Page 39 of Edge of Honor

Packing everything as tight as he could, he locked up the gun room and carried the cooler back to the house.

By the time he had pulled together the rest of his gear and had tossed a few things into an overnight bag, Nicholas’s people had arrived to drop off a car for him.

The idea was to give him something that wasn’t too flashy—an older vehicle that would blend in and not cause him to stand out.

Stepping outside, he saw a piece of junk—a dark blue 2010 Chevy Malibu with dented rims and a scratch down the right rear quarter panel.

Adding insult to injury, it wasn’t even a V-6. It was a four-banger.

CHAPTER 19

Harvath’s preference for something a little more robust, perhaps a Toyota Land Cruiser or even a Ford Explorer notwithstanding, the Malibu would get him from point A to point B, which was all that mattered right now.

Thanking Nicholas’s guys, he accepted the keys and, after making sure the care package Nicholas had promised had been placed in the trunk, went back into the house to finish getting ready.

In the background, he had the TV tuned to a cable news station and shared a panelist’s surprise that none of the attackers outside the Vice President’s Residence had been identified. He found it hard to believe that anyone capable of that kind of violence didn’t have a police rap sheet a mile along.

His second thought was even more unsettling. Based on the tactical proficiency the attackers had shown, how had none of them surfaced as having served in the military? He prayed that wouldn’t end up being the case.

As volatile as things felt at the moment, the idea of ex–service members attacking American citizens turned his stomach. Political opinions might burn pretty hot, but the United States wasn’t a nation where it was okay to settle differences with violence. And it most definitely wasn’t a nation where those who had sworn to protect it should ever contemplate taking up arms against their fellow countrymen and women. The thought of any of that being possible chilled him to the core.

Shaking it off, he tried to focus on what was at hand. There were multiple, small details that needed to be top of mind. Screwing up just one of them could put the whole evening, along with Ambassador Rogers’s life, in jeopardy.

After staging his gear near the front door, he checked his flight-tracker app one more time. The plane must have been getting pushed by a good tailwind. It was now set to arrive several minutes early.

Pouring a coffee to go, he also grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge and then carried everything out to the car.

Once the car was packed, he texted Nicholas that he was en route, fired up the Malibu, and got on the road.

The car had a navigation system, but he had no idea how reliable it was, nor did he want to stuff it with digital breadcrumbs. Instead he used the app on his phone that would help route him around any D.C. traffic and automatically delete his trip once he arrived. Based on current conditions, it looked like the George Washington Memorial Parkway was once again his fastest route, just like yesterday when he and Sølvi had driven up to the Norwegian Embassy.

It was hard to process how much had happened in just under twenty-four hours. Hopefully they had both already logged their quota of excitement. Nothing would make him happier than to find out Rogers was in no danger and to have Sølvi’s assignment be mind-numbingly dull. Unfortunately, he had a bad feeling that neither of those things was going to turn out to be true.

Cranking up the AC, he was greeted with a blast of hot air. He waited for it to cool, but it didn’t. Cranking it back down, he opened the windows and basked in the thick, D.C. humidity. It was a bit ironic that after Rogers had saved him from the frozen wastes of Russia, he was now coming to his aid amid the oppressive summer heat of the nation’s capital. As he continued to drive, he regretted not having bombarded his coffee with ice.

By the time he reached Daingerfield Island, he was moving fast enough that the wind coming through the windows was able to cool him off, if only a little bit.

At the sign for Reagan National Airport, he exited the parkway and headed for the long-term economy lot.

He found Rogers’s Audi right where the Ambassador had said he’d left it and then kept on driving. Two aisles over, with a good view of the man’s car, he pulled into a space and texted Nicholas to let him know that he had arrived. He received two thumbs-up in response.

Eight minutes later, he saw the customer assistance truck pull up and Nicholas’s technician, dressed in a mechanic’s uniform, climb out.

Being careful to make sure no one was watching, the technician took out an under-vehicle inspection mirror and went to work.

After checking the entirety of the undercarriage, as well as the wheel wells, he removed the key fob from where Rogers had left it behind the gas-cap cover and checked the trunk, under the seats, and throughout the engine compartment.

Satisfied that there were no explosives, he closed the car back up, returned the key to its hiding place, got back in his truck, and left.

Less than a minute later, Harvath received a text from Nicholas giving him the all-clear. Rolling up his windows, he turned off his ignition and used his untucked shirt to dry the sweat off the butt of the Glock sitting in his inside-the-waistband holster. Getting out of the car, he walked back to the trunk and opened it up.

One of the items Nicholas had included in his care package was the clone he had asked for of Rogers’s phone. Tucking it in his pocket, he grabbed his overnight bag, closed the trunk, and headed for the shuttle bus stop.

When the mercifully air-conditioned bus eventually arrived, he hopped on board and rode it to the terminal. But when he got there, instead of walking inside, he headed for the garage.

Nicholas’s blacked-out van was in an accessible parking spot on the second floor. Harvath rapped on the side door and Nicholas hit a button, sliding it open. Inside, Nicholas was joined by Argos, Draco, and Ambassador Rogers. Harvath climbed in and Nicholas hit the button again, closing the door behind him.

“Ready to go to work?” he asked the Ambassador, as he sat down in one of the handsewn leather captain’s chairs and gave the dogs a little attention. Like the shuttle bus, Nicholas had the AC blowing full blast and it felt terrific.

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