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“You trusted this guy to do your talking for you?” asked Harvath to the other man.
“My mistake. He said he could speak German. If I had understood what he was saying, I never would have let him open his mouth,” replied the second man who was just as tall, but slightly less muscular than the first. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with close cropped, jet-black hair with a little bit of gray showing at the temples. His impassive, angular face could have been carved from a solid block of granite, and the deep cleft in his chin looked as if it had been chipped there with an axe.
Harvath lowered his weapon. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally shoot two friends. Gordon Avigliano was a good kid and had a bright future ahead of him, and Rick Morrell was not only a skilled operative, but also someone Harvath had grown to respect. They were both members of the CIA’s paramilitary division known as the Special Activities Staff. Scot had known Rick Morrell during his SEAL days when Morrell had left to join the CIA and they had become reacquainted during a top-secret operation to track down the extremely deadly Middle Eastern terrorist duo of Adara and Hashim Nidal. “What the hell are you guys doing here?”
“The boss sent us,” replied Morrell.
“Vaile?” said Harvath, referring to the Director of the CIA. “Why the hell would he have sent you guys here?” Then it hit him and he raised his H amp;K again. “If he thought because we’re friends you two could just walk in here and take Gary into custody, he was sorely mistaken. He’s still in surgery, for Christ’s sake. He’s not going anywhere with you guys. You have no idea how far off the mark your boss is on this one.”
“Easy breezy, cover girl,” said Avigliano. “We’re not going to take Gary anywhere.”
“Bullshit,” said Harvath, backing away from the two men. “How’d you even know we were here? I only made one communication and I know you are not surveillinghim.”
Harvath was referring to the anonymous voice mail box that only the president had access to where Harvath could leave coded updates. He had only left one, stating that he had recovered the package, but that the package was damaged. As best he could, he explained the situation and that he would leave another message once Gary was out of surgery.
“For fuck’s sake, Harvath. Would you calm down?” said Morrell. “Vaile didn’t send us. In fact, he has no idea we’re all here.”
“Who’swe?”
“Carlson and DeWolfe are back at the hotel.”
“Then if Vaile didn’t send you, who did?”
“Ourboss,” repeated Morrell, as he waved his index finger in a circle, taking them all in. “Goaltender.”
Morrell had used the president’s call sign assigned to him as part of the Dark Night operational plan.
“And what exactly is your assignment?” asked Harvath, even more concerned now that it was obvious that Morrell and his team were on the inside.
“There’s been a change of plans.”
“Change of plans?”
“Apparently something has happened. I was instructed to tell you that we don’t have any pieces left to rebalance the chessboard. Somehow the other side has found where we were hiding our toys. Goaltender said that would make sense to you. Does it?”
Harvath’s blood ran cold. “They’ve found our nukes?”
“I was just supposed to give you that message. Goaltender wants to talk to you,” replied Morrell. “We brought a sat-radio with us, and Carlson and DeWolfe are busy setting up a secure link.”
“Why you?” asked Harvath. “Why send your team?”
“Because he knows you trust us and therefore so does he. He knows together we’ll get the job done.”
“And what job is that?”
“When we get back to the hotel, you can ask him yourself.”
“What about security for Gary?” said Harvath. “The people we’re after might not be done with him yet. They could come back. I’ve got a very old and trusted friend watching over him right now, but he won’t be able to pull all the shifts. And if these guys came back in force, as good as this guy is, I can’t guarantee what the outcome would be.”
“Not to worry. We’ve arranged for a few visiting medical students to conduct a rotation here and keep an eye on Gary,” said Morrell, who signaled to Avigliano to open the door to the conference suite’s adjoining room.
Harvath couldn’t believe his eyes. Standing there in surgical scrubs and white lab coats were two of his closest friends from the White House security detail, Secret Service agents Tom Hollenbeck and Chris Longo.
“I’ll be damned,” said Harvath. “If it isn’t Doctors Moe and Larry. There’s just the two of you? You couldn’t get a third to play Curly?”
At that moment, the sound of a toilet flushing came from the suite’s private bathroom and then the door opened revealing a third man in a white lab coat, tying the drawstring on the pants of his scrubs.
“That figures,” said Harvath, as he recognized who it was.
“Surprise, surprise!” crowed Doctor Skip Trawick with a mock Scottish accent. The semi-retired Special Forces medic had been instrumental in helping Harvath rescue the president from Gerhard Miner and his team of Swiss mercenaries two years ago.
“Because Longo and Hollenbeck know absolutely nothing about medicine,” said Morrell, getting things back on track, “Goaltender thought it would be best to have at least one real doctor along for the ride.”
Satisfied that Gary was now going to an appropriate level of security, Harvath marched the trio of “doctors” down to Herman Toffle, where he explained what was happening. While Longo, Trawick, and Hollenbeck worked out how they were going to handle shifts, Morrell and Avigliano followed Scot and Herman down to Herman’s Mercedes, where Harvath transferred his and Gary’s bags to the trunk of Morrell’s rental car.
“Well, I guess this is it,” said Herman, extending his hand, a slight edge of disappointment noticeable in his voice. It felt good getting back in the game, even if it was short lived.
“Actually, Herman,” began Harvath, “I was hoping you might stick around a little bit longer. Those are good guys back up in Gary’s room, but they don’t have near the experience that you do.”
Herman brightened. “And, they speak lousy German.”
“That’s true,” smiled Harvath. “Would you mind hanging in with them for a little longer? I’d feel better knowing you were up there with Gary.”
“How can I say no to a friend in need?”
“I was hoping you’d feel that way,” said Harvath. “I want you to keep me up to speed on Gary’s progress and call me the minute he’s out of surgery. He’s the only one that can help us make contact again with Frank Leighton.”If Leighton’s even still alive, thought Harvath.
“Don’t worry,” replied Herman. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”
It was raining again as they pulled out of the parking structure and though the fog had dissipated, the evening still felt dense and impenetrable.
As the small sedan became ensnarled in evening Berlin traffic, Harvath leaned his head against the leather headrest and looked out the rain-streaked window. A heavy sense of foreboding weighed on his mind. The surgeons’ lack of confidence in Gary Lawlor’s prognosis was definitely troubling, but more than that, he was concerned about the message Rick Morrell had delivered on behalf of the president.All of our pieces have been knocked off the chessboard.