Page 79 of Edge of Honor

He thought about the sniper Sølvi had killed, as well as the man’s two accomplices. All three of them looked as American as the shooters at Rogers’s house early this morning, and the men outside the Vice President’s Residence two nights ago. Yet the targets themselves couldn’t have been more diverse—a group of protesters, a former National Security Advisor, and a motorcade made up of Norwegian and Dutch delegations for a NATO Summit centered on missile defense. And while there had to be something that all these victims had in common, he still wasn’t seeing it.

The idea that McGee had posited, that this was all about weakening the new president, still seemed to be the only theory that could knit all the attacks together.

That, and the fact that someone seemed to have a mole inside the Secret Service. Which, after what just happened, was making the Norwegian Prime Minister look incredibly prescient.

Ambassador Rogers had also been prescient, though not when it came to the identity and, likely, the motivation of his attackers.

All of which reminded Harvath that there was still so much that he had to figure out. Hopefully, once he got back to Kent Island, he and McGee, along with Haney, could start putting more of the pieces together.

As he neared the Chain Bridge and prepared to cross over from Virginia into the District of Columbia, he checked the traffic on his GPS and realized there were two different routes he could take. One of them went right past the Norwegian Embassy.

Gently stroking Sølvi’s arm, he woke her up and offered her the option.

She looked around, trying to get her bearings, and then, studying his phone, said, “Let’s go the embassy route. My car is there with my go-bag. I can grab a sixty-second shower and put on fresh clothes. Thank you.”

He was glad to have given her the choice.

After crossing the Potomac, he made his way toward the traffic circle at American University, then followed Massachusetts Avenue south until he reached the Norwegian ambassador’s residence at Thirty-Fourth Street. The Norwegian flag had already been lowered to half-staff.

He turned left onto Thirty-Fourth, drove half a block down, and pulled into the driveway leading to the embassy’s parking garage.

As he pressed the call button, he reclined slightly in his seat, allowing Sølvi—who had already put her shirt back on—to do the talking. But instead of the usual cheerful voice of the embassy’s receptionist, a deep, serious voice responded—likely one of the security personnel. Given the circumstances, Harvath thought, it made sense that the Norwegians had ramped up their protective measures. Moments later, the gate slid open, and he drove through.

He found a spot in the visitors’ area, not far from Sølvi’s Mustang, and parked. While she got her go-bag from her trunk, he donned his suit jacket and worked on smoothing out the wrinkles in his trousers and sweat-stained shirt. He wasn’t going to win any style competition, but it was important for him that he show respect.

Upon being buzzed into the embassy lobby, the solemnity was massive. Employees were consoling each other and the security presence was highly visible. Harvath noticed Christoffe, or “Just Chris,” whom he’d been told had been driving separate from the official motorcade when the attack had happened, and gave him a subtle nod.

What didn’t make sense to him, however, was why they were all gathered in the lobby. It seemed a rather cold and empty space in which to grieve. Certainly, there were more intimate spaces farther inside.

He soon had an answer, as Sølvi saw the chief of security and stepped away to have a word.

“Prime Minister Stang and Ambassador Hansen are ten minutes out,” she said as she walked back over.

“From where?” asked Harvath.

“Originally, the plan was to fly the presidential helicopter back to the White House, where they had ambulances standing by, but one of the Dutch victims started getting worse in flight. They were worried that he might have internal bleeding, so they flew directly to GW Hospital and offloaded the wounded there. Stang and Hansen wanted to stay with the Norwegian patients, but Haugen and the Secret Service talked them into returning to the White House for their safety.”

“Probably a good idea.”

Sølvi nodded. “And while a new protective detail was being assembled for them, President Mitchell invited them into the Oval Office. He wanted to console them and discuss some decisions that needed to be made. Starting with tomorrow night’s cocktail reception.”

“Which they’ve canceled, right?”

Again, Sølvi nodded. “It would have been inappropriate for people to get dressed up and stand around with glasses of champagne after today’s events.”

“Agreed. What about the summit itself?”

“That’s going to be a NATO decision, which is why the Prime Minister is on her way here. She’ll need to talk with Oslo first, then NATO has a member-wide video call scheduled for a few hours from now.”

“So until further notice,” Harvath replied, “it sounds like you’ll be here.”

“Yes. It’s going to be a long night.”

With the Prime Minister en route to the embassy, Sølvi no longer needed Scot to wait around to drive her to Blair House. He could get back on the road and head for Kent Island.

It was for the best. The Norwegians would want to share their grief together and he would just be an outsider.

After a quick kiss, they said their goodbyes and he quietly exited the embassy via the parking area.

---