Page 72 of Edge of Honor

That someone turned out to be Russ’s assistant, Kyle Marshall, a short man in his late twenties with an overeager manner.

Showing Harvath to one of the elevators, he said, “I can’t tell you what an honor it is to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well.”

“Me? I’m nobody, honestly. But you’re a legend. Do you know how many agents dream of saving a president’s life? Basically all of them. Even the ones who don’t do protective work. And you not only saved a president, but you also saved his daughter.”

“Two different days,” Harvath replied with a polite smile.

“Still,” said Marshall, as the elevator arrived and he motioned for Harvath to go ahead of him. Scanning his key card, he continued his praise as they rode upstairs. “And then everything that happened two days ago at the Naval Observatory and the Norwegian ambassador’s residence? Come on. Amazing.”

Harvath had never been comfortable with such fulsome praise, but Marshall seemed like a decent person and so he continued to remain polite. “I think any other Secret Service agent would have done the same thing. That’s what they train us for, right?”

It took Marshall a minute to realize that Harvath was including him in the “us.” When it clicked, he stood up a bit taller and nodded in agreement. “Thatiswhat they train us for.”

Finally, the elevator opened and Marshall walked him over to a set of ballistic glass doors, laser-engraved with the Secret Service logo. Swiping his card again, he led Harvath down a long, carpeted hallway to a cluster of executive offices.

Gesturing to a seating area, Marshall told him to make himself comfortable. Gaines was on a call but would be out shortly.

He was in the middle of asking Harvath if he wanted coffee when his phone chimed. Looking down at the text, Marshall quickly excused himself and disappeared through a secure door, which Harvath assumed led to Russ’s office. Why he had departed so hastily, however, was anyone’s guess.

Harvath had only been there for about two minutes when the same door was thrown forcefully open. He looked up to see Gaines, a powerfully built man in his mid-fifties, his reddish-blond hair more gray than blond now, and his complexion ruddier than he remembered, step out. Something was happening. And whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“Come with me,” he ordered.

Standing up, Harvath asked, “What’s going on?”

Gaines shook his head. “Not here,” he replied. “In the TOC.”

They walked down another hallway and quickly arrived at a wall of small, secure lockers. Harvath didn’t need to be told what to do. Removing his cell phone, he put it inside one of them, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. Gaines then swiped his card at another secure door and led him into a large tactical operations center.

Flat-panel monitors lined the walls. Digital clocks with bright red numbers broadcast the time across the United States and cities around the world. The overhead lighting was dimmed to make it easier to watch the images on the monitors. It was a hive of activity as agents clicked furiously away at keyboards, worked communication equipment, and shuttled between workstations.

As they entered, Gaines shouted, “Let’s get video up! Now!”

Harvath still had no idea what was going on. But as soon as traffic camera footage started coming online, he recognized the Dulles Access Road and what looked like a horrible multicar accident.

Butaccidentdidn’t seem to be the right word. Too many of the cars were on fire and spaced too far apart to have all collided with each other.

“What the hell is this?”

“One of our motorcades has come under attack.”

Instantly, Harvath’s mind went to Sølvi. “Which motorcade? Who was in it?”

Gaines didn’t pull any punches. “The Norwegian and Dutch prime ministers.”

Harvath couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. “When?”

“It just happened. Multiple RPGs.”

RPGs? In the D.C. suburbs?The nation’s capital had spun completely out of control.

“What’s their status?”

“Multiple dead and wounded. We have CAT teams en route,” said Gaines, referring to the Secret Service’s Counter Assault Teams. “Local law enforcement, fire, and EMS are also on their way.”

Harvath beat back the urge to go get his phone and text Sølvi. It looked like an absolute shitstorm. The last thing she would need at this moment was him blowing up her phone.

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