Page 42 of Edge of Honor

It was a funny remark and Harvath chuckled. Things had indeed changed for Nicholas, but that was exactly what was supposed to happen when you became a parent. Priorities shift and responsibilities are reexamined. Nicholas had all but stepped away from fieldwork. The risks, in light of now having a baby, simply weren’t worth it.

Harvath understood the man’s reasoning all too well. Marrying Sølvi had caused him to look at everything with a fresh set of eyes. He had never thought he’d come out of the field. Or more succinctly put, he didn’t think he’d be coming out this soon. He thought he’d be knee-deep in hand-grenade pins for several years yet to come. But love had a way of making you reevaluate your life.

“Speaking of Bob,” said Harvath, getting back to business. “Where is he?”

“In the den. On watch.”

Nodding at Rogers, Harvath said, “Come on. He’ll be glad to see you.”

Inside the elegant house, all the window treatments had been drawn. They stopped in the sleek kitchen, where Rogers placed the food from Capital Grille into a warming drawer and turned it on. Then they headed to the study.

Bob McGee, the most recent director of the CIA, was sitting on a leather couch watching the property’s security camera feeds. When he heard Harvath and Rogers enter the room, he rose to greet them, a big 1911 pistol on his hip.

“Mr. Ambassador,” he said warmly, extending his hand.

“Mr. Director,” Rogers replied, receiving it. “It’s good to see you, Bob.”

“You too, Brendan. And I hope you don’t mind. As soon as we got here, we made ourselves at home.”

“Not at all. I’m just very thankful for your help.”

“So am I,” said Harvath as he shook McGee’s hand. “All quiet?”

The ex–CIA director nodded toward the large flat-screen TV mounted in the center of a wall of bookshelves. “There’s one squirrel that keeps going for the bird feeder, but other than that, nothing.”

“For the moment then, no news is good news.”

McGee nodded as Rogers asked, “What have you been up to? Someone said you’d moved out to the Eastern Shore.”

The man was tall like Haney, but was in his early sixties, had salt-and-pepper hair and a thick, Wyatt Earp–style mustache. Tugging on the corner of it, he winked at Rogers and said, “That’s top secret.”

The Ambassador smiled. “You didn’t opt for a security detail either. The way I hear it, you came in on your last day, said your goodbyes, and rode off into the sunset. Is that right?”

“There may have been a sheet cake, a few bottles of very expensive bourbon, and some cigars that may have gone missing from the presidential palace in Havana, but I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“I’m sorry I missed that party.”

“That’s not your fault,” said McGee. “In true National Security Advisor tradition, you handed over the keys and were the last one to leave the White House on Inauguration Day. You’re a good man, Brendan. A good American.”

“It was my choice not to have a detail. I figure I can handle myself if it comes down to it. But the new crew at 1600 Penn not giving you one is bullshit. I’m sorry to say it.”

Rogers put up his hands. “Obviously, I agree. It’s not how we would have done things. It’s just different.”

“It’s fucked-up is what it is,” said McGee.

“That too.”

Harvath was about to say something when Haney poked his head in and said, “Mr. Ambassador, you’re also out of microwave popcorn.”

“Top shelf, back of the pantry,” Rogers responded. “There should be a whole other box in there.”

Haney flashed him the thumbs-up and disappeared.

“If nobody minds,” said Harvath. “I’d like to get cleaned up real quick. Is there a shower I can use?”

“Top of the stairs, second door on the left. That guest room is all yours,” the Ambassador responded. “Help yourself to anything you need.”

Harvath thanked him, and after unloading his gear from the car and bringing it inside, he grabbed a large bottle of water from the fridge and began slugging it down as he headed upstairs. The bottle was empty before he even got in the shower.

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