The First Commandment: A Thriller

by Brad Thor

  “I know we’re in a steam room, but let’s not jerk each other off, okay?”

  “Listen,” replied Vaile, “we both know what this is about. The president was forced to make a deal with the devil and—”

  “And the people I care about are the ones who are paying for it.”

  “We had no idea things were going to turn out this way.”

  Harvath was ready to punch the DCI’s lights out. “But now that they have, I don’t see anybody doing a hell of a lot to stop it.”

  “You don’t know the first thing about what we’re doing,” snapped Vaile.

  “What do you mean, we?”

  “The president asked me to put a covert team on the case.”

  “He assigned a CIA team inside the United States?” asked Harvath. “In addition to the FBI?”

  Vaile held up his palms. “The president wanted hefty counterterrorism experience on this and that’s what I gave him.”

  “But they haven’t made much progress, have they?”

  Vaile didn’t bother responding. It was painfully obvious that his people hadn’t made much progress.

  “Were Morrell and his Omega Team in charge of that too?”

  The DCI shook his head. “No. We fielded a separate team. I picked them myself. They’re all solid operators with Spec Ops experience, there’s just not enough for them to go on.”

  Harvath shook his head. “And you saved Rick Morrell for the real dirty work so that you could use our friendship against me, didn’t you?”

  “It was the fastest way to get the information we needed.”

  “I should have known better.”

  The DCI took a deep breath and then let it out. “Scot, negotiating with these terrorists was a bad choice, but it was the only choice the president had. We weren’t going to let these animals kill American kids. And we’re still not. That’s why you’ve got to turn yourself in.”

  It wasn’t an easy call. Harvath didn’t want to provoke terrorist attacks on American children, but the fact that Vaile’s people hadn’t made any progress in catching the person responsible for hunting his loved ones only served to reinforce his decision. “I’m not stopping until I nail this fucker.”

  “Even if it means you’re putting countless American lives on the line?”

  Harvath was tempted to tell the DCI what he’d learned from Tammam Al-Tal in Jordan—that his operative, Najib, had been sprung from Gitmo in exchange for Al-Tal relinquishing his contract on Harvath, but at this point he was in no mood to share intelligence with anyone, especially the director of the CIA. Instead he said, “Whoever this guy is, he came looking for me. I didn’t start this.”

  “Either way,” replied Vaile, “the president gave his word that we wouldn’t go after these men once they were released from Guantanamo.”

  “One of them has attacked Americans on American soil. That right there should invalidate any deal the president made. As far as I’m concerned, these five shouldn’t be handed a get out of jail free card for the rest of their lives.”

  “I agree with you,” said the DCI. “They shouldn’t, but there’s only one left now.”

  Harvath didn’t understand. “One?”

  “You killed Palmera and Najib, and we’ve recently located two others.”

  “Which two?” asked Harvath. “Where are they?”

  “Morocco and Australia,” said Vaile. “They’re under surveillance and are very close to being picked up by those countries for engaging in terrorist activity since their release from Gitmo. Which leaves—”

  “The fifth detainee released that night. The Frenchman.”

  CHAPTER 76

  The DCI nodded. “His name is Philippe Roussard. A sniper by training, he was also known as Juba. Before we caught him, he’d made quite a name for himself in Iraq; over one hundred confirmed kills of American service personnel.”

  “That’s who’s killing my friends and family?” responded Harvath, searching his memory banks for the names and coming up empty.

  Vaile nodded again.

  Harvath’s anger was rising once more. “I can’t fucking believe this. You know who the hell this guy is and still you’re not doing anything to nail his ass to the wall.”

  Vaile didn’t want to get into a pissing match with Harvath, so he changed the subject. “Did you know that I had a nephew who was killed in Iraq?”

  “No, I didn’t,” replied Harvath, trying to get his temper under control. “I’m sorry.”

  “For obvious reasons, our family and the Marines kept the relationship secret. As it turns out, Roussard was the one who killed him. He had no idea, of course. My nephew was just another infidel crusader to that scumbag; another American notch on his rifle butt.

  “Even in death we kept my nephew’s relationship to me hidden. The last thing we wanted to do was hand the insurgency such a high-profile victory, especially since Juba, or Roussard, had reached almost mythical status for being untouchable and able to kill anyone he wanted.”

  “Of course not,” said Harvath, sorry for the man’s loss, “but at the risk of sounding insensitive, where do I and the people I care about fit into all of this?”

  “The name Roussard doesn’t ring any bells with you, does it?” asked Vaile.

  Harvath shook his head.

  “I guess it makes no difference. As long as the president intends to honor his side of the bargain, I have no choice but to bring you in.”

  “But what if I can get to the people responsible for all of this before you do?”

  “Personally,” said Vaile as he stood, “I don’t think any of this is about kids, school buses, or conditions at Gitmo. I think somehow it is all about you, and I’d like nothing more than for you to hunt down and kill every last one of the people responsible.”

  There was a long pause in which Harvath sensed there was something else the DCI wanted to say.

  A moment later, the man spoke. “But my personal opinions don’t really matter much in this case. Professionally, I’m bound to carry out the orders given to me by the president of the United States. I’d recommend you start doing the same, but something tells me we’re well beyond the point of that doing any good.”

  “We are,” replied Harvath.

  Vaile walked the couple of steps to the steam room door and then, with his hand upon it, turned to look back at Harvath. “In that case, there’s something you need to see.”

  CHAPTER 77

  SOMEWHERE OVER THE CARIBBEAN SEA

  The flight to Rio should have been restful, but Harvath didn’t get a wink of sleep. Vaile had promised to email him Roussard’s dossier, but Harvath doubted there’d be much in it of any use.

  He still had one slimy little rock to overturn.

  Harvath kept thinking about his past in general and one person in particular. Meg Cassidy was the last person he’d been involved with before meeting Tracy.

  Brazil was one of those magical places Meg had always wanted to take him to, but Harvath had never been able to find, or never wanted to find, the time to go. As his commercial flight roared south, he thought what an idiot he’d been to lose Meg and how lucky he’d been to find Tracy. If Tracy died, he knew his status as damaged goods would be permanently cast in stone. One was rarely given second chances in life. He’d managed to get his second chance at happiness put on a life support system. It was an ironic metaphor, as his love life had always been in critical condition.

  Harvath tried to shake the morbid thoughts, but couldn’t. Across the aisle from him was a young, newlywed couple. By the looks of their hand-holding, kissing, and repeated requests for more champagne, they were off to Brazil or points farther afield for their honeymoon.

  He hadn’t been keeping track of the date at all. Glancing down at his Kobold chronograph, he realized Meg Cassidy’s wedding was just days away. He made a mental note to contact Gary to ask him to arrange a special security detail for her, effective immediately. While he and Meg were no longer romantically involved,
Harvath still cared deeply for her and wouldn’t want to see anything happen to her, especially because of him.

  Lawlor had gotten to know Meg very well and liked her immensely. The president had also grown quite fond of her and visited her summer cottage each year when he vacationed in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin.

  Meg had done her country an invaluable service in helping Harvath to track down the heirs to Abu Nidal’s terrorist organization several years ago. Lawlor would have no problem getting President Rutledge to agree to assigning her a special detail for the next few days.

  That was the window of time Harvath was most worried about. Despite the attack on New York, the last Harvath had heard the president was still planning on attending Meg’s wedding. Security would be beyond tight at that point. It was the run-up he was concerned about.

  Like Tracy, Meg was an amazing woman. Though it had probably created more than a little friction between her and her fiancé, Meg had sent Harvath an invitation.

  When it had arrived, the beautifully engraved note card had hit him like a hammer in the center of his chest. He’d never realized it, but it became apparent at that moment that he still carried a torch for Meg and harbored a hidden desire that things might one day work out between them. Seeing the invitation with her name and that of her fiancé, made him realize that some sort of spontaneous reconciliation cast down from the gods was no longer a possibility.

  Not knowing how to reply to the invitation, Harvath simply set it aside and politely changed the subject the one time the president brought it up.

  Now, speeding ever closer to Brazil—a country Meg had been so passionate about having him visit—Harvath couldn’t help but think of her and also of himself. God, was he really that screwed up? It seemed like everything he touched turned to dust.

  There was a part of Harvath that wondered, just for a moment, if when the plane landed he should simply disappear into the wilds of Brazil, never to be seen again.

  CHAPTER 78

  RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL

  It was in the low seventies when Harvath stepped off the plane at Rio’s Antonio Carlos Jobim International Airport. His sense of purpose had returned and his earlier desire to disappear into the wilds of Brazil faded. He was anxious to get to work.

  Using the false passport he’d removed from his safe-deposit box in D.C., he cleared customs and passport control as a German national by the name of Hans Brauner. The passport was invaluable. Not only did it allow him to travel without being tracked by any American intelligence agencies, but traveling as an EU national allowed him to enter Brazil without a visa, something he wouldn’t have been able to do had he been traveling on an American passport.

  Bypassing the RDE taxi desk, he headed straight to the Rio de Janeiro State Tourism desk and bought a prepaid taxi voucher. The last thing he needed right now was to deal with one of the city’s notoriously unscrupulous cab drivers.

  After sliding into a cab and giving the driver his destination, Harvath leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He’d been on planes or switching between them for the last eleven hours. He was looking forward to checking into his hotel and getting a shower, as well as a little sleep, but there was work to do first.

  The driver took the Linha Vermelha road toward the city. His speeding and lane changing were perfectly choreographed to the local Funk Carioca music pumping out of the boom box taped to his elaborately decorated dashboard.

  The American Express office was located beneath the Copacabana Palace Hotel on Avenida Atlântica directly across from the world-famous Copacabana Beach.

  Getting out of the cab, Harvath turned his back on the blue-green waters and scantily clad bronzed bodies and headed inside. He used a house phone to contact the American Express office to inquire whether his FedEx package had arrived yet. It had.

  After checking in at the front desk and getting his key, he headed down to Amex to retrieve his parcel. He changed a few thousand dollars into reals and then returned to the lobby where he asked the concierge to organize a helicopter tour for him.

  Up in his room, Harvath tossed the FedEx box onto the bed and dropped his bag near the desk. He walked over to the windows, drew back the sheer curtains, and opened them up. Placing his palms against the sill, he leaned outside.

  The view was amazing. The four-kilometer-long beach was covered with people. The salty smell of the ocean poured into the room. Looking at the waves as they crashed upon the beach, Harvath was almost sorry he hadn’t brought a bathing suit.

  Pulling his head back inside, he crossed to the bathroom and started the shower. After hanging up his clothes, he climbed in and lost all track of time as he let the hot water pound against his body.

  Normally, he would have finished his shower by turning the water all the way to cold—a maneuver he found even more refreshing than a cup of espresso—but not today. Today he needed to get caught up on his sleep.

  Standing on the soft bathmat, he dried off and then headed for the king-sized bed. He put a do-not-disturb on the phone, drew back the sheets, and lay down.

  Closing his eyes, he listened to the music of the cars and beachgoers below as he plunged into sleep.

  CHAPTER 79

  Harvath awoke with a start, and it took him a few moments to realize where he was. He’d been having the nightmare again.

  His body was clammy with sweat and his heart was pounding a mile a minute. Though he’d been asleep for several hours, he actually felt worse than when he’d first lain down.

  It didn’t make a difference. He was awake now and knew that he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep until later on in the evening.

  Harvath got back into the shower and this time finished by throwing the water lever all the way to cold.

  He shaved and changed into the one clean set of clothes he’d brought along with him. Next he picked up the phone and called down to the concierge. His helicopter tour was all arranged for the next morning, and the helicopter company was even sending a private car to pick him up. Harvath thanked the concierge and after asking directions to the closest pharmacy, he hung up the phone.

  The pharmacy wasn’t far, and after picking up what he needed for the next day, he returned to his room, opened up the small laptop he’d purchased before leaving D.C., and logged on to the internet. It took him an hour before he was comfortable with the safeguards he’d built to avoid detection. He’d used numerous proxy servers as well as several shareware encryption programs that were actually quite good. If the CIA or anyone else tried to pinpoint his location, they’d have a very hard time.

  Harvath logged on to the account he’d given Vaile for this purpose and opened the email. Most of the file had been sterilized, but the highlights were all there. The first things Harvath looked at were the photos of Philippe Roussard.

  Harvath was pretty good with names, and he was incredible with faces. Though there was something familiar about the man, Harvath was positive he’d never met him before in his life.

  So, if it wasn’t Roussard who was out for Harvath, it had to be the people behind him; the people who had gotten him released from Gitmo. He continued to read through the Frenchman’s jacket for the next hour, but nothing leaped out at him. As far as Harvath was concerned, there wasn’t a single clue in there that could prove useful—other than the actual photos of the man’s face.

  According to Vaile’s email, Carolyn Leonard and Kate Palmer, who were both in very serious condition, had identified Roussard as the man who had offered them the tainted perfume at Tysons Galleria on Saturday. Unfortunately, Emily Hawkins was in no condition to answer any questions at this point, but Harvath already knew that she would ID him too. So would his mother, he realized with a sharp pang, if and when her eyesight returned. In short, having the photos was a start, but a much too slow one.

  Harvath logged on to the gmail account he’d established with Ron Parker and Tim Finney and opened the message waiting for him in the draft folder. It started off with a brief recap of everything
Parker had already told him, along with a caution not to try to reach either of them on their cell phones as both of them believed they were being monitored. The same went for text messaging or any of their normal email accounts.

  There was an intelligence brief from Tom Morgan that backed up what Vaile had said about the Moroccan and Australian terrorists’ having been recently put under surveillance in their home countries. Based on the timeline, they could not have been involved in the attacks back in the United States.

  Harvath uploaded the pictures of Roussard, as well as the salient details from his dossier, and asked Finney to make sure the security details watching over Tracy and his mother were given copies.

  As Parker knew, Harvath would be concerned about contacting the hospitals directly, he provided cell numbers for the men watching his mother and Tracy, if he wanted to safely get updates that way.

  After Harvath finished reading the balance of the message, he deleted it and logged off the account. Surfing to one of the multiple VoIP, or Voice over Internet Protocol accounts, he had, Harvath downloaded the necessary software to his computer, plugged in the headset from his BlackBerry, and called his mother’s security detail in Southern California.

  He spoke briefly with the man who answered, who assured him the coast was clear before closing the door and handing the phone to Harvath’s mother.

  They talked for about ten minutes and then Harvath explained to her that he had to go. He promised he’d call her back as soon as he could.

  Next, he called Tracy’s team. The lead detail agent explained that while Tracy’s parents were relatively polite, it was obvious they didn’t want them there. Harvath thanked the man for what he and his colleagues were doing. Tracy’s parents might not be crazy about all the muscle hanging around the ICU, but if anything happened, they’d be darn glad to have them there.