussard once and for all.

The basic questions of what, why, where, when, and how ran through Harvath’s mind as he tried to fit the pieces together.

The what was the attack itself. The why was something Harvath had tried to understand but couldn’t, at least not one hundred percent. Adara Nidal wanted revenge for Harvath’s thwarting her plans to ignite a Muslim holy war with Israel, and she was using her son to exact that revenge. That was the best Harvath could make of it.

The where was the Lake Geneva Country Club and the when was sometime during Meg’s wedding or reception. Her nuptials were set to be one of the social events of the year. Her guest list undoubtedly read like a Who’s Who of Chicago elite. The wealthy, the beautiful, and the powerful would all be there. On top of that, both the mayor of Chicago and the president of the United States would be in attendance. If it was successful, Roussard’s attack would make headlines and be felt around the world.

Harvath had four out of five criteria for stopping Roussard’s attack figured out. He had the what, a good chunk of the why, as well as the where and when. All he needed now was to uncover the how.

It was a perfect evening. The temperature was in the low seventies, all of the stars were out, and a light breeze was blowing in off the lake.

Meg Cassidy’s friend and next-door neighbor, Jean Stevens, had opened all her doors and windows. This wasn’t the kind of night you wasted by sealing yourself up in your cottage and running the air-conditioner.

They had been blessed with an amazing Indian summer. There was no telling how much longer it would last and Jean Stevens intended to squeeze every last ounce of enjoyment out of the season before she returned to the Chicago suburbs and another interminable Chicago winter.

Refilling her glass with sailboat-shaped ice cubes, she poured herself another vodka and tonic. As she turned to walk back out onto her porch, she got the scare of her life.

Before she could scream, the figure standing in front of her placed his hand over her mouth.

Cautioning her not to make a sound, the man turned out the lights and led her to one of the chairs at her breakfast table.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked as Harvath removed his hand from her mouth and let her sit down. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Surprise,” answered Harvath as he pulled out a chair for himself and sat down.

“ Surprise is right. What are you doing here? Meg told me you never RSVPed for the wedding. She had no idea if you were coming or not. It’s rather poor form not to respond, you know, especially when Meg was big enough to invite you. Just because you two didn’t work out is no reason not to be courteous. Wait a second,” she said as she paused. “Where are my manners? Come here and give me a hug.”

Harvath stood and gave her a hug. Jean hadn’t changed a bit. Meg had always referred to her as Auntie Mame meets Lily Pulitzer. She was a warm and endearing character. It was obvious why she and Meg had become such close friends. To know Jean Stevens was to love her.

“So are you here to convince Meg to drop that jackass she’s marrying and run away with you?”

“Todd’s not that bad, Jean,” replied Harvath.

“The hell he isn’t,” said Stevens as she got up to fix Harvath a drink. “He’s manipulative, controlling, overbearing-”

“And he’s also the man she picked to spend the rest of her life with,” stated Harvath as he held up his hand and waved Jean back from the bar.

“Then you’re not here to convince her to marry you instead,” she replied flatly as she retook her seat.

“I’m afraid not.”

“That’s too bad; you two were good together.”

“I need you to do me a favor, please,” said Harvath, changing the subject.

“You just name it, honey,” replied Jean. Her bangled wrist jangled as she patted him on his knee.

Harvath removed an envelope from his pocket. “I need you to give this to her.”

Jean Stevens arched her left eyebrow. “I’m sensing the possibility of some eleventh-hour fireworks here,” she said with a smile. Reaching for the cordless phone behind her, she added, “Why don’t I just call her? I’m sure she’s tearing her hair out with all the last-minute details, but I think she could find a minute or two to come over and say hello. Seeing you, maybe she’d come to her senses.”

Harvath put his hand on top of hers and lowered the phone to the table. “This is complicated.”

“Most things in life are, honey. Listen, I’ll make daiquiris and you two can talk. I don’t even have to be here. I can take a walk if you’d like. It would probably be better if you two were alone anyway.”

Harvath couldn’t help but smile. He’d never met anyone who’d meant well more than Jean. “By complicated, I mean professionally, Jean. Not personally. I shouldn’t be here.”

“If you’re worried about Todd-”

This time Harvath laughed. “No, I’m not worried about Todd, believe me.”

“Cloak and dagger stuff, huh?” she replied with a conspiratorial wink.

“Kind of. Listen, no one can know I’m here. Meg doesn’t know yet and this has to be kept very quiet. Can I trust you?”

“Honey, nobody keeps a secret like me. My lips are sealed,” she said, accepting the envelope. “Consider it done. Now, how about something to eat?”

“I’m sorry,” replied Harvath as he stood. “I can’t stay.”

“Well, as long as we’re both single, how about being my date for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night? It should be pretty swanky. We’re getting picked up on the dock at five-thirty for a little cocktail cruise and then it’s off to the club for dinner.”

“I have to say no to that too,” replied Harvath, shaking his head.

Jean stared at him. “Honey, can I ask you a question?”

Harvath had already pressed his luck by coming within thirty yards of Meg’s place and the Secret Service detail assigned to watch her. “Okay,” he conceded, “one question.”

“Are you happy? I mean honestly happy.”

The question was quintessential, get-right-down-to-it Jean Stevens, but it still took him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean? It’s a simple question. Are you happy?”

“I guess it would depend on how you define happy,” said Harvath, anxious to get moving and also maybe a bit uncomfortable with how the woman he was standing in front of had always had such an uncanny ability to read people.

“Being happy boils down to three things. Something to do. Someone to love. And something to look forward to.”

She said nothing more. As her words hung in the air, she studied him. He and Meg had been good together. Harvath was a great guy and reminded Jean a lot of her husband, strong, good-looking, and exceedingly kind to the people he cared about. It was a damn shame that things hadn’t worked out between him and Meg.

Harvath stood there for several moments, the uncomfortable silence growing between them. Finally, he bent over and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for getting my note to Meg,” he said, and then he was gone.

Philippe Roussard stood on the end of his private pier and looked out across the darkened lake. Closing his eyes, he felt the breeze as it moved around him. From somewhere off in the distance, he heard a chorus of sailboat halyards clanking against aluminum masts as the craft bobbed up and down at their moorings.