Page 96 of Edge of Honor

Looking out over the water, he realized there was something else he should have asked McGee to pick up for him—the biggest shot of penicillin he could lay his hands on. The Potomac, although better than it had been a decade ago, was filthy.

It was even worse after a heavy rain when sewage and other polluted runoff ended up in the river. Harvath figured he should be grateful that he was doing his swim tonight. Storms were in the forecast Friday—right in time for the NATO Summit.

Wrapping up his gear prep, he joined Tyson at the helm.

“Five minutes out,” the man said, his tone flat, eyes fixed on the dark ribbon of the Potomac stretching ahead.

Harvath flashed him the thumbs-up and turned his focus back to the river, helping scan for logs and debris.

The men didn’t say much. Harvath appreciated the quiet. He needed to get his head in the game. Something easier said than done.

So many things still didn’t make sense. Not the attack at the Naval Observatory. Not the attack at Ambassador Rogers’s house. And not the attack on Sølvi’s motorcade. They were all mysteries to him; serious questions in search of equally serious answers—answers he hoped he was closing in on.

Soon enough, the boat slowed to a crawl, its engines’ hum quieting to a low murmur.

They were about five hundred yards from shore and something in the stillness of the water made the moment feel suspended, as if time itself had paused, waiting for something to happen.

As Tyson killed the engines, Harvath texted McGee, who confirmed that he and Nicholas were in place. The operation was a go.

Walking to the stern, Harvath donned his SCUBA equipment and checked the readout on his Garmin. It was time to get wet.

Thanking the Admiral one final time for his help, he placed the regulator into his mouth and did a backward roll off the port side.

Once he was in the water, Tyson handed him his dry bag with the rest of his equipment, as well as the sack containing the dinghy.

With a few powerful kicks of his fins, Harvath separated from the boat and allowed the current to start carrying him toward the Willis estate. Asit did, he focused on all the things that needed to go right over the next hour.

If a single one of them went wrong, the entire operation would be shot. And if the operation ended up shot, there was a very good chance that he would be too.

CHAPTER 49

The murky water of the Potomac was clouded with silt and he had to surface several times to verify his bearing. Eventually he could see the lights of the estate and he started to refine his course.

His target was the family’s long pier, which jutted far out into the river. But before he got to the pier, he had to make sure he didn’t bang into any of the acoustic security buoys they used to detect approaching watercraft.

Pulling out his night-vision monocular, he powered it up and scanned the waterline. It took a few moments, but he finally saw the first buoy and was able to give it a wide berth.

Once he made it past the second and the third, he was safe to head for the dock and take temporary refuge underneath.

Dropping back beneath the water, he kicked his fins until he got there, and then used a piling for support against the current.

Breaking the surface, he raised his diving mask and took his time peering through his night-vision device. As he scanned the shoreline and what he could see of the estate, he paid close attention to the positions he knew contained the lights and security cameras. So far, nothing looked out of the ordinary.

Confident that it was safe to move closer, he stowed the monocular and, fighting against the sideways current, proceeded under the dock toward shore.

As soon as it was shallow enough, he shrugged off his tank, turned off the air, and, using his weight belt and some ratchet tie-down straps, secreted a chunk of his gear under the dock.

When that was complete, he pulled his phone out of its waterproof pouch and texted McGee. The next phase of the operation was up to them. Harvath would wait under the pier until he received word that it was safe to make his way to the narrow strip of beach at the water’s edge.

Seeing the text from Harvath pop up on his phone, McGee turned to Nicholas and said, “Scot’s in place. Are you ready?”

He gave the harness around Draco’s chest a tug to make sure that it was secure. The last thing he needed was for it to slip. If that happened, he could be severely injured, if not killed.

Of his two dogs, Draco had always been better with the harness. What’s more, the last time he had done this, Argos had been shot. It was the night he and Scot had first crossed paths. They had come to the same villa to kill the same man. Nicholas had barely escaped with his life. Harvath had saved Argos’s. It was the beginning of an intense and deeply felt friendship for all of them.

In addition to being better with the harness, Draco was younger than Argos and in better shape; more physically capable of the job Nicholas was about to ask him to perform. Caressing his dog along its powerful lower jaw, he quietly apologized that it wasn’t cooler outside. The heat and humidity were going to make the animal’s task that much more difficult.

McGee had his work cut out for him as well. Turning to him, Nicholas nodded and then asked, “You’re all good on the drones? No last-minute questions?”

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