State of the Union (18 page)

“Gary,” commanded Harvath, “calm down. You’ve been shot. I need to look at this wound. Now quit fighting me.”

Lawlor’s strength amazed Harvath as he continued to try to resist. It didn’t make any sense. The closer Herman got, the harder Gary began to thrash.

Finally, Lawlor gave one last push that was strong enough to topple Harvath over and grabbed his gun. Before Harvath could stop him, Gary had pulled the trigger three times and fired at another figure that had been creeping toward them.

“Is he dead?” whispered Lawlor, as Harvath stared at the body.

When Harvath didn’t respond, Lawlor repeated with more emphasis, “
Is he dead
?”

“Yes,” said Scot.

“Make sure.”

“Gary, he’s dead.”

“Make sure, goddamn it!”

Harvath went over and felt for Überhof’s pulse. There was none. “He’s definitely dead.”

Lawlor said something that sounded like, “good,” before dropping the pistol and collapsing into unconsciousness.

I
thought for sure he was trying to kill me,” said Herman, as he and Harvath sat just outside the operating room where Gary Lawlor was still being worked on. He had been in surgery for more than nine hours. When they had finally climbed out of the U-Bahn system and bundled Lawlor into an ambulance, it was well past ten o’clock in the morning.

Lawlor had lost a lot of blood, and getting him out of the
Geisterbanhöfe
had been a nightmare. Herman had managed to find an old stretcher in the bunker, but between his bad leg and Harvath’s bruised ribs, it had taken forever for them to retrace their steps back to the functioning Friedrichstrasse station where they could call for help.

A team of Sebastian’s men came back to the
Geisterbanhöfe
and after securing the empty rooms, used shape charges to blow open the locked doors marked
Betriebsraum
. Harvath had been right. The
Betriebsraum
was indeed a mechanical room, complete with generators and an air filtration system, but there was also something else—a concealed passageway with a circular metal staircase, leading all the way up to the Russian Embassy. Once Sebastian’s men realized what they had discovered, they wisely backed off. They had enough explaining to do to their superiors already, especially with one of their team members dead. Besides, even if they had wanted to breach the Russian Embassy, which several of them were eager to do, it was considered sovereign territory and could have created a serious international incident.

Instead, Sebastian’s men secured the body of Karl Überhof, who, beneath his jacket, had concealed a small caliber sniper weapons system with full metal jacket nine-millimeter rounds. The mystery of who had been shooting at them from across the street of the Goltzstrasse safe house seemed at least partially solved. The remaining two questions were who the hell was Überhof and who had he been working for?

Sebastian had spent the rest of the day trying to keep his own ass, as well as those of his men, out of the proverbial fire. He had had no choice but to come clean with his superiors. Well,
relatively
clean at least. Out of respect, he had left Harvath’s name out of it. He told his commander that they had been operating on a tip from an informant. Though the story wasn’t going to hold forever, he hoped at least it would buy Harvath a little bit of time. It was the least he felt he could do for him. The phone call about Überhof’s sniper rifle and the hidden stairwell leading to the Russian Embassy had come in just moments ago and was the last “favor” Sebastian had said he could do for Harvath. He and his men were being watched too closely now.

“I thought he was trying to kill you too,” answered Scot, turning back to Herman and continuing their conversation, “until I saw Überhof coming up behind you.”

“Thank God, Gary saw him or we’d both be dead now.”

Harvath just nodded his head as he reflected on what the past couple of days must have been like for Gary. The doctors said it was a wonder he was still alive at all. No one could understand how he had survived. No one, except for Scot Harvath. Gary was a fighter, a survivor. It was something they shared in common.

“What about our other guys?” asked Herman, trying to respect Harvath’s silence, but wanting to connect some of the dots. “The ones that got away. Who do you think they are?”

Herman brought Scot’s attention back to the present. “Taking into consideration that the bullet pulled out of Gary was a 7.62 Soviet M30, along with the VIP access to the Russian Embassy these guys had, I think it’s pretty safe to rule out the possibility that they are of Norwegian descent.”

“You think the Russians are involved?” asked Herman. “What possible connection there could be between terrorists targeting the United States and the Russian Federation?”

“A bigger connection than you may think.”

“You’re joking, right? When you said you were dealing with terrorists, in this day and age I automatically assumed you were talking about Islamic terrorists. Now you’re saying the Russian Federation is behind the threat against America?”

“Herman, we have very little to go on here.”

“All of a sudden, I don’t think so. We have Karl Überhof—a deceased German national obviously schooled in tradecraft who was able to take out a highly trained MEK operative, and our Soviet ammunition–firing tunnel rat who scampered away with a friend up into the Russian embassy. I want you to look me in the face and tell me that you don’t see any connection.”

Harvath set his chair back down on the ground and looked directly at Herman. It was time he told him the whole truth. “Several days ago, we discovered an enhanced suitcase nuke just outside one of our major cities.”

Herman was shocked and it took him several moments to compose himself. “What do you mean by
enhanced
?” he finally asked.

“Capable of a much larger yield than is normally associated with man-portable nuclear devices.”

“My God,” said Herman. “And this is what the terrorists have planned?”

“At this point we are confirming nineteen out of a possible twenty-five devices inside the United States.”

“And the balance may be in cities of America’s Western allies?”

“Yes.”

“Where’d these devices come from?”

“Where do you think?” replied Harvath.

“Russia?”

“Bingo.”

“But I don’t understand,” said Herman, leaning forward in his chair toward Harvath. “What about mutually assured destruction?”

“Suffice it to say, the Russians have found a way around that.”

“How is that possible?”

“They have developed some sort of air defense system that is impregnable.”

“And now what? They want to take over the United States?”

“Just about. They want us off the world stage so they can fill the void and be the world’s predominant superpower.”

Herman was floored. It was all too much. He had watched the Berlin Wall fall. In fact, he had even been there. He and several of his teammates had traveled to Berlin with sledgehammers and had spent hours cracking away at the enormous barrier, handing out pieces to anyone who wanted them. He had watched as people streamed across the no-man’s-land known as the
death strip
to be reunited with friends and loved ones in the West. Then the Soviet Union itself came tumbling down. At the time, it had all seemed beyond belief, but everyone had eventually gotten used to it. But what Harvath was telling him now, was absolutely beyond comprehension. “Is there more?” he asked, stunned.

“There’s Gary’s involvement and how he fits into hopefully stopping this from happening, but that has to remain classified,” said Harvath.

Both of the men sat back in their chairs, staring off into separate directions.

After several minutes, it was Herman who broke the silence. “What’s the timetable?”

“The deadline is the president’s State of the Union address in six days.”

“And you’re sure the Russian government is behind this?”

Harvath broke off from what he was staring at and said, “If it weren’t for the air defense system, we might have our doubts, but there’s enough evidence pointing to the people at the top. They claim they know nothing about what’s going on, but we believe otherwise.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Herman.

Harvath was about to answer, when he noticed one of the admitting nurses walking in their direction.

“
Herr Harvath
?” she asked in German as she approached the two men who immediately stood up.

“
Ich bin Herr Harvath
,” replied Scot, wondering why it wasn’t one of the operating room staff coming out to give him an update on Gary’s condition. Suddenly, he had a bad feeling.

“
Es tut mir leid, Sie damit zu belästige
—,” the nurse began.

“I’m sorry,” said Harvath. “
Sprechen Sie Englisch bitte
?”

“Yes, I speak English.”

“Good. What’s going on?”

“You have visitors.”

“
Visitors?
I’m not expecting any visitors. Who are they?”

“I don’t know. Foreigners of some sort.”

“They’re not German?” said Harvath, thinking that it might be Sebastian or one of the guys from the MEK team.

“No, these men are definitely not German. Only one of them spoke, and his German is very bad.”

A man who speaks very bad German?
Harvath shot Herman a look, before continuing. “What do they look like?”

“Big,” replied the nurse, holding her hands way out.

“How many are there?”

“There are two of them. I explained that this area is off limits and that they are not welcome here. I offered the waiting area in the ICU, but they declined. They asked me for something more private.”

“Where are they now?”

“In the surgeons’ conference suite down the hall,” she said pointing. “Room 311. I can show you if you like.”

“No, thank you,” replied Harvath. “I can find it.”

The nurse smiled and walked away. Once she was out of sight, Harvath removed his H&K, made sure that a round was chambered and then tucked back beneath his jacket.

“Who do you think it is?” asked Herman.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. You stay here and watch over Gary. No matter what happens, don’t leave him. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Herman, putting his hand on Scot’s shoulder. “Be careful.”

“Me? I’m always careful,” replied Harvath.

Herman forced a smile as Scot walked off down the hall.

Arriving at room 311, Harvath found the door closed. He listened, but didn’t hear anything coming from the other side. He pulled out his H&K and wrapped it in a towel he had taken from one of the hospital’s linen closets.

“
Zimmermädchen
,” he said, not knowing what the appropriate term for housekeeping was in a German hospital. At the same time, he didn’t care because whoever was in this room wasn’t a very good German speaker to begin with. His goal was to get whoever was inside to peek their head out so he could get the drop on them.

“
Danke, wir haben schon gegessen
,” replied a voice from the other side of the door.
Thank you, but we’ve already eaten.

“Ich komme morgen zurück,” I’ll come back tomorrow morning,
replied Harvath, who pretended to be leaving, but instead stepped just beyond the doorframe and began counting. When he got to ten, he grabbed the handle and threw the door open.

The men on the other side immediately reached for their guns, but then dropped their hands.

“Where the hell did you learn your German?”

“High school, Hogan’s Heroes, and the occasional trip to Milwaukee to visit my uncle for Oktoberfest,” replied a tall, muscular, blond-haired, blue-eyed man in his mid-twenties who looked as if belonged on a beach in Southern California, or in a Chippendales review somewhere.

“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&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 surveilling
him
.”

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’s
we
?”

“Carlson and DeWolfe are back at the hotel.”

“Then if Vaile didn’t send you, who did?”

“
Our
boss,” 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?”