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Chapter 8
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Meg as she watched Scot getting ready. “If they told you to stay out of it, maybe that’s what you should do. Besides, won’t the FBI be watching his house just in case he comes back?”
“Probably,” answered Harvath. “Where’s that container Rick Morrell dropped off for me?”
Though Harvath had originally had his differences with the CIA paramilitary operative, he and Morrell had grown to respect each other and had even developed a tentative friendship. As Scot removed the odd-looking suit from the black Storm case, he reflected on how it was good to have friends who could get their hands on the latest and greatest equipment.
A note was pi
“What is that thing?” asked Meg as she reached out to touch the alien fabric.
“It’s a next-generation infrared camouflage suit. Not only is the visible pattern extremely effective against detection by the naked eye, but the material itself can reduce a person’s thermal signature by over ninety-five percent.”
“Making you virtually invisible to any Forward Looking Infrared or Thermal Imaging devices.”
“You got it,” said Harvath who had to remind himself from time to time of the comprehensive training Meg had received during their hunt for the terrorist brother and sister team of Hashim and Adara Nidal.
“ Gary lives in a nice, well-to-do part of Fairfax. You think the FBI is sitting in front of his house with night vision devices?”
“It’s not the guys in front that I am worried about. It’s the guys in the back where Gary ’s property borders the woods. Those are the guys I want to be prepared for,” said Scot as he slid a fresh magazine into his.40-caliber SIG Sauer P229.
Meg’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re taking a weapon with you?”
Harvath glanced at the pistol for a moment and then placed it in the black duffle bag with the rest of his gear for the evening. “Ten men have already been killed,” he said as he threw in two more clips of ammo.
“What do you expect to find there?”
Scot stopped his packing and looked up to meet Meg’s gaze. “To be honest, I have no idea. I don’t even know what it is I’m looking for. All I know is that none of this makes any sense. Somebody has a very deadly list and I need to make sure Gary ’s name is not on it.”
“But you said yourself that neither the FBI nor the CIA know if Gary ’s a target.”
“Meg, I know what you think, but I owe this to Gary.”
“Why?”
“What do you meanwhy? ”
“He’s a grown man. I love him too, but he can take care of himself.”
“What if he can’t?” asked Harvath as he slid the remaining items he thought he might need into the duffle and pulled the zipper shut.
“You don’t even know for sure that he needs saving.”
“Meg, I don’t want this to-” began Harvath, but he was interrupted.
“And even if he is in trouble, why should it be you who saves him?”
“How about the fact that he’s my friend?”
“Are you going to tell me this is something friends do for each other?” she asked as she pulled out a chair on the other side of the table from Harvath and sat down.
“In my world, yes,” answered Scot.
“But Gary didn’t do that for you.”
Harvath knew what she was talking about. When President Rutledge had been kidnapped and Harvath implicated as the only surviving Secret Service agent, Gary had seemed more concerned with getting him to turn himself in, than in helping him figure things out. “That’s not fair,” he responded. “He came through for me. Maybe not right away in the begi
“No, Scot, not at all. It wasn’t until the bitter end. Not until you had provided him with enough evidence did he finally feel safe enough to help you. He didn’t do it just because you two were friends. He did it because he was finally convinced that youweren’t guilty. There’s a big, big difference.”
“I don’t agree,” said Harvath as he began walking toward his bedroom to get something.
Meg’s next words stopped him dead in his tracks. “Well, maybe we can agree on this. Gary Lawlor isn’t your father.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” said Scot as he came back into the dining area of his small apartment.
“It means exactly that.”
“Meg, if you’re trying to somehow evaluate my psyche, you’re wasting your time and my time. I don’t care what you think you learned from Oprah orRedbook, or wherever you’re getting this stuff, but there are some people out there that are perfectly fine and don’t have anyissues whatsoever.”
The statement was so patently defensive that Meg had to take a moment to remind herself of what it was she was trying to achieve before responding. She cared enough for Scot Harvath-no, scratch that. She loved Scot Harvath enough to want him to see it for himself. Shoving it in his face wouldn’t get her anywhere, but leading him to it might.
“When was the last time you went skiing?” she asked.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“A lot. At one point in your past, you were a damn good competitive skier. Now, you don’t even ski recreationally.”
“This has gone beyond ridiculous, I’ve got someplace I have to be,” said Harvath as he went into his bedroom, retrieved the last things he needed, and walked past Meg toward the door.
“All I’m saying, Scot,” offered Meg, “is that it’s not your fault that you and your father weren’t speaking when he died.”
Once again, Harvath stopped in his tracks. Without turning he said, “It was at least fifty percent my fault.”
“And the other fifty was his,” said Meg as she walked over to him. She put her arms around him as she turned him around to look into his eyes. “I want you to know that if he was here right now, he would be proud of you.”
“You didn’t know him.”
“No, but I know you and I know what your mother has told me about how much you two were alike. You carry around a tremendous amount of guilt about what things were like between the two of you when he died. Even if you had continued skiing, he would have been proud of you.”
“I’m saying goodbye now.”
“And I’m saying that Gary Lawlor’s approval is not going to make you feel any better about what happened between you and your father. Let the government find him. You deal with enough danger in your life without having to go and look for it. You don’t need to do this.”
“Yes I do. Ten men have died. I won’t just sit here and cross my fingers and hope that Gary isn’t marked for the number eleven slot,” said Scot, as he turned and walked out the door.
Chapter 9
It was a blustery night with heavy snow predicted in the forecast. Though Harvath didn’t relish having to cover footprints made in freshly fallen snow, he welcomed the cloud cover as it helped to block out the moonlight.
On his initial drive down Lawlor’s street, he had missed the surveillance. It wasn’t until an hour later that he dared to make another pass and noticed them cleverly hidden in a house across the street.
A white Lincoln Navigator sat cleanly off to one side of the driveway up against one of the garage doors, but why not tuck it away in the oversized three-car garage and protect it from the impending storm? When Harvath drove by for the second time, he got his answer.
As one of the garage doors opened, a casually dressed man whom Harvath assumed was the owner the house, stepped outside to take his recyclables to the curb. Sitting inside alongside a silver Mercedes coupe and a red Volvo station wagon, was a car that screamed FBI-a slightly worse for wear dark blue Dodge four-door. Either these people were concerned about the ability of their maid’s vehicle to weather the approaching storm, or they were trying to help keep the Ford out of sight from people who would recognize it exactly for what it was. Harvath was willing to bet it was the latter.