Foreign Agent

CHAPTER 40

Harvath didn’t want to believe her, but he knew Ryan wasn’t kidding. “Tell me what happened,” he said as he opened the computer’s browser and surfed to one of the cable news sites.

“Suicide bomber,” the CIA Deputy Director replied. “She leapt the fence on Pennsylvania Avenue and—”

“Wait,” he interrupted. “She? It was a female bomber?”

“Yes. She got all the way across the north lawn and detonated on the driveway just outside the north portico.”

“How the hell did she get that far?”

“Somebody screwed up,” Ryan admitted.

“You’re damn right somebody screwed up. Anyone hurt?”

“So far there are three fatalities. All uniformed Secret Service. They were moving in to take her down when she clacked off. We can’t even estimate the number of injured yet.”

“Goddamn it,” Harvath replied. He had been recruited to the Secret Service from the SEALs. He had worked presidential protection. “Was the President there? Is he all right?”

“He was in the West Wing when it happened. They evacuated him to the bunker. He wasn’t harmed. They’re deciding whether to remain in place or move him to the COG facility.”

COG stood for Continuity of Government. The facility Ryan was referring to was a secure fallback location for the President during times of attack or national emergency.

“How long ago did this happen?” he asked.

“Five minutes.”

Harvath could now see a live feed streaming from Washington. Herman, Farber, and Bosch gathered around him.

“Mein Gott,” Herman exclaimed. My God.

They stared, stunned, as the camera panned across the charred iconic façade of the White House.

“That’s not all,” Ryan added. “Seconds before she got to the driveway and detonated, she unfurled a long black banner.”

“Let me guess. With white Arabic writing on it?”

“Yup. Never slowed down for a second, just kept running.”

Harvath took a breath. “Have you confirmed this as an ISIS attack?”

“Publically? No. Internally? Absolutely.”

“Do you think this is connected to our guy?” he asked.

“Pitchfork?” the Deputy Director replied. “We don’t know, but you can add this to your list of questions to ask his handler.”

“So it’s still a go?”

“One hundred percent. It’s even more important now. Do whatever you need to do. Understood?”

“Understood,” Harvath replied, as Lydia Ryan disconnected the call.

Harvath knew it was a serious, maybe even deadly mistake to let his anger get the best of him. Nevertheless, he fumed.

ISIS had struck inside Washington and now even more Americans were dead.

They had hit one of the greatest symbols of the United States. It was a target they had been threatening, and lusting after, for years. Now they had actually done it.

Harvath’s anger was tinged with shock. They were getting exponentially better. Each attack was more dramatic than the last. He didn’t have the proof yet, but he knew the Russians were involved with this one too.

First Turkey and now D.C. Harvath didn’t want to think about what might be next. It was all the more reason to grab Sergun and get him talking ASAP.

The attack in D.C., though, made Harvath doubt his plan. Every TV in Berlin — actually, every TV in the world — was filled with the images of what had happened at the White House. Everyone was aware of it now.

That didn’t mean that terrorists around the world would take the night off, but a public kidnapping of a Russian military attaché in Germany would not come off as a coincidence.

It would get hyped even more than if it happened just by itself. The media thrived on fear. He could hear it now, “First Antalya, then D.C., now Berlin. What political target will the terrorists strike next?”

Harvath was beginning to think that perhaps the entire plan should be scrapped. Instead, just slip into Sergun’s apartment, grab him in the dark, and carry him out. Screw the witnesses. Let the Russians think whatever they wanted. It wouldn’t make any difference. Sergun would be gone.

Harvath discussed it with Herman. “What do you think?”

The man shrugged. “It’s your operation.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You’re right.”

Harvath waited, but his friend didn’t say anything further. “If we snatch him from his apartment, the Russians are going to suspect Germany was behind it.”

Herman shrugged again. “Not my problem.”

Harvath had seen this attitude growing across Europe. So many people struck him as unhappy with the way things were going. And while some were pushing for massive changes to straighten things out, others had completely given up, resigning themselves to the idea that their nation’s best days were in the past.

Harvath refused to ever allow himself to think like that. As long as you could fight, you were in the fight, and that meant the fight wasn’t over. Nothing was impossible.

To a certain degree, it was easier for him to feel that way. America wasn’t Germany. It wasn’t Europe either. Despite the tragic blows the United States had suffered, things were different. How long they would remain that way was the question.

With each attack, there was a call for more security. What had happened at the White House was going to shake Americans to the core.

Harvath knew President Porter, though. His instinct wouldn’t be to batten down the hatches, at least not at the expense of people’s individual freedom. He would want to reassure the American people, to bolster their self-confidence, and instill in them a sense of control over their own lives. Government wasn’t the answer and he wouldn’t pretend it was.

Even so, there would be a call for the President to do something. That was how people reacted to situations that frightened them. Something must be done. Doing something was a panacea.

It didn’t matter if the most popular thing being proposed wouldn’t have stopped the attack in the first place, many would still demand that it be done. Do something, anything. It was all about people feeling safer.

Harvath was reminded of a quote attributed to Ben Franklin—Those who would trade a little liberty for a little added security, deserve neither and will lose both.

Maybe the President would be able to reassure America. Maybe not. What Harvath did know was that if they didn’t get to the bottom of these attacks and stop another one from happening, the clamor to do something would only get louder, and what they would call for being done would be even more dramatic.

Too many people had died, too much had already been lost. Enough was enough.

Harvath looked at Herman. He had made up his mind.