The First Commandment

by Brad Thor

  When the woman came on the line, she said, “Am I glad you called.”

  Immediately, Harvath feared the worst, and his entire body stiffened. “Why? What happened? Is Tracy okay?”

  “Tracy’s fine, but a Mr. Gary Lawlor is looking for you. He says it’s an emergency. I tried your cell phone, but all I got was your voicemail.”

  “I know,” replied Harvath. “I’m in an area that doesn’t have good coverage. Did Mr. Lawlor say what the emergency was?”

  “No. He just said that if I saw you or heard from you to have you call him right away.”

  Harvath thanked Laverna and gave her Tim Finney’s direct number at the resort before ringing off. His next call was to Gary, who picked up on the first ring.

  “Gary, it’s Scot. What’s going on?”

  “Where the hell are you?” demanded Lawlor. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you for hours.”

  “I’m at Tim Finney’s place in Colorado.”

  “Colorado? Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving town?”

  “It all happened kind of last-minute,” said Harvath. “What’s going on back there?”

  “Don’t bullshit me,” replied Lawlor. “You’ve got him working Tracy’s shooting, don’t you? You’re using his Sargasso group. Were you not listening to the president when he specifically told you to stay out of it?”

  “Finney’s people got a lead and I came out here to check up on it. Period. Now what’s going on back in D. C. that’s so important you left an urgent message with Tracy’s nurse?”

  Lawlor was quiet for a moment as he tried to decide how to break the news. The minute Harvath heard what he had to say, there’d be absolutely no controlling him. Realizing there was no good way to say it, Lawlor just came out with it. “Your mother was attacked in Coronado tonight.”

  Chapter 22

  H arvath felt like throwing up as he listened to the details of his mother’s assault. When the police arrived at her home on Encino Lane they could hear her screaming.

  They kicked in the front door and followed the sound of her voice to the bathroom at the back of the house. It took two officers several minutes to break down the door, which had been screwed shut.

  They found her in her bathtub, naked and covered with locusts. The insects, most of them several inches in length, appeared to have been feeding off her. One of the forensics people at the scene later identified the substance Maureen Harvath had been covered with as “bug grub,” a product available in many pet stores for feeding locusts.

  She had no idea what the objects swarming over her body were, because she couldn’t see them. She had been blinded. Her eyes had been painted over with black ink, and the doctors at the hospital still were not sure if she would ever fully regain her eyesight. She had been incredibly traumatized and was under heavy sedation.

  With the last piece of information from the crime scene, Harvath’s feelings of anguish turned to rage. A note had been found scribbled in red on the bottom of one of the buckets they believed the attacker had used to carry the locusts into the house. The note read: That which has been taken in blood, can only be answered in blood.

  From watching Harvath’s face and hearing only his side of the conversation, Finney and Parker assumed Tracy had taken a turn for the worst. When they heard that Harvath’s mother had been attacked, they said the only thing that good friends can and should say in such a situation, “What do you need?”

  What Harvath needed was the resort’s jet, and Finney was on his radio arranging it before he even finished asking.

  Parker had friends in the San Diego Police Department who could liaise with the Coronado cops, so he headed for Sargasso to get the intel ball rolling.

  They had every reason to believe that the man who had attacked Maureen Harvath was the same person who had shot Tracy.

  Harvath had been right. This was personal.

  Chapter 23

  S omething the Troll had said during their chat room session kept replaying in Harvath’s mind as the Elk Mountain Cessna Citation X raced toward Coronado.

  He had pointed out that the lamb’s blood above Harvath’s door was very “biblical.” Harvath didn’t disagree, but ever since it had happened, he couldn’t connect it to anything—at least in a way that made sense. Now his mother had been attacked and subjected to a veritable “plague” of locusts. Also biblical.

  Harvath fired up Finney’s onboard laptop and accessed the internet. He entered lamb’s blood and locusts as his search terms. Over half a million results came back. The first was from Wikipedia, and the summary line said it all. The lamb’s blood and locusts were from the ten plagues of Egypt. Harvath opened the link.

  The plagues were recounted in the book of Exodus. They were the ten calamities visited upon Egypt by God in order to convince Pharaoh to release the Israelite slaves.

  The first plague was the rivers of Egypt and other water sources turning to blood. It was followed by reptiles, or more specifically frogs, overrunning the land. Then there were lice, flies, and a disease on livestock. Next came a plague of unhealable boils, followed by hail mixed with fire. There were locusts, then darkness, and finally the death of every first-born male, except those of Israelites whose doorposts were painted with the blood of the Paschal lamb.

  Whoever had shot Tracy and attacked his mother was definitely using the ten plagues as a bizarre kind of playbook, but in reverse order.

  The tenth plague was the killing of all the first-born males in Egypt. Only the Israelite houses with the blood of a sacrificial lamb smeared on their lintels and doorposts were spared. God literally “passed over” their houses, and from this the festival of Passover had been born. It marked the release of the Israelites from their bondage under Pharaoh and the birth of the Jewish Nation. How it applied to Harvath and the shooting of Tracy Hastings was beginning to seem a little clearer.

  The shooter apparently saw himself as the angel of death. He had passed over Harvath’s house and spared him, but had tried to take Tracy instead.

  The ninth plague dealt with darkness, hence the deliberate blinding of his mother. God had instructed Moses to stretch his hand over Egypt, and it brought about a plague of “complete and utter” darkness lasting for three days.

  The eighth plague, meant to “harden Pharaoh’s heart,” was the plague of locusts. Neither Harvath’s heart nor his resolve needed any further hardening at this point. Targeting both Tracy and his mother was enough. Regardless of what the president or anyone else said, his mind was made up. Whoever was behind these attacks had to not only be stopped, but killed, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

  Harvath continued reading. The rest of the plagues were equally unpalatable, and he had no desire to imagine what their modern-day equivalents would look like. His only hope was to stop whoever was behind them before he could strike again.

  That led Harvath to an even worse thought. Whom would this nut bag target next? First it was Tracy. Then it was his mother. Was this guy only targeting women who were close to him, or would he target men too? Should Harvath warn all of his friends? Even if he wanted to, what would he say? There’s a plague of biblical proportions with your name on it? No, the key here was to stop this guy before he could strike again. But to do that, they were going to need a break—a big one.

  Chapter 24

  W hen Harvath walked into the hospital room and saw his mother lying there he was overcome with rage. Her face was badly battered and bruised. Who the hell would do something like this?

  Though he wanted to go to his mother, he couldn’t. The emotion of it all—the guilt he felt for being the reason she’d been targeted and the primal anger he felt in reaction to such an audacious violation—was crushing. Harvath found himself choking up. When the tears came, he did nothing to wipe them away.

  Finally, he forced himself to walk over to the side of her bed. As he stared at his mother’s swollen face, Harvath gently took one of her hands in his and said, “Mom, I’m so so
rry.”

  He stood there like that for several minutes and finally pulled a chair alongside the bed and sat down. As he smoothed his mother’s hair, an unwelcome twinge of déjà vu surged through him. It was almost like being in Tracy’s hospital room.

  Why the hell was this going on? Why, when he was finally getting his life together, was someone trying to rip it apart?

  It was a good question and one that he’d asked himself many times since Tracy’s shooting.

  Out of everything Harvath had mastered in his life, relationships with women wasn’t one of them. For a long time, he blamed his occupation and the demands his career placed on him. But when he met Tracy, he swore he wouldn’t let his job be an excuse for another failed relationship.

  He also blamed his commitment phobia on the stress his father’s career had placed on his mother. In truth, though, they’d had an excellent marriage in spite of his dangerous profession and the all-too-frequent occasions when he had to disappear for weeks, sometimes even months at a time.

  Finally, one night as Tracy lay sleeping next to him, Harvath looked deep inside himself for a reason—the real reason he had used to push every good woman who had ever come into his life away from him.

  He saw the face of Meg Cassidy hover before his mind’s eye. As with Tracy, they had met under extraordinary circumstances. In Meg’s case it had been a hijacking. Afterward, they’d been assigned to an incredibly difficult operation. For all intents and purposes they should have been perfect together—maybe even as perfect as he and Tracy were. But things just hadn’t worked out. She was an incredible woman and someone Harvath regretted deeply having lost.

  Nonetheless, it was an odd image to fixate on. Meg had moved on with her life. She had met someone new and was going to marry him soon.

  His mind then went to a very dark corner that he usually worked hard to stay away from. He was in the right place. He knew it by the gut-wrenching feeling he experienced as he began to explore one of the darkest days of his life.

  It was his second assignment with SEAL Team Two. They’d been sent into Finland in the middle of one of the worst winters on record. The blinding wind-driven snow made it nearly impossible to see or hear anything. His team split up into pairs as they closed in on their target.

  Somehow, the men they were hunting had turned the tables and had snuck up on them from behind. How they knew that the SEAL team was there, Harvath never could determine.

  By the time the confrontation was over, he had taken a round through the shoulder and his dead teammate had taken one through the head.

  Though he managed to take out all the shooters, he found little satisfaction in it. The guilt he carried was immense. His teammate had a wife and two little kids.

  Harvath had insisted that he be the one to inform the man’s wife. Though she’d been a good, strong Navy spouse, the look on her face when she got the news broke Harvath’s heart wide open. He vowed to never cause another wife that kind of pain ever again.

  For years Harvath thought that meant making sure all of his men came back alive. It was a noble goal, but in their line of work people sometimes died. It was the biggest downside to what they did for a living. It was also one of the reasons that Harvath preferred working alone whenever he could.

  Lying there next to Tracy, Harvath had finally understood why he’d pushed all the good women from his life. And at that moment he made a new vow to himself. If Tracy turned out to be the one for him, he would never let her go.

  Harvath’s chain of thought was broken as the BlackBerry at his hip vibrated with an incoming call. “Harvath,” he said as he raised the device to his ear.

  “Scot, it’s Ron Parker. We’ve got something you should see.”

  “What is it?”

  “How quickly can you get over to the San Diego Marriott?”

  “The one on the bay?” asked Harvath as he looked at his mother. The doctors had told him that though she was stable, they planned on keeping her sedated for at least the rest of the evening. “Probably about fifteen minutes. Why?”

  “You’ll see when you get there. One of my contacts from the SDPD will be waiting for you. Ask for Detective Gold.”

  Chapter 25

  I n the dead of night, the San Diego Marriott Hotel & Marina was an eerily beautiful composition of metal and curving glass. The slashes of red and blue from the strobes atop the various police vehicles parked at its base only added to its dramatic façade.

  After having to flash his creds and get in the face of a rather obstinate patrol officer who didn’t want to let him by, Harvath eventually found the detective named Gold. For some reason, Parker had failed to mention the detective’s first name, which was Alison. Not that Harvath had any problem with female detectives, it just seemed an odd detail to leave out.

  Knowing Ron as well as he did, Harvath figured Gold had been a guest at Valhalla and that she and Parker had probably had some sort of affair. Not mentioning that she was a woman was probably Ron’s way of trying too hard to paint her as a competent cop and one whom Harvath could trust. It wasn’t necessary. The fact that Gold was all right with Parker made her all right with Harvath. Very quickly, the tall, attractive redhead, whom Harvath placed somewhere in her late thirties, proved that she was very worthy of both Parker’s and Harvath’s respect.

  After introducing herself and apologizing for the patrol officer, Alison Gold led Harvath to a windowless, white Chevy Express cargo van. The rear doors were open and inside a team of specialists from the department’s Forensic Science Field Services Unit was collecting evidence.

  “According to a witness who was walking her dogs near your mother’s home shortly before the attack, there was a white commercial van parked on the street. We’ve already found magnetic signs in the van that come pretty close to matching the witness’s description of the lettering she saw.”

  Gold rapped on the side of the van to get the attention of one of the techs and had him show Harvath what she was talking about. “Anyone who saw the van would assume your mother had a pipe burst or something and that it was being repaired. Coronado police have already checked with all of the Servpro franchises in the area, and none of them had any requests for service even remotely near your mother’s home.”

  Harvath wasn’t surprised. “And the van?”

  “It was rented from a fleet leasing company in Los Angeles. We’re checking into that now, but don’t expect to come up with much.”

  Harvath didn’t either.

  “As far as prints and fibers, the vehicle is cleaner than clean. The Coronado PD hasn’t found anything in her house either.”

  “And I doubt they will,” replied Harvath.

  “Why is that?” asked Gold.

  “This guy’s a professional.”

  The detective raised her eyebrows in response.

  “I don’t know how much Ron told you, but a friend of mine was shot outside my home in D. C. a few days ago, and we believe it’s the same person who attacked my mother,” said Harvath.

  “Yeah, Ron explained that much. He also told me not to ask what you did to piss somebody off so bad that he’d attacked people you know on both coasts.”

  Harvath looked at her, but didn’t say anything.

  “That’s okay,” replied Gold, acknowledging his silence. “I’ve been to Elk Mountain. I understand.”

  She didn’t know the half of what went on there, but Harvath let it slide. Parker was every bit the patriot Finney was and would never spill items of national security just to create engaging pillow talk. Changing the subject, Harvath asked, “How’d you find the van?”

  “Based on our witness’s description, we rolled back the footage from the cameras on the bridge. We saw the van going over and coming back from Coronado. Using our traffic cams, we were able to track the vehicle here.”

  It was good police work, but all Harvath had to do was gaze out toward the marina and the hundreds of boats parked along the docks to know that this guy was already long g
one. He had a good idea how, but he still had to ask. “So he dumped the van here, and then what?”

  Gold tilted her head in the direction of a hotel surveillance camera. “We’ve already pulled the footage. Like you said, this guy is a professional. He knew we were going to pull the tapes. He never looks directly into the camera. I’ll make sure you get a copy of everything, but I don’t think it’ll do much good. He’s wearing a baseball cap pulled down so tight you can’t see his face. He’s also wearing baggy clothes and is walking hunched over so that we couldn’t get a good gauge of his height or his weight either.”

  “Did he have a car waiting for him or did he go down to the docks?”

  “He went down to the docks,” replied the detective. “The marina people are pretty strict about logging what boats are in what slips, registration numbers and all of that, but—”

  “But by now he’s probably already in Mexico.”

  Gold agreed. “If it was me I’d have a car waiting in Ensenada, if not someplace farther up the coast, and from there I’d just disappear.”

  She was right. It was exactly what Harvath would do, and it pissed him off. They were only hours behind the man who had shot Tracy and had attacked his mother, but it might as well have been days. With a boat and nearly two thousand miles of coastline on the Baja Peninsula, this guy could be anywhere.

  The only thing Harvath knew for sure was that he had not disappeared for good. He’d turn up again, and when he did, it wasn’t going to be over a cup of Constant Comment and a sob story about how he was misunderstood as a child.

  At some point the two of them were going to have to square off, and when they did, only one of them was going to walk away from it alive.

  Chapter 26

  ANGRA DOS REIS, BRAZIL