by Brad Thor
“Tonight,” said Lawlor as he slid an envelope with cash and plane tickets across the situation room table to him.
31
Harvath’s ride into downtown Chicago wasn’t as fancy as it had been a couple of days before. He grabbed a Continental airport shuttle, which dropped him across the street from the Ambassador East Hotel. Once he was settled, he put in a call to his contact at the Chicago FBI field office. Nick Wilson was an old friend whom Harvath had worked with several times in the past. Wilson explained that Meg Cassidy was at her cottage in Lake Geneva and that he had new information he was sure Harvath would be interested in hearing. They made plans to meet for drinks, and then Harvath hung up and dialed Meg’s number in Wisconsin.
A few moments later, he had her on the phone. “You’re back in town?” she asked.
“Yes, and I need to see you,” replied Harvath.
Meg was guarded and realized he probably had not come back just to see her again. This was business. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Were you sent here to try and change my mind about things?”
“Believe it or not, my instructions were to explain to you what my motivation is, but for what it’s worth, I’m not sorry I got sent back.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I love Chicago. It’s the one town that won’t let you down.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, disappointed that he hadn’t cited her as the reason he was happy to be back. This was ridiculous. What was she doing? He was here to try and persuade her to team up with the CIA. He had been sent on official business, and she needed to get that through her head.
“How about dinner? It’s on me. What time will you be back in the city?”
“I’m spending the night up here. I won’t be back in the city until tomorrow morning.”
“Well,” said Harvath as he scribbled on the pad on his desk, “that’s going to make dinner a bit difficult then, isn’t it?”
“How about breakfast?”
“That would work. Do you want to eat here at the hotel? I’m staying at the Ambassador East.”
“Let’s meet at Mitchell’s on the corner of North Avenue and Clark Street around eight. This way I can drop my car at my place and meet you over there. It’s an easy walk for both of us.”
“Great, I’ll be looking forward to it.”
“I wouldn’t be too excited about it if I were you. I’ve already made my position on this very clear.”
“I understand, and whatever you decide, I’ll respect. I just want a chance to talk with you about it. I think we see eye to eye in many ways on this subject.”
“I don’t think you know the half of it.”
“Well, you can fill me in tomorrow morning. Okay?”
“Fine then. I’ll see you at Mitchell’s around eight,” and with that, Meg Cassidy hung up the phone.
Harvath was already sitting at a table in the Ambassador East’s famed Pump Room when Nick Wilson entered. They made small talk while waiting for their drinks, and then, once the waitress had left the table, Wilson got straight to the point. He removed a large manila envelope from his briefcase and spread several grisly Chicago Police Department crime scene photos on the table in front of them.
“This guy’s been torn apart,” said Harvath as he sifted through the pictures.
“Just his throat,” replied Wilson as he took a sip of his drink and used the straw to draw Harvath’s attention to the wounds.
“Who the hell was he?”
“Serial rapist the Chicago PD had been after for some time.”
“What’s this have to do with Meg Cassidy?”
“She’s the one who did that to him.”
Harvath couldn’t believe it. As he picked up the photos to study them more closely, Wilson held up his empty glass and signaled the waitress. “You want another?” he asked.
“No,” answered Harvath. “When did this happen?”
“A couple of years ago. Apparently, Ms. Cassidy had been jogging through Lincoln Park one night a little bit later than she should have. It was dark and she got jumped by this scumbag. According to the report, she screamed, but nobody was around to hear her. He pinned her down and shoved something in her mouth to gag her. She fought back, though, hard. Clawed at him and everything.”
“What happened?”
“What happened? She went for his windpipe, dug her nails in, and ripped the guy’s throat out. That’s what happened.”
“You’re joking, right?” said Scot.
“Hell, no. She killed the guy.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it. The cops did DNA testing on the stiff and found that he was the serial rapist they’d been looking for. She was lucky. He’d put most of his victims in the hospital. One even died.”
“Nick, why wasn’t this in her file back in D.C.?”
“It never saw the light of day. Her father was a career cop and well liked to boot. He obviously had some pretty good juice with the department to hush this all up. The only thing that ever got announced was that the police had found the body of their serial rapist, and that it was suspected he’d been killed in some sort of drug deal gone bad. That was it.”
“How’d you get your hands on it?” asked Harvath.
“Headquarters was pretty intent on us finding out everything we could about her. We were told to leave no stone unturned. Why they were so interested in her, I don’t know, but mine is not to reason why, you know?” Wilson waited for the waitress to set his fresh drink down and depart before he began speaking again. “I’ve got a friend at the Chicago Police Department. He’s been there a long time and has an even longer memory. He owed me a couple of favors. You know how the game works.”
Harvath nodded his head. He did know how the game worked. As he studied the crime scene photos yet again, a lot of things about Meg Cassidy became clearer. The question now was, with everything she had been through, how in the world could he convince her to team up with the CIA?
32
Harvath awoke early the next morning and decided to go for a run along the lakefront. The weather was cool, with a bit of a chill in the air—unusual for Chicago in August. Most likely, there was a storm moving in. He ran as far as Belmont Harbor and after a few minutes of admiring the yachts and sailboats, turned south and ran back through Lincoln Park. At North Avenue, Harvath could see the restaurant where he and Meg would be having breakfast. Out of habit, he jogged slowly by the eatery, checking everything out, and then ran back to the Ambassador.
After a quick shower, he flipped on Fox News while getting dressed. The lead story was about a suicide bomber who had detonated himself inside a crowded Tel Aviv hotel and killed over twenty-two people, including an Israeli cabinet minister. The al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigades were once again taking credit for the bombing, stating that it was another retaliation for the Hand of God attacks. The violence was continuing to spiral out of control. Many countries were beginning to pull out all nonessential diplomatic personnel from Israel.
Three major U.S. attempts to get the peace process back on track had failed miserably. Harvath could tell the problems in the Middle East were wearing terribly on the president. Shuttle diplomacy wasn’t working either. No matter whom he sent to the region, no matter how many meetings they had, the situation only seemed to worsen. Many in Washington were beginning to believe that some sort of war was inevitable. Smack in the middle of the media maelstrom, though, was Ali Hasan, who continued to call for peace and an end to the violence.
So far, Hasan was still extending an olive branch, which boded well for the pending European peace summit, but Scot dreaded what might happen if events forced Hasan to drop the olive branch and pick up a rifle, and this only made his assignment more critical.
Harvath arrived at Mitchell’s a half hour early and chose a booth in the back corner. A stocky waitress ambled over and when Scot informed her he was waiting for someone to join him,
she poured him a cup of mediocre coffee and left him alone. Harvath passed the time by reading a copy of the Chicago Tribune.
When Meg arrived, everyone turned toward the door to look at her. Harvath couldn’t tell if it was because she was so attractive or because of all the press she had been receiving from the hijacking. He figured it was probably a combination of both. Though it had only been a few days since he had last seen her, she was even more beautiful than he remembered.
It took Meg a few moments to work her way back to the booth, as she was stopped every three feet and asked for an autograph. When she finally made it to the table, Harvath greeted her with a warm smile. “It seems somebody is quite the celebrity.”
“It isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” said Meg as she slid into the booth across from him. “I’ve got so many requests for interviews and talk show appearances I’m going to have to actually hire a publicist.”
“Do you know any good ones?”
“One or two,” said Meg, returning his smile as she picked up the menu and was silent.
Harvath could tell that Meg was waiting for him to speak. The niceties were behind them and it was time to get down to business. Scot looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping before beginning. He remembered the president’s and Gary Lawlor’s instructions to be as candid as possible and said, “You know why I’m here, and all things considered, I appreciate you meeting with me.”
So this really was about what happened in Cairo, period. Meg was disappointed that she had allowed herself to reserve some glimmer of hope. It was against her better judgment, and now she inwardly chastised herself for it. “I’m happy to meet with you,” she said.
“I want you to know that the president himself asked me to come and see you—”
“To change my mind, right?”
“No. I told him that if you had already made up your mind, we should respect that. You’re a busy woman. You’ve got a company to run, commitments. I totally understand where you’re coming from, especially after everything you’ve been through.” He stopped and took a sip of his coffee before continuing. “I came because I want you to know why I’m involved with all of this…”
Harvath hesitated as he searched for the right words. He was about to walk onto the very thin ice of discussing top-secret information with someone who didn’t have proper clearance, but Lawlor and the president had both said they trusted him to say the right thing and so he offered, “Do you remember when the president was kidnapped last winter?”
“Of course. Who wouldn’t? It was everywhere,” replied Meg.
“Well, what wasn’t reported was that I was the leader of the presidential advance team on that trip. The president’s security, as well as that of everyone around him, was my responsibility. The day the kidnapping took place, I was skiing with the president’s daughter and just narrowly saved her life.”
“That was you?”
“Yes, that was me. Out of all the immediate protective detail agents, I was the only one lucky enough to survive.”
“That must have been an incredible thing to deal with.”
“It was and it still is. The men that died were my responsibility. Many of them were good friends of mine. I made them a promise that day that I wouldn’t let their deaths go unpunished.”
“And does the hijacking and the man who attacked me have something to do with the president’s kidnapping?”
“We believe Hashim Nidal is behind the killing of several American operatives involved in the search for the president, as well as several brutal terrorist attacks around the world which have resulted in hundreds more people being killed. He has to be stopped.”
“You mean by killing him?”
“If necessary, yes.”
“Scot, I’m going to ask you a stupid question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Have you ever killed someone?”
Harvath was silent.
“Of course you have. You’ve obviously been trained to do it. I haven’t, and I hate it. I hate that I took someone else’s life.”
“But you did it in self-defense.”
“That still doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Meg, you did what you had to do. It was your life or theirs. Don’t you see that?”
Meg turned her eyes away from Harvath and focused on her menu. “You talk like this is something people face on a daily basis.”
“In the world I live in, they do. Listen, there are people like me, or better yet, as much as I don’t care for him, Rick Morrell, who do face the decision to kill or be killed on a frighteningly regular basis. They do it so that the rest of the people in this country can live their lives without ever having to make that kind of decision. In a perfect world, you never would have been drawn into this. Your flight never would have been hijacked and you never would have been called on to make that terrible decision. You made a choice, though, the right choice, and because of it you and hundreds of other people are alive.”
“But it didn’t end there,” said Meg, looking up. “I can’t walk away from it. I can’t just put it behind me like I did the—” She broke off and was silent again.
“The last time?”
Meg locked eyes with Harvath. “What are you talking about?”
“I know, Meg.”
“Know what?”
“I know about the man who attacked you while you were jogging that night in Lincoln Park. I know you fought for your life and as a result, he lost his. I know you didn’t ask to be attacked, just like you didn’t ask to be on a plane that was hijacked. It was late, it was dark, and you must have been scared as hell. Your instincts took over, and because of you, other women were saved from being subjected to the same horror or even worse.”
Meg searched Scot’s eyes for an explanation of how he possessed knowledge of her most closely guarded secret. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but who told you?”
“I can’t say,” he replied.
“Yes, you can. My own government trusts me enough to join the CIA, but not enough to tell me how they discovered something I thought had been buried long ago where no one would ever find it?”
“The government knows nothing about this, and as far as I’m concerned they never have to. It was self-defense.”
“You’re goddamn right it was,” said Meg, the anger evident in her voice. “Do you know what I have had to live with since that attack? Can you imagine the guilt? The fear? Feeling that I was responsible for everything that happened? The only consolation I had was that the man who had attacked me was gone and nobody would ever know what happened that night.”
“Nobody does know.”
“Hello? Are we having the same conversation here? You know.”
“Meg, your secret’s safe with me.”
“My secret is anything but safe. If you know, how many other people know?”
“I promise you. No one else will know. I will personally see to it that the source is plugged up for good, okay? You can trust me.”
“Trust you? I don’t even know you. I don’t know any of you. As a matter of fact, I have half a mind to press charges for going public about me and almost getting me killed at the hospital in Cairo.”
“Wait a second,” said Harvath, a hint of indignation creeping into his voice. “Don’t lump me in with Morrell and the rest of his team. I don’t blame you for being upset—”
“How sweet of you.”
Harvath ignored her sarcasm and continued. “I did not for one moment like how those guys handled things.”
“So why didn’t you do something about it?”
“First of all,” said Harvath leaning across the table, “this has been the CIA’s ball game from the start, and secondly, I did do something—twice!”
“Twice?”
“I can assure you that it’s not standard operating procedure to storm a plane alone, but while those guys were standing there trying to figure out what to do next, I took the initiative and breached tha
t plane from the rear, on my own.”
“I had no idea—”
“I was also the one that rushed to the Anglo-American Hospital the minute I saw the CIA’s hastily conceived press conference. I didn’t like the fact that they were telegraphing your whereabouts to the surviving hijackers. I’m also the guy that told Morrell to jump in the lake when he wanted to question you right after the hijacking and I thought you needed medical attention. So, don’t put me in the same category as those clowns.”
Meg was quiet for a moment as she thought about what Harvath had said to her. “I’m sorry,” she replied. “You really don’t care for them, do you?”
“Not much, but they’re the ones in charge and I have to abide by the president’s wishes.”
“Does that mean they call the shots?”
“In a sense.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that the president has asked me to cooperate with them, but if I disagree, I’m doing what I think is best.”
“Why bother working with them at all?” asked Meg as the waitress arrived with their food.
Scot waited for the waitress to disappear again before continuing. “What I want is results. To get those results, I have to work with Morrell and his people. The CIA is the best-equipped agency to handle this operation. The man we’re looking for is very dangerous—”
“No kidding,” said Meg as she speared a piece of melon with her fork.
“That’s right no kidding. Meg, this guy has been able to unite numerous terrorist organizations around the world under one banner. Whatever his reach might have been originally, it’s been increased a hundredfold, and so has his capacity to hurt people. I won’t sit back and let another innocent life be lost. This guy has got to be stopped, and if it means I have to work with Rick Morrell and the CIA to do it, then I will.”
“Why do I have to become part of all of this?” asked Meg, though she knew the answer.
“You already are part of it. You’ve seen Hashim Nidal’s face.”
