Page 71 of Edge of Honor

She riddled the pile with bullets, pumping round after round into it. Then, retreating behind the tree, she inserted a fresh magazine and paused.

There was no response, no fusillade of bullets sent her way. Taking a deep breath and applying pressure to her trigger, she stepped from behind the tree and moved in on the pile.

The closer she got, the more certain she became. Pumping six more rounds into it, she advanced the rest of the way. Checking her surroundings to make sure she was alone, she then reached down and pulled back what turned out to be a ghillie blanket.

Underneath was one dead sniper and an Accuracy International AXSR long-range rifle—complete with a heat wrap over its suppressor. There was no second person with him, no spotter.

Sølvi had just begun to pat him down when she heard a noise from the woods behind her.

Rasing her left elbow, she thrust her pistol under her arm and turned her head to look over her shoulder—the entire time applying more and more pressure to her trigger. It was muscle memory, instinct, and training all wrapped up in one.

At the moment she processed that there was indeed a threat, the first bullet was already leaving her gun. It was followed by two more in rapid succession.

Her would-be attacker fell to the ground dead, but before she could sweep the area for additional threats, there was another gunshot; a second attacker had come from the other direction.

But as Sølvi swung her pistol and was about to fire, the attacker dropped his weapon and collapsed.

Standing behind him, the smoke still rising from her Glock, was a bloodied and bruised Bente Bergstrøm.

CHAPTER 36

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Harvath had managed to get several hours of sleep and felt somewhat refreshed. After taking a shower and shaving, he put on a navy suit with a light blue shirt and, once again, no tie.

Downstairs in the kitchen, he turned on the TV while he started making a late lunch before heading into D.C. for his meeting with Russ Gaines. The story of a shoot-out and a stack of dead bodies being found at the home of the former National Security Advisor was playing on every local channel, as well as the cable news outlets.

He decided to give McGee a call and check in on how Rogers was doing.

“He’s fine,” the ex–CIA director stated. “A little concerned about what all the media coverage may do to his resale value, but other than that, no complaints.”

“I just turned on my TV,” said Harvath. “When did it break?”

“A couple hours ago.”

“Anything I need to be worried about?”

“Not at the moment,” McGee replied. “They’re asking the public to contact Fairfax County PD if they have information related to the events. I’m sure their phones are jammed with crackpots from coast to coast offering up all sorts of conspiracy theories. By tonight those nuts will be all over the internet linking Rogers with MLK, JFK Jr., and the Hamburglar in a covert plot to useTerminator-style robots to overthrow Cuba.”

Harvath smiled. “Sounds like the Ambassador might have bigger problems than just his home’s resale value.”

“We should have a serious talk about his home and his problems. When will you be back?”

“My meeting with Gaines is at three thirty. As soon as it’s over, I’m going to hit the road. Hopefully, I’ll get a jump on the traffic. But with that said, I’ll need to run a few SDRs to make sure he’s not having me followed.”

“Understood. We’ll see you when we see you.”

Disconnecting the call, Harvath finished making his lunch, and ate. Then, after packing clothes and additional gear in Haney’s Bronco, he headed to D.C.

The headquarters of the Secret Service were half a mile due east of the White House. But what Harvath had always found more interesting was that the headquarters was also only three blocks from Ford’s Theatre, where Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. More interesting still was that, allegedly, on the day that Lincoln was shot, he had signed the approval for the Secret Service’s creation.

Just as it had been odd for Harvath to return to the Carlton Group offices, it also felt odd to return to the Secret Service. His recruitment from the SEALs to help bolster counterterrorism protections at the White House felt like ages ago. It had also taken him down a career path he had never seen coming.

That was part of why it felt odd being back. The Secret Service had marked a major shift in his life.

The bigger reason it felt strange being back was that he had come to lay a very serious allegation at the feet of an old friend. Until this morning,disloyalanddishonorablewere not terms he could have ever imagined using to describe Russ Gaines. But all of that was about to change.

Entering the building, with its soaring glass atrium, he proceeded through security screening before checking in at the main desk and being issued a pass, which he hung around his neck via a lanyard. He was then told to take a seat in the marble-clad lobby and that someone would be down to retrieve him shortly.

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