The next morning, Meg was up before anyone else. She was in the lodge reading the morning paper by the time Harvath finished working out and had found her. “So what’s it going to be today?” he said as he sat across from Meg and placed two cups of coffee on the table. “Horseback riding or sailing lessons?”
“I wish,” replied Meg. “I have a physical scheduled, so I’ll have to pass on the coffee for now.”
“Pass? Why?”
“They’re going to do a blood draw, and I am supposed to have had nothing to eat or drink except water since midnight.”
Harvath took a sip of his coffee and made a face. “Don’t worry, the coffee’s not that great.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“Yeah, you got me. It’s actually pretty good. The DEA guys probably bring it up from South America. So what fun does Camp Harvey Point have in store for you later?” asked Harvath as he withdrew his copy of Meg’s schedule from his pocket. “Ooh, there’s a fitness assessment after lunch. Somebody planned that one well.”
“They sure did. What kind of a torture farm is this? No food after midnight and then once they do let me eat, they’ve got a fitness test planned right after it?”
“I know it might seem
excessive,”
said Scot, mimicking Rick Morrell, “but I can assure you this schedule exists for your safety and the security of the facility.”
Meg smiled. Harvath was glad to see her doing better.
“What’s on tap for tonight?” she asked.
“Well, it looks like that’s going to depend upon how long they keep you looking at mug shots.”
“Mug shots? Is that what this undetermined block of time is set up for this afternoon?”
“Yup. They’re going to have you review pictures and descriptions of known and suspected terrorists from some of the world’s biggest databases.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“As long as you’re in an air-conditioned room, count your blessings. I can’t believe how hot it is down here.”
“And humid,” added Meg.
“How’d you sleep last night?”
“Great, why?”
“So your air conditioner works fine?”
“It did last night. Didn’t yours?”
“No,” said Harvath, a sneaking suspicion creeping over him. “For some reason, mine’s on the blink.”
“Why don’t you ask Morrell to look into it for you.”
“I would, if I thought it would actually do any good.”
“Well, maybe if you weren’t such a smart-ass to him, he’d be willing to help you.”
“You don’t know Rick Morrell the way I do.”
“I don’t need to. He’s a person, for crying out loud, and wants to be treated with respect.”
“I agree, but respect is not a given; it has to be earned.”
“
Men!
Everything is a competition with you.”
“That’s not true,” said Harvath, who noticed that Morrell had entered the lodge and was making his way over to their table. “Listen, try and find out for me what room Morrell is in today, would you please?”
“His room? Why?”
“Never mind, just try to find out, okay?”
“Sure, but—”
“Good morning,” said Morrell as he neared the table and smiled at Meg as sincerely as he was capable of. “I trust everyone slept well?”
“Like a baby,” offered Harvath. He knew the reason his AC didn’t work was somehow Morrell’s doing, but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of complaining.
“Ms. Cassidy, are you ready for your physical?”
“The sooner it’s over the sooner I can eat. Let’s go,” said Meg.
“Good. Agent Harvath will meet you back here for lunch.”
“I’ll see you later, okay?” said Scot. “I’m going to go over to the arts-and-crafts cabin to make my mom either a cutting board with a secret compartment for microfilm or a key chain that shoots poison darts.”
Morrell was fed up, but he tried not to show it. “Ms. Cassidy, if you’re ready, I’ll drive you over.”
Meg said good-bye to Scot, and once she had walked away from the table, Harvath caught Morrell by the arm. “You make sure you take care of her, understand me?”
“Yeah, I understand you,” said Morrell, jerking his arm out of Harvath’s grasp. “Relax.”
“Like you take care of your eyes, Ricky. I don’t want anything to happen to her.”
“For fuck’s sake, Harvath, I’m taking her to get a physical. It’s not like we’re disarming land mines.”
“I’m talking about in general. I’m setting the ground rules for the training and the operation right now.”
“You?”
“Yeah, me. Meg Cassidy is not expendable, so you figure that into your planning. Got me?”
“You have a thing for this woman, don’t you?”
Harvath avoided the question and simply responded, “Her safety is the number-one priority.”
“Number one for you maybe, but number one for me is the successful outcome of my mission.”
“You’d better find a way to reconcile the two, because I’m here to see that nothing happens to her.”
“I thought you were here because you wanted to see us nail Hashim Nidal.”
“That too,” said Harvath, “but not at the expense of this woman’s life.”
“Understood. Are you finished now?” asked Morrell as he impatiently glanced down at his watch.
“Just about. You guys need to realign the profile on Nidal.”
“What? You’re joking right?”
“No, I’m one hundred percent serious. There were two masked hijackers on that plane. I think Meg saw the lieutenant’s face and not Nidal’s.”
“Based on what?”
“She said she saw the one you’re calling the lieutenant, tell off Nidal.”
“Harvath, Meg Cassidy barely remembers anything of what she saw.”
“That’s not true. She had trouble putting together a coherent timetable of the events during her struggle with the hijackers.”
“Same thing in my book. Listen, the man Cassidy saw without his mask was the one issuing all of the orders during the hijacking. I have eyewitnesses who will back that up. This man was also wounded by Cassidy and had to be assisted in his escape from the plane. Are you telling me that we’ve got it wrong and Hashim Nidal would risk his freedom, or possibly worse, his life, to help a lieutenant escape?”
“If that lieutenant knew enough to bring him down, yes.”
“Then why not just kill the lieutenant? Why go to all that extra trouble?” asked Morrell as he glanced once more at his watch.
“Who knows? Maybe there’s honor among thieves, after all. Maybe the lieutenant was very valuable to him or had information buttoned down somewhere as an insurance policy. There’s a million possible reasons.”
“Yes, but only one makes sense. The face Cassidy saw belonged to Hashim Nidal, period.”
“Revise the profile, Rick.”
“What, and go solely by a set of eyes? Because that’s all anyone has seen of the other hijacker.”
“It’s a good start.”
“It’s a waste of time. Just like this conversation is. We’ve got the right man and we’re not diverting our focus.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“And you’re free to leave any time you like,” said Morrell as he began walking away. “You’ll excuse me, but I’ve got a schedule to keep.”
It didn’t take long for Meg’s training at Harvey Point to grow monotonous. It was based upon intelligence the CIA had been able to gather from its Indonesian sources, who believed Hashim Nidal’s base of operations was on one of the Moluccas Islands, formerly known as the Spice Islands.
During the day, Meg worked with Rick Morrell and his sniper teams, learning how to identify and call out targets. In the evenings, they would do the whole thing all over again, only this time aided by night-vision devices. Meg’s free time was never her own. She was plonked down in front of monitors and subjected to hours of images relating to suspected and known terrorists. It soon became overwhelming. Despite her resolve, everything began getting to her—the heat, the humidity, the insects, the incessant training schedule…Morrell had planned everything down to the minute. They went through the same drills over and over again until the execution was perfect, and then they did them again.
They practiced amphibious assaults launched from both the Perquimans River and the Albemarle Sound. Meg grew accustomed to speeding silently across the top of the water in the black rubber Zodiacs, only to slip over the side hundreds of yards from shore and have to swim the rest of the way in.
Meg turned out to be an excellent swimmer. As a matter of fact, there wasn’t much that Morrell and his men had thrown at her that she couldn’t handle.
Harvath understood Morrell’s need to repeat drills over and over again. The goal was to become so accustomed to them that they became second nature. Under the stress of a real operation, you would know what to do automatically and the “fog of war” would have a far lesser impact. On the flip side, though, nobody ever knew how an operative was going to perform in combat until that operative actually saw combat.
Harvath had no doubts that Meg would come through, but what bothered him was that the training Morrell had laid out for her was extremely limited. Morrell didn’t even plan to issue her a weapon, and in Harvath’s mind, that was a mistake. Teaching her simply to keep up and keep out of the way was not good enough.
By not giving Meg better counterterrorism training and not allowing her to carry a weapon, Morrell was making her overly dependent on the rest of them. If she was going to be one of them, she needed to function just like everybody else—she needed to have the self-confidence of knowing she could operate on her own if she had to.
In addition, there was a change in Meg’s personality that was troubling Harvath. While he thought it might be the frustration of the repetitive training schedule and the hurry-up-and-wait scenario that they were all facing as conflicting reports continued to pour in about Hashim Nidal’s whereabouts, there was a chance something else was involved. Over the nine days they had been at the training camp, her temper had grown shorter and shorter, with the smallest things setting her off, and Harvath wanted to know why.
When they finished their training that night, Scot told Meg he had a surprise for her and to knock on his door in an hour. At the appointed time, she knocked, and when the door opened, she was greeted with an unexpected sensation.
“You finally got your air conditioner fixed,” she said as she walked into Harvath’s comfortably climate-controlled room.
“Not exactly,” he said with a smile as he pulled a large bucket filled with ice and Corona beers from underneath his desk. “Compliments of our fearless leader, Mr. Richard Morrell.”
“Wait a second. He fixed your air conditioner
and
gave you a bucket full of beer? That doesn’t sound right. What’s going on here? I thought there was no alcohol allowed at the Point.”
“There isn’t,” said Harvath, his smile turning to a mischievous grin as he popped open two of the bottles and handed one over to Meg.
“So where’d it come from?”
“Morrell. Just like I told you,” he said as he took a long swallow of the ice-cold beer, letting his words hang in the air.
“How many of these did you have before I got here, because you’re not making any sense.”
“I just got them.”
“How could he have just given them to you? I thought he and his men went into town tonight.”
“They did.”
“Then what gives?”
“What
takes
might be a better question.”
“So, these
weren’t
given to you?” asked Meg, slowly catching on.
“Very good, Ms. Cassidy. They’ll make a CIA operative out of you yet.”
“How’d you get into his room? Wait, better yet, how’d you find his room?”
Meg sat down in a chair and made herself comfortable. This was a story she couldn’t wait to hear. If Harvath had one-upped Morrell, it would be priceless.
“Chocolate?” asked Harvath as he produced a family-sized bag of M&M’s.
“You bet,” said Meg taking a handful. “I assume these were his too?”
“The guy’s got a sweet tooth like you wouldn’t believe. Always has, ever since I’ve known him. You should see all the stuff in his room.”
“So you did get in there! You’ve got to tell me how you did it.”
“Well, nobody, I mean nobody, would tell me what room he was in. I knew it was here in the building, but that was it. I even tried to scam the operator without any luck. Finally, I wondered if he might just lead me to his room himself.”
“But he always makes sure we’re on our floor before he disappears again.”
“As much as I don’t care for a lot of his tradecraft, I figured it would be really hard to track him. Plus if he caught me, it would have been a little embarrassing.”
“So how’d you do it?” asked Meg as she leaned forward and grabbed another handful of M&M’s.
“Do you remember a few nights ago when we used that paint to mark our trail?”
“The kind that only shows up with the night-vision goggles?”
“That’s the stuff. I stole a can of it before we went out on our maneuvers last night. Remember how I jumped out of the Suburban before you and Morrell?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I poured a little on the steps outside.”
“And after tucking us in, he walked through it and made his way to his room?”
“Yup.”
“But what about—”
“The night-vision goggles?”
“Yeah, I thought we were supposed to turn them in with the rest of the gear.”
“I did. I just pulled them back out of the case when nobody was looking.”
Meg was having such a good laugh she had to set her beer on the floor for fear of spilling it. “You have got to show me his room,” she said.
“When we finish the beers, I will. Enjoy the AC while you can. I think you’re going to find Morrell’s room very uncomfortable.”
“You switched air conditioners?”
“Um-hum.”
“That’s classic.”
“I’m not done yet.”
“Oh, no?”
“Nope, there’s something else I owe him.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you know what short-sheeting is?”
“Are you kidding me? This isn’t my first summer camp experience.”
“Well, I take it a step further.”
“How?”
“We’re going to short-sheet him, but we’re also going to take out all but two of the supports from his mattress frame.”
“When he gets into bed, he’s going to hit the floor?”
“Yep, and when he realizes he’s been short-sheeted, he’s going to hit the ceiling.”
Once again, Meg started laughing. After another beer, she confided in Harvath that it felt good to laugh because she hadn’t been feeling herself lately and didn’t know why. When asked what her symptoms were, Meg stated that she’d almost completely lost her appetite, had tons of energy, and seemed to get angry at the drop of a hat. Sometimes she even got the shakes coupled with what felt like heart palpitations. She figured it had something to do with the vitamin supplements she was being given, but when she asked the CIA doctor about it, he had told her it was just stress and not to worry about anything.
“You’re being given vitamins?” asked Harvath skeptically.
“The doctor prescribed some stuff that first day we got here. Remember when I had the physical? I think you had arts and crafts,” said Meg, giggling.
Harvath didn’t want to alarm her and so smiled and asked, “Can I see the vitamins you’re taking?”
“Nope,” she said as she took another long swig of beer.
“Why not?”
“I don’t have any on me. They give them to me at breakfast in the morning. I think that’s why Morrell is so adamant about me not being late. There’s always one of the doctor’s assistants there.”
“I’ve seen him. I just figured they were checking in to make sure you were feeling okay.”
“Yeah, he does that too. Asks a lot of questions.”
“Questions like what?”
“Like do I feel happy, sad, angry…You know, things like that.”
“So it’s more emotional than physical?”
“They ask physical questions, but for the most part, it’s emotional.”
“Interesting,” said Harvath, letting the subject drop, but not before asking, “Would you mind doing me a favor tomorrow?”
“Sure, as long as you agree to do me one.”
“What do you need?”
“Hand me another beer.”
Harvath laughed and popped the top on another Corona.
“How come you don’t have any limes for these?” asked Meg.
“That’s what we get for ripping off someone with no class.”
Meg started laughing again. “So what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to palm your vitamins tomorrow.” Harvath gathered up a handful of bottle caps and began to show her. “Lift your hand to your mouth and pretend to pop them in—”
“I know what palming is, Scot, but why? Is there something wrong with them?”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t worry about it. Just bring them to me tomorrow so I can check them out.”
“Fine. Consider it done. God, this beer tastes good.”
“Twice as good since we didn’t have to pay for it,” said Harvath.
By the time they made it to Morrell’s room, both Scot and Meg were feeling no pain. They short-sheeted his bed and removed all but two of the bed frame supports, and in a fit of sophomoric genius, decided to take all of the left shoes from his closet and scatter them around the Point.
When they finally made it back to their rooms an hour later, they knew there might be hell to pay, but neither of them cared. As they said good night, Meg wrapped her arms around Harvath. She planted a deep kiss on his lips and Harvath did nothing to pull away. This time, it was Harvath who finally broke their embrace, and Meg retreated into her room and locked the door for the night. It was the best she had felt in she couldn’t remember how long. While she fell asleep smiling, Harvath took a long time before drifting off, worried that things between them might be going too far. They had been at the Point for only a little more than a week, and there was no telling how much longer they would be working together. He couldn’t let anything develop between them that might jeopardize the operation.