The Apostle

Standing up and buttoning his suit jacket, Alden said, “Agent Campbell, you simply don’t have your facts straight. I don’t know what’s ailing you, but I think you need to take some more time off and come back when you’re feeling better.”

“I feel fine, Mr. President. And I’m not coming back,” said Elise as she stood up as well. “Where this goes now is up to you. And for your information, Herb and Janet Coleman will be taking a very keen interest in what you decide to do going forward.”

“The Colemans? Is that who’s behind this?” said Alden contemptuously. “I should have known.”

“Yes, you should have, Mr. President. Lying under oath is a felony.”

Alden glared at her and tried to shift the blame. “So this is how divisive politics have become? Even when the people have spoken, you won’t stop until you find a reason to force the duly elected president of the United States out of office, even if you have to make the reasons up?”

“This has nothing to do with me, or politics. I voted for you. I believed in you. But you’re unworthy of your office.”

“I guess I made a mistake asking to have you assigned to my detail.”

Elise had had it with the man’s arrogance. “You politicians want to blame everyone but yourselves when you screw up. Your mistake wasn’t having me assigned to your detail. Your mistake was lying under oath. In fact, now you’ve got me talking like a politician. Lying under oath isn’t a mistake, it’s a reflection of a very deep character flaw. The office of president and the people of the United States deserve better. The Colemans and I will be expecting you to a

Elise left the president and exited the solarium. Max Holland was waiting for her outside. “How’d it go?”

“C’mon, Max,” said Elise. “You’re telling me you heard none of that?”

“Our job’s to protect the president, not to eavesdrop on his conversations.”

Campbell was silent.

“That said, sometimes you can’t help but hear things,” replied Holland. “You’re a good agent, Elise. Don’t quit the Service just because of him. We’ll get you reassigned. In fact, there’s a position open on the first lady’s detail.”

“Hutch resigned?”

Holland nodded. “Ten minutes ago.”

Removing her credentials, she handed them over to him. “Thanks, Max, but I’ve got other plans.”

Holland knew better than to argue with her. Reluctantly, he accepted her creds and slipped them into his pocket. “So what are you going to do?” Max asked. “Are you just going to give up on law enforcement?”

Elise smiled, “I think I’m going to become a detective.”

“You’re going back to the Virginia Beach PD?”

“No. I’ve been offered a job in East Hampton.”

CHAPTER 62

KABUL, AFGHANISTAN

With the convoy of Massoud’s soldiers taken care of, as well as those he had posted along the road, Harvath knew it was safe to call Daoud in to pick them up. As a courtesy, Flash 22 stayed on station until they were all safely back in Dagar.

Reshteen and his cousins mobilized the other men of their village. Arming themselves, they established a perimeter around Dagar just in case any stray Taliban happened to wander down from the mountain camp or travel over from Massoud’s village looking for revenge.

Out of appreciation, Harvath had allowed the Canadians to be credited with the success of the operation and the recovery of Julia Gallo. He neither needed nor wanted the publicity, but more than that, the Canadians had been integral to their success. Without them, things could have turned out very differently. They more than deserved the credit.

When Captain West and his team arrived, they helped reinforce the village and establish a secure LZ. Twenty minutes later, a UH 60 BlackHawk, accompanied by two AH-64 Apaches, landed to transport Julia Gallo to Bagram.

Once the helos had lifted off, Fontaine led Captain West and his team back to Massoud’s camp to gather as much intel as possible about the Taliban commander and his Russian counterpart. In the truck that Fayaz had loaned them earlier that night, Harvath and Daoud followed.

Most of the Taliban vehicles were still smoldering as the column made its way up the narrow mountain pass. Though it took some doing, the heavy LAVs were able to clear a wide enough path for everyone to make it up without having to permanently dismount.

Once they arrived, the Canadian forces swept the camp. Only one survivor was found; Mullah Massoud Akhund’s brother, Zwak.

Though Zwak had been untied, he had remained in the storage building beneath the protection of the IR strobe Harvath had thrown on the roof. Though the man had no idea that it had been there, it had saved his life.

Daoud spoke to him quietly and tried to calm him down, but Zwak kept asking for his brother, saying he wanted to go home. With Captain West’s blessing, Harvath and Daoud were granted permission to return the man to his village, providing Harvath didn’t tip them that it was their next stop. The Canadians pla

Harvath and Daoud drove Zwak home and remanded him into the care of Baseer, who thanked Harvath for being a man of honor who kept his promises. He also gave his assurance that he would deal with young Usman personally.

Harvath and Daoud then drove to Bagram, on the outskirts of Jalalabad, and Gallagher’s Shangri-La guesthouse cum fortified compound. There, after arranging to get the truck back to Fayaz and his village, Harvath paid the intrepid interpreter and, though the man politely attempted to refuse, gave him a significant bonus. Daoud had more than earned it.

Harvath then took a long hot shower, poured a stiff drink, and popped a much overdue Motrin. He then slid into bed, closed his eyes, and didn’t wake up for twelve hours.

When he awoke, he checked the email account he was using for this assignment. Waiting for him was a two-word message from Stephanie Gallo. It read simply, Thank You.

Out of sheer curiosity, he surfed over to his bank’s website and logged in. Mrs. Gallo had already deposited the balance of his fee. She was a woman of her word, and though he disagreed with much of her politics he had to give credit where credit was due. While he didn’t really care either way, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe her opinion of people like him and the other brave men and women in the world who risked all to protect the i

Next he logged in to the personal account he used to communicate with Tracy and found six emails, all with photos of their dog, Bullet, attached. Harvath smiled as he read through them, but felt an odd sense of melancholy. He loved his dog, but a dog wasn’t the same as having children. There was no bond stronger than family, and he was ready to start one of his own. Considering how much money he’d just banked, Tracy couldn’t argue that kids were too expensive. And he wanted to have a ton of them.

His optimism returning, Harvath smiled and typed a quick reply to the last email she had sent. Done having fun. Wish I was there. Be home soon.

Borrowing the Shangri-La’s other Land Cruiser, Harvath drove himself back to Kabul, alone. He slowed in Surobi and hoped to see the little old man who sold the Jackie Collins book standing outside his shop, but the store was closed. It was prayer time, and even in a village not “officially” controlled by the Taliban, repercussions for not strictly adhering to Islamic laws could be harsh.

Harvath did see, though, the same man with the same black Taliban turban he had seen the last time he had passed through Surobi. The man’s eyes were still filled with hate, and he threw Harvath the same blood-chilling stare. Fuck diplomacy, thought Harvath as he flipped the guy the finger.