Страница 8 из 81
“This?” she asked, looking down through the opening at the top of the bag. “I think somebody mugged a pimp or maybe a TV weatherman.”
“Very fu
Sloane lifted her right foot and executed a quick snap kick. “I used my size-six Manolo skeleton key.”
Sassy. Harvath liked sassy. In fact, he liked it almost as much as he did Scandinavian flight attendants with scarves tied around their necks. But only almost. Sloane Ashby was not only too young for him; she was also a colleague. What’s more, Reed Carlton—who had very likely given her the key and alarm code for his house—had made it quite clear that he expected Harvath to maintain a strictly professional relationship with her. Someday she was going to go on to do some incredible things for their agency, even more than she already had for the country. By that point, God willing, she would be reporting to Harvath. The Old Man didn’t want any messy entanglements between them screwing up their performance.
“If I get home,” Harvath said as he accepted the garment bag, “and find any of my Kool & the Gang records missing, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
Ashby shook her head. “No one got near your phon-o-graph, grandpa,” she replied, drawing the words out slowly like she was speaking to someone hard of hearing. “No need to worry. E-v-e-r-y-thing is okay. Your Drool & the Gang will still be there when the bus brings you back to the home after bingo.”
Now it was Harvath’s turn to laugh. Sloane Ashby was a wiseass and could give as good as she got. She reminded him a lot of himself at that age—cocky, and way too sure of herself. Even so, he enjoyed mixing it up with her. Because the Old Man had been so adamant about not getting romantic with her, Harvath looked at her like a younger sister and treated her accordingly.
“Here,” he said, handing her the box with the SBJ model in it. “I really did get you something.”
Sloane opened the lid, looked inside, and rolled her eyes. “Wow. What a guy. You really know what women want. It’s a wonder some girl hasn’t snapped you up yet.”
“It isn’t for lacking of trying,” Harvath replied as he tucked the vanity kit under his arm, smiled, and then turned and walked inside the FBO to grab a quick shower and change into his fresh clothes.
CHAPTER 6
The staff of the FBO welcomed Harvath and after checking him in, offered him use of the facility’s shower, which he accepted.
The steam from the hot water quickly filled the bathroom. Next to a nice, thick cheeseburger, there was nothing he looked forward to more after an overseas trip than a long, hot American shower. It just felt different.
Stepping into the stall, he closed his eyes and let the water pound against his sore body. The work he did was both mentally and physically demanding. He took extremely good care of himself and it showed. He was in better shape than most men half his age. Nevertheless, he was getting older and he knew it. He could still carry out the ops just fine; it was the recovery time that was begi
He could have stood there in the shower forever, allowing his half-hypnotized mind to drift in the heat and the steam, but there was work to do. Taking a deep breath, he flipped the temperature selector all the way to cold and exhaled. As the icy water hit his skin, he forced himself to count to thirty.
Harvath was convinced that the amount of cold that SEALs were forced to endure over the course of their careers eventually made them unable to deal with it at all. His observations were anecdotal at best, but he knew way too many guys who had opted for warm-weather climates after getting out and who never set foot anywhere else even remotely cold for the rest of their lives.
He was determined to never let anything, much less cold, beat him and so he stood in the shower every morning and punched cold right in the face. Of course it punched him right back, but it was like getting a double espresso for free and it always left him feeling invigorated. Today was no different.
Climbing out of the shower, he dried off and tied the towel around his waist. On his right side was a bruise he hadn’t noticed or felt any pain from until now. It must have come during the taking of the tanker or rescuing the captain in Somalia. You bump into tons of things in close quarters battle and don’t notice until after the fact. He was afraid to look down and see what his legs looked like. The joke in close quarters battle, or CQB, was that the shinbone’s only purpose was to find furniture in a darkened room.
Harvath glanced in the mirror. His face was ta
Noticing that he’d missed a spot while shaving, he bypassed the cheap, plastic disposable razors sitting in a glass jar on the bathroom counter and unzipped the vanity kit from the private jet. He was glad he’d held on to it. Not only was their razor a lot nicer, but Natalie had slipped her phone number inside at some point as well.
When he was done touching up his shave, he unzipped the garment bag. He had guessed by the weight that there was a pair of shoes inside and sure enough there was. Ashby had thought of everything, right down to a shirt and tie combination he probably wouldn’t have made on his own, but which actually looked pretty nice.
Exiting the building and walking over to her car, he received an approving whistle. “Don’t you look handsome.”
“There were plenty of white shirts in my closet, you know.”
“And they were all boring. You look great,” she said, straightening the knot in his tie. “Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
Harvath tossed his garment bag with his other clothes into her trunk and then got in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?”
“Mr. Carlton is waiting for you downtown,” she said, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot.
“Where exactly?”
“C Street between 22nd and 21st.”
Harvath pulled up the location in his mind’s eye. “The State Department?”
“No,” said Ashby. “Across the street. The Einstein Memorial.”
“Any idea why?”
“I don’t know. Have you done anything so stupid recently that he’d want to beat you to death in front of a statue of Albert Einstein as a lesson to the rest of us?”
Harvath laughed. It was true. The Old Man didn’t suffer fools lightly and he was taken to making examples of smart people who made dumb decisions or did stupid things.
Sloane took her eyes off the road to look at him. “You’re actually ru
“No, I’m not.”
“The hell you aren’t. I was pulling your leg and you actually think it’s a possibility.”
Harvath dismissed her with a wave. “Pay attention to the road.”
“What a fitting end that would be,” she replied, ignoring him. “Beaten to death at the feet of Albert Einstein for being a frickin’ moron.”