The Last Patriot

Having contributed multiple design suggestions to H amp;K while with the SEAL’s Dev Group, Harvath had one of almost every Heckler amp; Koch machine and submachine gun model produced in the last twenty years. He also had variants of M16 Clinic’s awesome Viper.

While they were all exceptional, Harvath’s most lethal, most effective and most accurate piece came out of a quiet, sophisticated shop in Leander, Texas, called LaRue Tactical that stamped all of their gear Live Free or Die.

Harvath’s pal and his dog’s namesake, Bullet Bob Horrigan, had turned him on to Mark LaRue, and no matter what crazy requests Harvath had ever thrown at his shop, the folks at LaRue Tactical had always come back with something better than he had asked for. Many people joked that Mark was a Texas version of James Bond’s Q and that as a proud Texan, maybe his codename should be BB-Q. LaRue Tactical was a SEAL and Delta Force-preferred supplier, and it was easy to understand why.

Harvath reached over and took down his custom built, short-barreled LaRue M4 “stealth” tactical rifle. It looked like an ordinary door-kicker weapon, but it was anything but. It was so incredibly accurate that with the right hi-powered optics on it Harvath could shoot three-inch groups at six hundred yards.

With an Aimpoint CompM4 red dot sight system for day-to-day usage, a Xiphos NT rail light, and an FSL Laserlyte laser, the weapon was one of his most prized possessions. In honor of Harvath’s Norseman call sign, Mark LaRue had laser-engraved the magazine well with the mythological hammer of Thor, the Norse god of thunder.

For his sidearm, Harvath selected an HK 45 caliber USP Tactical, 230-grain Winchester SXT amp;P ammo and extra mags along with Gemtech suppressors for both weapons. He then unfolded a cleaning mat on the table and set about cleaning and oiling each weapon to make sure they were in absolutely perfect working order.

After loading several black polymer Magpul magazines with twenty-eight rounds of 77-grain Black Hills Mk262 ammo, he loaded the tactical rifle, its suppressor and mags into a special case while everything else went into a low-profile, Blackhawk messenger-style over-the-shoulder bag. Harvath then shut down the lights and exited the crypt.

After putting the altar back in place, he assembled his gear near the front door and walked back into the kitchen. Professor Nichols was at the stove scrambling eggs while Lawlor sat at the table reading his handwritten list.

“Is that it?” Harvath asked as he entered.

Lawlor pushed the piece of paper to the edge of the table and took off his glasses. “That’s it,” he said.

“Do you want breakfast before you go?” asked Nichols as he lifted Tracy’s cast iron skillet off the stove.

“Sure,” replied Harvath, hoping that he wouldn’t need any of the equipment he had just spent all that time assembling.

Nevertheless, Better to have it and not need it was one of Harvath’s favorite maxims. Actually his favorite maxim was Better to have a lot of it and not need it, but that was beside the point. If anything happened, he wanted to make sure that he was prepared.

CHAPTER 57

Even though it was Saturday, Harvath hadn’t been able to find parking right away. Like any college campus, street parking at UVA was on a first-come-first-served basis. As a result, he ended up having to park several blocks away from the Corcoran Department of History.

He didn’t mind. After the drive down, it felt good to get out and stretch his legs. It also felt nice to be on a university campus again. He was surprised to see how busy and vibrant it was even on a weekend.

After a short walk, Harvath arrived at a three-story brick building called Randall Hall. Nichols’ office was on the second floor, and Harvath used the keys the professor had given him to let himself in. He was quite surprised at what he found. It was a lot different than he had expected.

Instead of vintage academia, the décor was quite stylish. The furniture was sleek and modern. Oil paintings of early American scenes were interspersed with tasteful black-and-white photography. Nichols was turning out to be somewhat of an iconoclast.

The focal point of the room was a stu

Wooden file cabinets ran the length of one wall while bookshelves ran the length of the other. There were the requisite historical texts one would expect to find in the office of a Jefferson scholar, as well as tomes by leading Democratic authors from the last several decades. Removing a couple of them, Harvath noticed that many had been signed. It was an impressive collection.

He tracked down the two Jefferson volumes the professor had asked for and slid them into his bag.

In the far corner of the room, just as Nichols had said it would be, was his blue KIVA-brand athletic bag with a te

Unzipping the main compartment of the bag, Harvath removed a pair of shorts and a Clinton/Gore T-shirt, and then found what he was looking for.

Pulling the plastic lid off a can of te

The flash drive had fit perfectly inside. So snug was it that someone could have bounced the te

Once outside, Harvath headed toward the central part of campus where his SUV was parked.

He entered the dramatic, colo

The thought of the Pantheon brought back a flood of memories for Harvath. The last time he had seen it he’d almost been killed.

With that realization, a strange feeling washed over him. It took him a moment to realize that the feeling had nothing to do with cheating death all those years ago in Italy. It had to do with right here and right now.

As the hair on the back of his neck stood up, Harvath’s hand slid into his bag and searched for the butt of his Heckler amp; Koch.

Somebody was following him.