The First Commandment

CHAPTER 27

After talking with her doctors, Harvath had sat with his mother again and had watched her sleep. It was still too early to tell if the damage to her vision would be permanent, but they were hopeful that her eyesight would begin to return soon. The blows she had taken to her head during the attack were what concerned them the most at this point, and they wanted to hold on to her for at least the next several days for more testing and observation.

After a little while longer, Harvath had stood. He loved his mother dearly, but no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t just sit there by her bedside and wait for someone else to be attacked. He needed to act. So with a group of her friends on deck ready to sit vigil, he had climbed back aboard Tim Finney’s Citation X and had flown back to Colorado.

Though the trip was smooth and uneventful, Harvath couldn’t get any sleep. Tracy lay near death and his mother had been assaulted and tortured. He would have to live with the horrors of what had happened to them for the rest of his life. For a moment, he wondered if that was a part of the plan. The thought of it turned his stomach sour and once again he tasted the bile rising in his throat.

Harvath was coming unglued and he knew it. He was not one to let his emotions get the better of him, but this was different. The victims were people he knew and loved who were getting attacked. Would there be others? Probably. Would the attacker become more emboldened and potentially kill? That was a possibility — one so big that Harvath didn’t even like to think about it, but he had to count on it.

Everyone, no matter how good, left clues. This guy was dropping pretty obvious ones, but none that helped Harvath figure out who he was or how he could be stopped.

Harvath wracked his brain all the way through the plane’s touching down and the ride up into the mountains to the resort.

When he got there, Finney and Parker were waiting for him.

“Did you get any sleep on the way back?” asked Finney.

Harvath shook his head no.

His friend handed him a key card in a small folder with a room number on it. “Why don’t you knock off for a bit?”

“What about the Boy from Ipanema down there in Brazil?”

“We heard from him right before a storm front moved in. His comms are down for the time being. We’ll keep an eye on things. When the weather starts to break, we’ll come get you.”

Harvath thanked his friends and headed for his room. At the door, he made a conscious decision to shut his mind off and try to leave all his problems outside. Sleep was a weapon. It kept you sharp, and right now Scot Harvath needed it badly.

Opening the door, he kicked his shoes off and fell onto the bed. The resort was famous for its insanely high-thread-count sheets, down duvets, and featherbeds, but Harvath didn’t care about any of that. All he wanted was sleep.

In a matter of moments his prayers were answered and he stepped off the cliff of consciousness into one of the deepest, darkest sleeps he had ever known.