The Last Patriot

CHAPTER 56

Lawlor was a master with Tracy’s French press, something Harvath had never gotten the hang of. He didn’t know if it was because he was too lazy to bother with it or if he just liked watching Tracy go through the effort for him.

Either way, by the time Harvath came into the kitchen, Lawlor was pouring three steaming cups of fresh coffee. He took his and sat down at the table where Nichols and Lawlor joined him.

Nichols was the first to speak. “So I understand that this is now my new home?”

“For the time being,” replied Harvath as he took a sip of coffee.

“What about all of my research materials? My books? My toothbrush even?”

“Make a list and we’ll get it for you,” said Lawlor.

Harvath held up his hand as he set his coffee cup down. “This guy Dodd is good, Gary, very good. We have no idea where he is or who he’s working with. He could have already left Paris and be on his way here for all we know. Professor Nichols needs to be protected ’round the clock.”

Lawlor nodded. “You’re right,” he said. Turning back to Nichols he added, “Scot will get you everything you need. You and I will stay here.”

“We also need to lay some ground rules,” said Harvath.

The professor looked at him. “Like what?”

“For one, no phone calls, no exceptions. Gary will set you up on a secure server for e-mails. Follow his protocols and don’t deviate.

“Two, you are not to leave the property under any circumstances. If you want to take a walk, Gary or I will go with you. We need to know where you are at all times. Understood?”

Nichols nodded.

“Good,” said Harvath. “You can work in my study. Gary will get you settled in. In the meantime,” he added as he leaned over to his breakfront and removed a pad and pen from one of its drawers, “let’s get cracking on the list of things you need from your apartment as well as your office in Charlottesville. The sooner I get that trip out of the way, the better I’m going to feel.”

Nichols was still working on his list when Harvath topped off his cup with more coffee and left him in the kitchen with Lawlor.

Scot walked down the narrow stone hallway from the rectory and took one of the discreet side doors that opened into the little church.

In its day, Bishop’s Gate must have been a real espionage paradise because beneath its sturdy foundation, it was replete with secret rooms and passages. Harvath was amazed that the ONI had never discovered them. Then again, maybe they had, but out of respect had left them untouched.

Harvath, though, had seen their incredible potential and had put the best of the passages and subterranean chambers to use.

He had uncovered them when trying to move the baptismal font to the other side of the church. The font contained an intricate locking mechanism that took Harvath an entire week to repair. Once he had it working, he discovered that the church’s stone altar could be moved forty-five degrees, revealing a narrow set of circular stairs that led into an area Harvath fondly referred to as his “crypt.”

Harvath winced as he squeezed down the stairs and remembered what a royal pain in the ass it had been getting all of the materials down there. But it had been worth it. Here, Harvath stored the tools of his trade.

A hidden ventilation system assured a constant flow of fresh air which concealed dehumidifiers dried and circulated. The crypt maintained a constant temperature and electricity was provided via a set of rechargeable marine batteries which powered the overhead lights.

Harvath flipped on the light switch and the long, slightly rectangular room was bathed in a fluorescent glow. Steel racks lined each wall, while a wide stainless steel table ran down the center of the room.

Scot Harvath had a lot of friends, both within the special operations community and within the community of those dedicated to providing America’s top operatives with all the gear and equipment they needed to get the job done and get it done right.

A fellow SEAL who had started the world’s preeminent tactical equipment company, Black-hawk Industries, made sure that Harvath had every item they had ever made. Harvath had introduced them to a brilliant young frontline doctor who had designed a new battle dress uniform with built-in tourniquets that was going to revolutionize what military and law enforcement members wore into battle. Blackhawk had snatched the doctor up and now hanging in one of Harvath’s steel cages were several pairs of new tourniquet pants, which every military expert was saying was the greatest battlefield innovation since body armor.

Beyond Harvath’s collection of Blackhawk Warrior Wear, Under Armour clothing, demolitions gear, communications equipment, night vision accoutrements, his pistols and his knives was finally, his heavy equipment.

Next to his Beretta, Benelli, Remington, and Mossberg shotguns were two pristine Robar RC 50 rifles and hanging next to those works of art were his heavy-use items.

Having contributed multiple design suggestions to H&K while with the SEALs’ Dev Group, Harvath had one of almost every Heckler & Koch machine and submachine gun model produced in the last twenty years. He also had variants of M16 Clinic’s awesome Viper.

While they were all exceptional, Harvath’s most lethal, most effective and most accurate piece came out of a quiet, sophisticated shop in Leander, Texas, called LaRue Tactical that stamped all of their gear Live Free or Die.

Harvath’s pal and his dog’s namesake, Bullet Bob Herrington, had turned him on to Mark LaRue, and no matter what crazy requests Harvath had ever thrown at his shop, the folks at LaRue Tactical had always come back with something better than he had asked for. Many people joked that Mark was a Texas version of James Bond’s Q and that as a proud Texan, maybe his codename should be BB-Q. LaRue Tactical was a SEAL and Delta Force — preferred supplier, and it was easy to understand why.

Harvath reached over and took down his custom built, short-barreled LaRue M4 “stealth” tactical rifle. It looked like an ordinary door-kicker weapon, but it was anything but. It was so incredibly accurate that with the right high-powered optics on it Harvath could shoot three-inch groups at six hundred yards.

With an Aimpoint CompM4 red dot sight system for day-to-day usage, a Xiphos NT rail light, and an FSL Laserlyte laser, the weapon was one of his most prized possessions. In honor of Harvath’s Norseman call sign, Mark LaRue had laser-engraved the magazine well with the mythological hammer of Thor, the Norse god of thunder.

For his sidearm, Harvath selected an HK 45 caliber USP Tactical, 230-grain Winchester SXT&P ammo and extra mags along with Gemtech suppressors for both weapons. He then unfolded a cleaning mat on the table and set about cleaning and oiling each weapon to make sure they were in absolutely perfect working order.

After loading several black polymer Magpul magazines with twenty-eight rounds of 77-grain Black Hills Mk262 ammo, he loaded the tactical rifle, its suppressor and mags into a special case while everything else went into a low-profile, Blackhawk messenger-style over-the-shoulder bag. Harvath then shut down the lights and exited the crypt.

After putting the altar back in place, he assembled his gear near the front door and walked back into the kitchen. Professor Nichols was at the stove scrambling eggs while Lawlor sat at the table reading his handwritten list.

“Is that it?” Harvath asked as he entered.

Lawlor pushed the piece of paper to the edge of the table and took off his glasses. “That’s it,” he said.

“Do you want breakfast before you go?” asked Nichols as he lifted Tracy’s cast iron skillet off the stove.

“Sure,” replied Harvath, hoping that he wouldn’t need any of the equipment he had just spent all that time assembling.

Nevertheless, Better to have it and not need it was one of Harvath’s favorite maxims. Actually his favorite maxim was Better to have a lot of it and not need it, but that was beside the point. If anything happened, he wanted to make sure that he was prepared.