Page 43 of Edge of Honor

He made it a super quick one and threw the temperature selector allthe way cold at the end, forcing himself to stand under the icy spray for as long as he could. Climbing out, he toweled off, got dressed in fresh clothes, and headed back downstairs.

There had been a changing of the guard since he’d gone. Haney, bowl of popcorn next to him on the couch, had taken over watching the security cameras while McGee and the Ambassador were in the kitchen catching up. With Rogers having served as the Hostage Czar and the National Security Advisor, they had quite a bit of history together. They had also both worked tirelessly to get Harvath back when he had been taken by the Russians.

“So what’s the plan, boss?” McGee asked as Harvath entered the kitchen.

“First, I’d like to run to Home Depot and pick up a chain saw to prune back a few of the trees outside.”

“No way,” said the Ambassador, fully aware that Harvath was pulling his leg. “If we have to start cutting down trees, then the bad guys have already won.”

“In all seriousness,” Harvath replied, “you do realize that having all that growth right up against the house is a legit security concern.”

Rogers nodded. “I had this conversation with the Secret Service and I’ll tell you what I told them. Call me John Muir, but many of these trees were here before this country was even founded. Their history goes back further than ours. I’m not touching a single one of them.”

“Understood,” said Harvath, though if their situations were reversed, he would have clear-cut the entire lot and simply donated the trees to some local historical society that wanted them. In his book, there was nothing that trumped security.

Pulling a stack of plates out, the Ambassador set them on the counter and replied, “Thank you.”

“If anything’s going to happen, I don’t think it’ll happen until after dark,” Harvath continued. “We’ve got the existing camera system, which we’ll keep monitoring and I’ve brought along a few other items that Carlton Group was kind enough to provide, which I want to get prepped and set up. In the meantime, I meant to ask, do you ever leave your car outside overnight, or do you always put it away in the garage?”

“Depends on the weather. The Secret Service used to insist that it always be put away, but since then, I leave it outside about fifty percent of the time. Why?”

“More bait. If anyone comes sniffing around and they see that the lights are on and your car is parked outside, that only helps.”

“Do you want me to move it?”

Harvath nodded. “Bob can position himself at the far corner of the garage and I’ll be at the front door.”

“I’ll let Mike know.”

As soon as McGee gave Haney the heads-up, they took their positions and covered Rogers as he repositioned his car.

Once he had reentered the garage and closed the door, they regrouped in the kitchen.

“Easy peasy,” said the ex–CIA director, patting the Ambassador on the back. “I know that none of this is fun, but you’re doing a great job.”

“Are you worried?”

“About what?”

“The Iranians,” said Rogers. “You helped develop the intelligence for the Soleimani hit. If they’re out there, picking us off one by one, it’s only a matter of time before they get to you.”

“I’m probably on a lot of lists,” McGee admitted. “But to answer your question, I take this very seriously. That’s why Mike and I spent over two hours in the woods outside your house this afternoon making sure nobody was out there conducting surveillance or sitting in a hide site with a high-powered rifle. It’s also why, once Harvath sent us the door and alarm codes you gave him, we searched every millimeter of your home—checking for intruders, explosives, and anything that could do you harm.”

“Thank you for that.”

“It’s the right thing to do. You don’t have to thank me. You represented this country with courage, with honor, and with dignity. This is the least any of us can do. And until we have a full picture of what’s going on, we’re treating this as a legitimate threat and will take every precaution we can to keep you safe.”

Rogers went to say thank you again, but McGee held up his hand to stop him. It wasn’t necessary. He had meant what he said.

Harvath didn’t have anything to add. He owed the Ambassador his life. They would stay for as long as he needed them. It was, as McGee said, the right thing to do.

Grabbing another bottle of water, Harvath decided to check in on Haney.

The two hadn’t talked, at least not face-to-face, in a while. It had been over six months since Mike had been shot and he still hadn’t been cleared for field work. That weighed on Harvath. Even their teammate Kenneth Johnson, who had been shot in the same gunfight in Paris and had suffered what appeared a far more serious injury, had been returned to full service status.

Walking across the kitchen to the den, he knocked on the doorframe.

“Go away,” said Haney, his eyes fixed on the security camera feeds. “I’m taking a nap.”

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