The Lions Of Lucerne

33

After the meeting in the sit room was adjourned, everyone quietly filed out, still in shock. They were horrified not only by the failure of Rapid Return and the loss of top-rate operatives, but also by the way the vice president had handled the kidnappers’ phone call.

Director Jameson gave Scot a subtle cue to hang back with him. In a few moments the only other people still sitting at the table were the directors of the FBI and CIA, along with Gary Lawlor.

“It looks like your instincts were right,” said the CIA director to Harvath.

“It didn’t do those men much good, though,” replied Scot.

“What could you have done?”

“I’ve asked myself that a million times. Not only about tonight, but Sunday too. These guys, whoever they are, really know what they’re doing.”

“What I want to know,” said Lawlor, “is how the hell they got my direct line as well as the president’s here in the sit room.”

As the lock on the soundproof door of the sit room clicked and was followed by the hiss of it swinging open, the men fell silent.

“Don’t you men have work to do?” asked Chief of Staff DaFina as he walked across the room to retrieve a file he had left on the table.

Vaile beat the others to the punch. “You know what, DaFina? What we’re doing and how we’re doing it is none of your goddamn business.”

Harvath was taken by surprise. Director Vaile had a reputation for being unfailingly diplomatic. Both DaFina and his boss, the vice president, rubbed even the calmest of people the wrong way.

“I’m sure the vice president wouldn’t see it that way,” replied a defensive DaFina.

DaFina was all hot air, a bully. The minute someone stood up to him, he hid behind the vice president’s skirts. Harvath let out an audible sigh of contempt, and DaFina turned on him.

“And you. I wasn’t finished with you, Harvath,” he said, turning his gaze toward Secret Service director Jameson and FBI deputy director Lawlor. “Is it or is it not true that Agent Harvath disrupted and possibly contaminated three separate crime scenes and assaulted a federal officer?”

For some reason, probably his intense dislike for the chief of staff, Lawlor changed his earlier stance and chose to come to Scot’s defense. “We’re looking into it.”

“Looking into it? From what I hear, it was you that had him recalled for it!” DaFina’s feigned anger was growing with each passing second, as was his satisfaction. He knew he had them on the ropes, and he grabbed at the opportunity to regain the control Vaile had taken from him. “Director Jameson, why hasn’t this man been placed on leave until a full-scale investigation can be conducted?”

“I have yet to fully debrief him. This is a Secret Service matter and will be handled as such. I hardly think we need the vice president’s chief of staff telling us how to do our jobs.”

“Well, obviously somebody should.”

“Just like somebody told you it was okay to answer the president’s secure line?” fired Harvath.

Embarrassed, but not letting on, DaFina continued. “Director Jameson, like it or not, Vice President Marshfield is in charge and may be for quite some time. If, and I stress the if, the president does not return safely, the vice president will finish out his term. I need not remind you that your position as director of the Secret Service has already been severely jeopardized. If, and I am stressing the if again, the president does not return to his office, you will retain your directorship only by the consent of Vice President Marshfield. Do I make myself clear?”

Jameson was up against it. As much as he hated to admit it, DaFina was right. Before he could respond, though, DaFina continued his attempt to roll over him. “I want this man,” he said, pointing at Harvath, “suspended immediately, pending a full investigation. I don’t want to see him near the White House or anywhere else for that matter. Am I clear?”

“I’ll take it under advisement. In the meantime, I want to make sure you are completely clear on something. Short of a horrific constitutional crisis that would put you in the Oval Office, I am still the director of the Secret Service. I don’t take orders from you. Got me?” asked Jameson.

“Director Jameson, I warn you that you are walking a very, very fine line. I can assure you that when I speak, I am speaking for the vice president, who, per the cabinet’s invoking of the Twenty-fifth Amendment, is now acting president and commander in chief. Agent Harvath is to be suspended, period. Understood?”

Harvath knew he had nothing to lose and decided he wasn’t going to let this pip-squeak get the last word. “You’ve got more to worry about than me, you know.”

“You just won’t disappear, will you? Of course we have more to worry about than just you,” replied DaFina.

“A lot more. First, you’ve got a leak somewhere. Someone with some pretty substantial access. Those kidnappers had help. High-level help. And then-”

Against his better judgment, Lawlor tried to save him. “Scot, shut it.”

“Agent Lawlor, with all due respect, I’m going to listen to what Agent Harvath has to say, because I guarantee you these will be the last words he ever utters in his capacity as an active Secret Service agent. So,” continued DaFina as he made his way around the table so he could stand right above Harvath, “what else do you have to say? You couldn’t possibly dig your grave any deeper than you have already. Or could you?”

Standing above him was an obvious power play, meant to intimidate, but Scot Harvath wasn’t easily intimidated. In fact, the move pissed him off. He wasn’t an idiot, and he’d been trying to couch what he was planning to say as diplomatically as possible, but his anger was building and quickly getting the better of him. He fought hard to keep it under control.

Harvath had swiveled his chair to the right as DaFina approached and leaned slightly back, assuming a relaxed, nonthreatened posture. “Mr. DaFina-”

“That’s Chief of Staff DaFina to you, Harvath! Get it right. You know, it’s all starting to become clear to me how this whole thing happened. Some of the people around here might be impressed with your SEAL background, but it doesn’t impress me. You fucked up big time as the advance man. The whole Secret Service fucked up, and I don’t give a rat’s ass that you saved the president’s daughter.

“The president is gone, and I don’t need to go looking far and wide for somewhere to lay the blame. It’s sitting right here in front of me.” DaFina punctuated his next remark by poking Harvath in the shoulder with his pudgy finger. “So, if you’ve got something to say, then say it, because your career is finished!”

Harvath snapped. Grabbing DaFina’s finger, he stood up from the chair and gave the finger a good twist, making DaFina’s arm go limp, and then bent it behind him. He raised DaFina’s hand upward toward the back of his neck and leaned forward to speak into his ear. “Yeah, I’ve got something to say. First, your mother should have taught you not to point at people, especially a SEAL. There’s nothing that pisses me off more than when people point at me. It’s not very polite. Second, you and your boss are playing a very deadly game. His no-negotiating-with-terrorists line doesn’t fool anyone, especially me. You know what?”

DaFina winced in pain.

Harvath continued, “Your little call to the Syrians didn’t fool me either. It was plain to everybody in this room. Your boss is going to milk this thing for all it’s worth. And, if the president isn’t returned alive, he’ll have a one hundred percent approval rating when he bombs whomever you guys finger as the ones responsible. There’s nothing the American people like more than an all-out bombing run. Having accomplished that, your boy will be a shoo-in for president in the next election. This whole thing stinks!”

Scot let DaFina go and turned to walk toward the door. As he did, he noticed the chief of staff cock his arm back with an open hand as if he intended to slap him. Spinning, Scot just missed DaFina’s blow and brought his fist up in an uppercut to the man’s jaw. With a crack, the punch landed and blood spurted from DaFina’s mouth as his teeth clamped together, catching part of his lip.

Immediately, DaFina’s hands flew to his face as he staggered backward. Jameson waited a beat and then fished out a handkerchief and handed it to him. When DaFina saw the blood, his rage was for real. “Harvath, if you had even a prayer of surviving before, it’s gone now. You are through!”

Turning to the group, DaFina said, “Do you see what he did to me?”

This time, it was the normally quiet and reserved FBI director Sorce who spoke first. “Yeah, I saw it clear as day. You tried to strike Agent Harvath when he wasn’t looking, and he turned just in time. Looked to me like he was raising his hand to protect himself and your chin got in the way. Simple case of self-defense, as I’m sure everyone in the room will agree.”

“Self-defense? Self-defense! That’s bullshit, and you know it. What about when he grabbed my finger and twisted my arm behind my back?”

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t see that, but poking Agent Harvath is technically assault, and anything he did would have been in self-defense.”

A very pissed-off DaFina glowered at the other men and said, “And I suppose you all agree with Director Sorce?”

No one said anything; they just sat stone-faced.

“All in all,” continued Sorce, “your conduct is very unbecoming for a chief of staff, even a vice presidential one. I’d hate to think what the media would do with this if it got out.”

“Look at my lip! I can feel it beginning to swell. What am I going to say to people?”

“Well, you can say what we used to say back in Chicago when a suspect got a little roughed up. You slipped.”

DaFina gathered his folder, and when he was a safe distance away and had his hand on the doorknob, he spat, “This is not over, Harvath. You are going down. I promise you.”