Mass surveillance opened the door to incredible abuse. It also corroded the soul of a nation. People under constant surveillance ceased to be individuals with their own thoughts and ideas. They began to comport themselves in a manner which they believed was in accordance with what the “authorities” wanted. In a word, it was total bullshit.
The best kind of nation was one where the government feared the people. When the government feared the people there was liberty. When the people feared the government, there was tyranny. Harvath had vowed that he would obey his oath to protect and defend the Constitution and always side with the people.
What he was suggesting now, though, begged an important question: was he siding with the Constitution if he was taking it upon himself to circumvent the law? Was it “siding with the people” to decide that some people needed to be put under secret surveillance just because they had been seen at the home of someone who was under suspicion? If the shoe was on the other foot, how would Harvath feel about being surveilled himself?
They were all legitimate questions, none of which he had time for. Was he going to bend some laws?
Absolutely
. Was he likely to break a few?
Probably
. Was he going to feel guilty about any of it?
No
.
Harvath’s attitude was:
If you break into my house in the middle of the night with a butcher knife, I’m not going to leave my shotgun under the bed out of “fairness.” If you come at me, if you threaten my family, my home, or my country, I’m coming right back at you with everything I have. Don’t want the horns? Stay the hell away from the bull.
Looking at Lydia Ryan, he smiled and said, “We’re going to hold off on the Department of Justice for the time being. It’s just going to be us.”
CHAPTER 33
C
LIFTON
F
ARM
, V
IRGINIA
W
EDNESDAY
H
elena had never eaten farm-fresh eggs before. Even Jeffery, who never smiled, took pleasure in watching her eat.
“This is the way people were meant to eat,” Damien said approvingly. “Fresh, local food.”
She was embarrassed with how fast she had finished her omelet. The flavors from the eggs, the fresh spinach, the farm goat cheese—they were amazing.
Damien laughed. “Would you like another?”
“I shouldn’t,” Helena replied.
“Nonsense,” he said. “Jeffery, make another please, and we’ll split it.”
The man nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen.
“I’m going to have to add an extra half hour on the treadmill this morning.”
Damien reached out and pulled her chair closer. “You are absolutely perfect. Do you know that?”
Helena smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. “If I’m perfect, it’s only because I’m honest about how long I need to be on the treadmill.”
“I’m not talking about your body. I’m talking about
you
.”
She had no idea what had gotten into him.
“You’re in a good mood this morning.”
“Aren’t I always?” he asked.
She smiled. “Most days, yes, but you seem especially happy today.”
He took a moment to compose his thoughts. “I look at you. I look at
this farm. We have everything we could possibly need right here. The world could come to an end tomorrow and we’d be absolutely fine. In fact, we would be wonderful.”
“Do you know something I don’t?” she teased. “Is there a comet headed our way or something?”
Damien held her chin in his hand and kissed her. It was a long, slow, soft kiss. “What do you want to do today?”
“What are my choices?” she whispered, moving closer to him.
He smiled. “I meant here on the farm. I have to go out for a while. You have the horses, the ATVs, whatever you want. Just speak to Jeffery, and he’ll take care of it.”
Helena kissed him back. “I may want to ride later, I don’t know. I have to finish my trafficking presentation for the UN.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that.”
“Because the comet’s coming.”
It took Damien a moment to grasp her joke before he laughed.
“Pierre,” she said. “Do you not take my work seriously?”
“Of course I do. It’s just that it’s going to be a beautiful day. Promise me you won’t waste all of it inside.”
“I promise,” she replied. “As long as you promise that when you get back, we can swim naked.”
He gave her another long kiss before breaking it off and standing up. “Should we go into town for lunch this afternoon, or would you prefer to stay here?”
She pretended to think about it and then said, “Can we bring our own wine?”
“Of course we can. Whatever you want.”
“Wonderful. Let’s go into town then.”
“Okay. You choose the spot,” he said. “Jeffery will make our res-
ervations.”
She smiled as she watched him walk out of the dining room. He picked up his coat in the front hall and exited the house.
There was the sound of his security team opening and closing car doors, engines starting, and then vehicles rolling away down the driveway.
One down
, she thought. Now all she had to do was wait for Jeffery to leave.
Damien had given him a list of errands he wanted him to run that morning. As soon as he was gone, she could get to work.
Changing into her running clothes, she walked to the outbuilding that held the gym. With its floor-to-ceiling windows, she had a perfect view of the driveway. After ten minutes of stretching, she popped her earbuds in and began running on the treadmill. Twenty minutes later, she saw Jeffery pull away in the farm’s vintage Jeep Wagoneer with its wood-paneled sides. Hitting the
stop
button, she grabbed a towel and headed back up to the house.
After checking each room to make sure no one else was there, she made her way to the library. Damien had only taken his coat with him, which meant his laptop had to have been left behind. Setting her phone on the desk, she opened its lower right drawer. The safe, with its digital keypad, was identical to the one in Geneva.
Punching in the code, she waited for the light to turn green and then opened it. Inside was Damien’s laptop. She quickly pulled it out and powered it up.
Thankfully, the keystroke reader differentiated between last night’s entries on that bitch Linda’s computer versus Damien’s. Looking at her phone, into which she had inserted the reader’s memory card, Helena made ready to enter the first string of letters, symbols, and numbers.
When the password screen came up, she plugged everything in and held her breath.
It felt like an eternity, but seconds later the main screen appeared, and she had access to Damien’s machine.
As in his personal life, Damien’s files were perfectly organized. Each one was labeled with a logical heading and subdivided into appropriate folders and documents.
Helena had six key words she was looking for. None of them were in any of the corresponding folder or document titles she was looking at.
Opening up the search function, she searched for the first word on her list.
Nothing
.
She then tried the second.
Nothing
.
Not allowing herself to become discouraged, she tried the third and fourth. The results were both the same.
Nothing
.
The fifth word also produced no results. Now, she was becoming
nervous. Entering the sixth word on her list, she allowed her finger to hover over the
return
button for several seconds. If this didn’t work, she didn’t know what she was going to do. Finally, she pressed the button and waited for her search results.
Jackpot!
Smoothing her ponytailed hair, she began opening the documents. It was all there—all of it and more.
Picking up her phone, she switched it to camera mode and slowly scrolled through the documents, clicking picture after picture.
She had made it about halfway through when she heard a noise from outside the library. It sounded like it had come from the entry hall. Was it one of the farm staff? Had Damien come back already?
She rushed through the documents, taking picture after picture. There was the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway. Whoever it was, it sounded like they were making their way right toward her. Helena took a deep breath and tried not to panic. She needed to photograph the rest of it.
She fired the camera repeatedly, capturing page after page.
The footsteps now sounded like they were right outside the door, but it was a long hallway and the echoes could be playing tricks on her ears. There was perspiration above her eyebrows, but she didn’t dare waste a second wiping it away. She had to finish. It needed to be done.
Her heart was pounding in her chest. Her instincts were screaming for her to get the hell out of there.
Suddenly, there was a hand on the knob. Slowly, it began to turn. When it opened, Jeffery found Helena standing at Mr. Damien’s desk, the local paper spread out across it.
“Jeffery,” she said as he walked in. “Mr. Damien and I are going out to lunch this afternoon. I’m supposed to pick, but I can’t decide. Which do you think? Violino or La Niçoise?”
Pointing at the paper, she added. “Violino has a ten percent off coupon, but La Niçoise has reduced corkage.”
Jeffery seemed momentarily at a loss for words. Finally, he said, “I’m sure the finances won’t be a problem. As to Mr. Damien’s preferences, he enjoys them both, equally.”
Even when caught off guard, he could be a smug son of a bitch. Helena smiled at him. “You’re not much help. You know that right?”
“May I ask what you’re doing in the library, miss?”
“Reading,” she said, rattling the newspaper. “How about you?”
The direct approach seemed to confuse him. The man didn’t have much of a sense of humor. She had only seen him smile once, and that was this morning.
“I’m looking for the list Mr. Damien gave me. I left without it,” he said.
“Try the sideboard in the dining room. I saw you make a note on it there.”
“Thank you,” Jeffery replied as he backed out of the room and closed the door.
As soon as he was gone, Helena pulled Damien’s laptop from under the newspaper, powered it down, and returned it to the safe.
CHAPTER 34
T
he second time his phone went off, Harvath gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed.
Walking downstairs to the kitchen, he put on some coffee, booted up his laptop, and turned on the TV. So far, there was nothing on the news.
Nicholas was tapped into the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta. He had hacked into the system and had been monitoring their Epi-X, or Epidemic Information Exchange. It was a password-protected area where local, county, state, and national public health officials could rapidly access and share disease outbreak surveillance information.
In the last twelve hours, two people— one in Chicago and one in Houston—had presented to their local emergency rooms with high fevers and flu-like symptoms. Each had rapidly deteriorated and bled out. They had bled from everywhere including their eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and gums. Any path the blood and liquefying organs could take to escape the body, it did. The ooze was so dark it was almost black. The ICU floors were covered with it and looked like something out of a horror movie.
Though the rapid test kits were not confirming it as Ebola, officials on Epi-X were already referring to it as “some form” of Hemorrhagic Fever. Samples had been dispatched to the CDC for analysis.
While Harvath wasn’t a doctor, he already knew what they were looking at. Weaponized African Hemorrhagic Fever had been set loose.
Once Nicholas had the names of the two patients, he began working
up backgrounds on them. The sample was too small to prove a pattern, but Harvath was worried. Both were male and both had Muslim names. His gut told him this was going to get much worse.
Looking at his watch, he debated calling Carlton, but decided against it. He already knew the questions he was going to ask. Until he and Nicholas had more information, it didn’t make sense to wake him up.
Harvath also made a mental note to remember to thank him. It was Carlton who had invited Lara down from Boston so that she could be there when he got back from Congo. The Old Man knew Lara was special to him, and that she was someone he cared about.
While the blame wasn’t his to take for spoiling their vacation, he took it anyway. Harvath wasn’t quite sure what he had said to her, but it had gone a long way toward easing her disappointment over their trip.
Had she been upset?
Absolutely
. It was why she hadn’t replied to his text. But by the time Harvath had arrived home, all she wanted to do was put her arms around him.
When he tried to speak, she wouldn’t let him. They kissed and tumbled into bed.
Afterward, he drifted off to sleep exhausted. When he awoke, he opened his eyes and looked at her, hoping she was awake, but she wasn’t.
That was okay. It would keep.
Now, as he poured his coffee, he heard the sound of bare feet crossing the worn, wooden planks of his kitchen floor. He smiled.
Lara wrapped her arms around him and kissed his back. “Jet lag?” she asked.
“There’s a lot going on,” he replied, hugging her back. Turning, he kissed her. “It’s going to be a rough day.”
“Anything I can do?”
He shook his head. “You already did it. You’re here.”
It felt so damn good holding her there in his kitchen. It was something he could get used to, something he could learn to look forward to.
Lowering his forehead until it touched hers, he interlaced his fingers in the small of her back and closed his eyes. In all the craziness, it was an exquisite moment of peace.
Maybe this was what it was all about.
Maybe life was about nothing more than moments.
“Not a bad way to start the day,” she murmured.
“I know how we can make it even better,” he replied, lowering his hands.
Pressing herself even tighter against him, she kissed her way over to his ear and whispered, “Tell me.”
God, she was beautiful.
And so sexy.
He loved everything about her. She was tall, with amazing gold-flecked, green eyes and long brown hair that had kept its summer highlights. She was even still tan, something she attributed to the Brazilian DNA she received from her parents.
She so resembled one of the women from Victoria’s Secret that his buddies jokingly referred to her as the “underwear model.” It was a guy thing and actually an incredible compliment. They were jealous as hell of him. Not just because of how gorgeous Lara was, but also because of how happy the two of them were together— even if it was divided between Boston and D.C.
For Harvath, though, the way he felt about her went beyond her looks and how attracted he was to her. He loved how smart she was. She was off-the-charts brilliant. She also treated him better than anyone he had ever known.
Standing there in his kitchen, holding her, he realized that he loved her and wanted to tell her.
Gently, he pushed her back a step and looked into her eyes.
“What is it?” she asked.
He opened his lips to tell her, and his cell phone went off. He knew who it was by the ringtone.
The Old Man had been relegated to the classic ringing of an old school telephone, while Nicholas had chosen his own ringtone on Harvath’s phone—“Atomic Dog” by George Clinton.
Their mutual love of funk music had been one of the first things they had learned about each other as their friendship evolved.
Glancing at his phone on the counter, he saw the wild picture of George Clinton that Nicholas used as his avatar. He hated breaking away from Lara, but he had to.
“It’s okay,” she said, reading his thoughts. “Answer it. I’ll start breakfast.”
He gave her a quick kiss as he reached over and picked up the phone.
“What’s up?” he asked as he connected the call and lifted the phone to his ear.
“A third case has just been reported,” Nicholas replied.
“Where?”
“Detroit.”
“Same symptoms?” he asked.
“Unfortunately.”
“Do we know anything about the patient?”
Nicholas clicked a couple of keys on his end and read the information. “Male. Thirty-seven years old.”
“Name?”
“I was afraid you were going to ask that. Abdulraham Mafid Marzook.”
That made three
. “I’m guessing we can rule out Dutch Reformed again,” said Harvath.
Nicholas let out a short laugh. Graveyard humor had always been part of their relationship. Without it, both men would have gone crazy a long time ago.
“Barring pictures of them riding bikes with wooden shoes, I’m going to say that’s a safe bet. Even safer when you see what else I found. Are you near your computer?”
Lara poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him. Harvath mouthed “thank you” and walked over to the table where he sat down in front of his laptop.
“Okay, I’m at my computer. What did you find?”
“Check these out,” Nicholas replied as he pressed
send
on the encrypted email. “Open them in order.”
When the email arrived seconds later, Harvath did as instructed. The first attachment showed the passport applications and photos of the three deceased patients: Shukri Abu Odeh, Mousa Abulqader Elashi, and Abdulraham Mafid Marzook. The following attachments contained passenger flight manifests, U.S. Customs and Border Protection entry information, and three U.S. Customs Declaration Forms.
“What am I looking for?”
“I can’t find anything connecting the three of them. No phone calls, no emails, no social media overlap, nothing. But in the last two weeks, all three of them travelled to the same place,” Nicholas replied.
“Together or separately?”
“Separately.”
Harvath scanned the Declaration forms and finally found it. “Saudi Arabia.”
“Correct. And based on the flight manifests, they went in and out of King Abdulaziz International Airport in Jeddah.”
Harvath went back through and looked at everything again.
As he did, Nicholas asked. “What do you think? Typhoid Mohammeds? Could the Saudis actually be part of this whole thing?”
The Saudis funded a lot of terrorism. Fifteen of the 9/11 hijackers had been from the Kingdom. They didn’t have clean hands by any means, but the fact that Odeh, Elashi, and Marzook had done nothing to hide their travel bothered him. The Saudi Intelligence services wouldn’t have left such an obvious trail. It had to be something else. Then it hit him.
“Jeddah wasn’t their final destination,” he said.
“Where do you think they went?”
Harvath pulled up a web site he used to help calculate dates in the Muslim calendar and said, “They, along with more than two million other people, went to Mecca for the Hajj.”