Page 113 of Edge of Honor

Minutes ticked by. And with each one that did, he was left to wonder what they planned to do with him.

Eventually there was the sound of heavy footsteps descending the stairs into the basement. Because of a set of shelving, he couldn’t see who it was—not right away—but the person moved with a quiet, almost dark purpose and confidence that was instantly unnerving.

When the man was finally revealed, Jordan could see he was wearing rubber gloves and an N95 mask. In one hand he carried a small Igloo cooler. In the other was an AED defibrillator.

“Mr. Jordan,” said Harvath as he set his equipment down on the nearest workbench, “I’m going to give you one chance to cooperate. If you do, this will be over quickly and we can get you the further medical treatment you need. If you don’t cooperate, I can make this quite painful.”

The man looked at him and spat, “Fuck you.”

“Option B,” Harvath replied, smiling behind his mask. “I was hoping that would be your choice.”

CHAPTER 57

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Much like Hale, Jordan had also been an extremely difficult interrogation subject. Worried about his age, health, and injuries from the gunfight, Harvath had been careful with how he had dosed him—starting low and gradually ratcheting it up. Before the interrogation had even begun, the man had looked like a heart attack waiting to happen. Thankfully, Harvath was able to eventually get what he needed out of him without Jordan flatlining. Had the guy been younger or in better shape, Harvath was certain he could have moved much faster.

The length of the interrogation was strike one. Strike two was the fact that the storm prevented an FBI or Virginia State Police helicopter from picking them up and getting them rapidly back to D.C. Instead, Harvath, Gallo, Carolan, and Fields had been forced to drive.

As soon as Jordan had coughed up his information, they had hopped in Gallo’s Suburban and, with lights and sirens going full tilt, hightailed it all the way back to Washington.

Strike three was that the intelligence he had extracted from Jordan was incomplete. There was an attack planned. The target was the NATO Summit. Where at the summit and when, he didn’t know. Everything had been compartmentalized and he’d only been given information on a need-to-know basis. When asked who had given him his orders, he’d dropped a massive bombshell. It was a member of the FBI.

Harvath wasn’t familiar with the man, but the moment Agent Joe Carolan had heard the name, he knew exactly who it was. So did Fields.

Agent Matthew Kennedy had been with the Bureau for decades. But like turncoats inside the Secret Service and CIA, he had decided to betray his country.

Harvath didn’t need to know why. He just needed to stop him. Gallo had already assembled a small team of trusted agents from his division to find and detain Kennedy.

In the meantime, Harvath had reached out to Sølvi to warn her. Because she was on duty, she wasn’t answering her phone, but she was able to check her texts. The threat itself sounded like it could be explosives, but no explosive devices had been assembled at Jordan’s compound—only an odd kind of detonator, which somewhat explained all the wiring and electronic junk found in the basement of the bunkhouse.

His next communication was to Russ Gaines. It was important that he know that there was a credible threat to the summit. Harvath also needed to ask for a pretty serious favor. He heard Russ put the phone down and issue a series of rapid orders to his assistant Kyle before getting back on the line and saying, “I’ll have everything waiting by the time you arrive.”

Gallo and Carolan were also working their phones as Fields rocketed up the rain-slicked highway to Washington like a professional Formula 1 driver.

By the time they reached the Walter E. Washington Convention Center, the NATO Summit was in full swing. They had no idea what they were looking for, but they did know who.

Gallo was headed to the security command post to be their eye in the sky, while Carolan and Fields would comb the 2.3-million-square-foot convention center looking for Kennedy, whose photo had already been texted to every police officer, Secret Service agent, and security guard in the vicinity of the summit.

Harvath’s job was equally broad. Whatever this Kennedy guy had planned, he had been reliant on a handful of Iron Tree men who happened to be labor union members approved to work at the convention center. Like Kennedy, if they were on-site, they could be anywhere.

As they pulled up to the loading dock, Harvath saw Russ Gaines already waiting for him. He introduced Gallo, Carolan, and Fields beforeagreeing to how often they would check in via text and watching them disappear inside.

Standing next to Russ were two of the Quick Reaction Force agents he had flown out to the scene of the motorcade attack with yesterday—an older operative named Fuller and a very switched-on man named Wallace.

They handed Harvath a radio with an earpiece, a Secret Service plate carrier like he had worn yesterday, and asked him if he needed a weapon. Harvath had his Glock, so he shook his head and thanked them.

Gaines then handed over a set of Secret Service credentials, including an all-access badge on a lanyard.

Harvath put on the plate carrier and hung the badge around his neck. Then, after setting up his radio and doing a quick comms check, they all headed into the convention center.

Like Gallo, Gaines made a beeline for the command center, which left Harvath with the QRF duo.

“Where do you want to go first?” Fuller asked.

In addition to Kennedy, Jordan had provided the names of the three men the rogue FBI agent was using to infiltrate the convention center. Gallo had had their photos pulled from their ID badges and blasted out to all the security people, the same way he had done with Kennedy’s. They were confident they had found their haystack; the only question was whether the needles were still there.

What worried Harvath was that it had taken two days to set up the NATO Summit. Not only were there conferences, but there was also the exhibit hall where all the defense contractors had their booths. If Kennedy’s ultimate goal was to plant bombs, it could have happened at any point over the last couple of days. Looking for these guys here, this morning, could be a wild-goose chase.

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