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“You’ve gotten friendly with one of the nurses, haven’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“John, some things never change.”
“As far as you’re concerned, you were suffering from exhaustion and got beat up pretty good. They’ll want to run some more tests here and at home, but I think you’ll make it.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Is there anything I can get for you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“Whoops, I forgot. I left something outside. Can you hold that thought for a second?”
“I guess,” said Scot, who watched as John jogged out of the room.
A minute later he heard the door open and John say, “Here we are.” He entered pushing Claudia in a wheelchair. Her faced was bruised, and Scot could see that she had received some stitches to her swollen lip, but she was as beautiful as ever.
Scot didn’t even hear John say, “I’ll leave you two alone,” as he graciously slid out of the room.
She stood and walked to the side of Scot’s bed. Wordlessly, she reached out and took his hand. Scot pulled her to him, and as carefully as he could, so as not to hurt her injured lip, he kissed her. Claudia wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. They both ignored their pain, happy it was all over and that they were together.
81
Lake Geneva, Wisconsin-04:30, next day
Two pairs of white Mercury Villager minivans pulled into the driveways of the houses bordering Donald Fawcett’s palatial estate. A fifth van waited out on Snake Drive, ready to apprehend any vehicles that might try to escape. At precisely the same moment, a Boston Whaler with quieted outboards was waiting for the go code to beach in front of Fawcett’s home and assault the house from the lawn.
Gary Lawlor watched the seconds tick by on his watch. The team of heavily armed FBI HRT and support agents had practiced the raid over and over again until Lawlor was confident they could do it in their sleep. Only then did he okay the actual assault. Based on what he had gleaned about Donald Fawcett and his involvement with the president’s kidnapping, he didn’t expect him to come willingly.
Lawlor had been provided with the details of a Swiss intelligence officer’s confession, given from his hospital bed in Geneva. Despite the Chinese wall that served to hide who took the confession and how it was obtained, Lawlor knew it had been done by the CIA. Supposedly, Gerhard Miner had willingly provided the confession and named names in exchange for a reduction in the charges. Whether certain methods had been used to extract the confession was anybody’s guess, but they probably had.
Despite Lawlor’s leads and a quickly closing net on Donald Fawcett, the White House wanted a quick end to the situation and had agreed to the deal. Gerhard Miner would probably show up somewhere with a bullet in the back of his head within a month anyway. Just as long as whoever did it wasn’t dumb enough to use one that said, “Made in the U.S.A.”
The information delivered to Lawlor also came with a special FYEO-For Your Eyes Only. The reason Gerhard Miner was in the hospital was because Scot Harvath had beaten the shit out of him, almost killed him with his bare hands. Lawlor couldn’t help but smile.
He looked once again at his watch. Thirty seconds. He told his teams to stand by. “Five…four…three…two…one. Go!”
Fifty-five agents moved in from their assigned positions. All of the utilities were cut, and the security system disabled. Within a minute, agents had breached the front doors and were sweeping the house. There was no sign of Fawcett.
A call came over the radio that agents clearing the study had found two bodies. Lawlor got to their position as soon as he could. What he saw turned his stomach, even after all these years. The bodies of two men, shot execution style, lay in a pool of congealing blood on the hardwood floor. Retrieving their wallets and seeing the names on their IDs made him even sicker. The bodies appeared to be those of Senators Russell Rolander and David Snyder.
After a thorough search of the property, Donald Fawcett was still nowhere to be found.
82
Washington, D.C.-one week later
After five days in the Swiss hospital, Harvath was flown home to the United States, ostensibly to recuperate and undergo further tests. In reality, a whole host of people including the Justice Department, the CIA, the FBI, and the Secret Service wanted him back for debriefing. After a while, the questions grew to be monotonous and repetitive, but it was all part of the job. Director Jameson had an authorized agent transcribe Scot’s debriefing and only asked him to read it over and sign it if it was correct. Mercifully, Scot had no typing to do.
He attended a private ceremony at the White House after the funeral of the vice president. The story in the press was that the cause of death had been injuries suffered in a freak accident at home, while in reality Marshfield had finally cracked under the pressure of what he had done. Knowing he would soon be caught, he’d realized he couldn’t face the music and took his own life.
Harvath was shown into the Oval Office and was soon joined by the president, who was accompanied by the attorney general, Gary Lawlor, and Secret Service director Jameson. Scot stood as they entered.
“Here is the man I’ve been waiting to see,” said the president as he strode across the blue carpeting.
Seeing the president’s right arm in a sling, Harvath immediately offered his left hand. The president grasped it warmly.
“I ca
“That’s my job, sir,” said Harvath.
“Well, I don’t know how to repay you.”
“It’s not necessary, sir.”
“Sir, if I may interrupt?” broke in the attorney general.
“Of course.”
“I know your time is limited, and I also know you requested that this meeting with Agent Harvath function as a wrap-up.”
“A wrap-up?” asked Scot.
Director Jameson cleared his throat. “Kind of a final debriefing. We know the overall facts are a bit fuzzy for you, and the president felt you had earned the right to the full story.”
“I see,” said Scot.
“Why don’t we all take a seat?” said the president. The guests divided themselves among the couches and assembled chairs.
“Since Deputy Director Lawlor was responsible for such a large part of the investigation,” said the attorney general, “I think he should be the one to fill you in. Agent Lawlor?”
“Thank you, Attorney General. Agent Harvath…Scot. On behalf of all of us, I would like to apologize for the way in which we treated you,” Lawlor said.
“That’s not necessary,” said Scot.
“No,” continued Lawlor, “it is. Your instincts were right on the money every step of the way. It’s because of you that we have the president back in one piece.”
“Well, maybe not exactly one piece,” the president said, holding up his sling. Everyone in the room laughed politely. Lawlor waited for the laughter to die down before continuing.
“To a certain degree, the real linchpin was the wine invoice you sent me. The Vin De Constance that Miner had cellared at the Hotel des Balances was actually paid for by Donald Fawcett.”
“The industrialist?” Scot was amazed. Yet another twist. “What does he have to do with all of this?”
“The president had put together-and you will excuse me for saying so, sir-a rather shaky coalition to pass a new piece of legislation. It is an alternative-energy bill that would cut our dependence upon fossil fuels dramatically over the next twenty years. Do you know how Fawcett Industries makes most of their money?”
“Lemme guess. It has something to do with fossil fuels?” asked Scot.