Page 118 of Edge of Honor

BETHESDA, MARYLAND

Andrew Conroy, the CIA’s deputy director of operations, returned home to his three-bedroom, three-bath house on Tournay Road in Westmoreland Hills. It had been an absolute shit day.

He had yet to hear anything from Hale. Despite accompanying the Willis family out to their ranch in Wyoming, the man was still expected to check in via their secure channel. There had been nothing so far but radio silence.

Compounding Conroy’s frustration, the attack on the NATO Summit at the Washington Convention Center had been an absolute flop. Kennedy was dead, as were several of the neo-Nazis he was using, and the summit had been reconvened at the White House with the principals and their chiefs of staff.

Instead of a mass-casualty event, dominating every television and cable news station as the attack on the motorcade had, it was being reported as an evacuation based on unspecified security concerns.

Worse still, NATO seemed more determined than ever to ratify Sky Shield, and its reluctant members were now leaning toward yes votes.

Undoubtedly, that prick in the Oval Office was going to find a way to spin all of this into good news for himself. Conroy needed a drink. A big one. And then he needed to figure out what he was going to do.

Walking into his study, he had a tall gin and tonic in mind. What he received, however, was a literal and figurative shock to his entire system.

Gagged and duct-taped to a chair in the middle of the room wasDennis Hale. Conroy had only a fraction of a second to process what he was seeing before a man with a Taser materialized and pressed the device’s trigger.

Every muscle in Conroy’s body seized and he lost control of his bladder as he fell to the floor and wet himself.

No sooner had he fallen than another chair was dragged into the center of the room and he was roughly hauled up, shoved into it, and duct-taped securely in place. Unlike Hale, however, he hadn’t been gagged.

His attacker set the Taser on the desk and turned to face him. “Do you know who I am?” the man asked.

“Fuck,” Conroy blurted out, recognizing him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Harvath replied.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“All of it. Every single piece of information you have. I want to know about the entire plot, front to back, and I want the names of everyone involved.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” said Conrad.

“Option B then,” Harvath responded, walking around the desk and picking up a small Igloo cooler and an AED defibrillator. “Popular choice today.”

CHAPTER 60

FAIRFAXCOUNTY

ONE WEEK LATER

On Sunday afternoon, after Prime Minister Stang and the Norwegian delegation had boarded their SAS flight back to Oslo, Scot and Sølvi felt like they could finally breathe again. Finally relax.

After saying goodbye to the Secret Service agents who had accompanied them, they walked outside to where Harvath had parked Sølvi’s Mustang.

Saying farewell to everyone, wishing the Norwegians who’d been injured, including Bente, speedy recoveries, and seeing to the dignified transfer of the coffins filled with the Norwegian dead into the cargo hold had been a lot.

“Do you want to drive?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “I’m exhausted. You drive.”

Stripping off their gear, they threw everything in the trunk and got on the road. But instead of heading for the Dulles Access Road and home, they struck off in a completely different direction—toward their goddaughter and their friends Nicholas and Nina.

While the new parents enjoyed a well-deserved evening out, Scot and Sølvi enjoyed a well-deserved evening in, playing with the baby and quietly being together.

As a bonus gift, they had spent the night, with Harvath getting up with the baby so Nicholas, Nina, and even Sølvi didn’t have to.

The next morning over coffee, it was obvious how much a solid eight hours of sleep had done for all of them.

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