Code of Conduct (34 page)

“In a minute.”

He looked at Harvath, trying to figure him out. Did he have a weakness, something he could exploit? He was very difficult to read. “What is it the United States wants?”

“An admission.”

Damien smiled, and his smile then turned to laughter. “Now I know you’re here to kill me.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you don’t know the first thing about negotiating.”

Harvath adjusted his pistol, pressed the trigger, and shattered the 1947 bottle of Château Cheval Blanc next to him.

“As I was saying,” he continued. “The United States wants your full and complete confession.”

Discharging the weapon had startled Damien, but he tried not to show it. “In exchange for what?” he asked, slowly wiping bits of glass and red wine from his sleeve.

“That depends on how thoroughly you cooperate.”

“You’ll have to give me some sort of a hint.”

“I don’t have to give you anything,” Harvath replied. “But I will tell you this, I am going to get a confession out of you one way or the other. It’s up to you how painful it will be.”

“And if I cooperate?”

“
If
you cooperate, then as an American citizen there are a number of things that the United States is prepared to do.”

“None of which you’ll tell me.”

Harvath simply stared at him.

“Maybe you’re a better negotiator than I thought,” said Damien. “Where do we start?”

•••

The man rambled on for over two hours, quite convinced of his clarity of vision and moral superiority.

He repeatedly attempted to explain to Harvath that there no
longer
would be any such thing as a United States, that the concept of the nation-state was finished.

Harvath’s was a fool’s errand, he stated, the wind in his sails the last breath of a dying empire. Within weeks, America as he knew it would cease to exist. And when it did, along with all of the other sovereign na
tions, the world’s survivors would seek a new kind of leadership, a global leadership. The United Nations would then step forward and take up that mantle, and a new golden age of enlightenment, informed by a healthy respect and stewardship of the planet would begin.

Harvath remained inscrutable throughout, only speaking when he needed to nudge the man back on track.

When he had what he wanted, he returned the small digital video recording device to its weatherproof case and slid it back into his pocket. He now had everything he had come for.

“What now?” Damien demanded. “You have what you asked for. What about me?”

Harvath looked at him a long time before responding. “You have a choice. You return for a trial—”

The man scoffed at the idea, interrupting Harvath. “Where? At The Hague? Or maybe someplace more Nuremberg-esque? Perhaps the Jews could muster enough energy to have me extradited to Jerusalem or Tel Aviv. Maybe America would want me tried in front of its own Supreme Court? Better yet, let’s have it in Congo or in front of the savages in Mecca. It can be televised around the world so that everyone can revel in my conviction, and then watch me swing from the gallows.”

Harvath waited until the man had finished and said, “Or.”

“
Or
what?”

“Or exile.”

“Exile?”
Damien laughed. “As in sending Napoleon to Elba?”

“Except you wouldn’t be going to Elba.”

The man laughed even louder. “Who cares?”

“I thought you’d feel that way,” said Harvath as he raised his pistol and fired. “Don’t worry, the rest of your colleagues will be joining you shortly.”

CHAPTER 55

S
ecretary Fleming died shortly after Harvath transmitted the footage from Damien’s interrogation on Bird Cay. The kill orders he had signed, though, remained open. When the Secretary of Defense ascended to the position of Acting President, he was unable to reach Harvath.

Moving like a cold wind through the capitals of Europe, Harvath was Death. Riding upon his pale horse, he struck with great fury and without mercy.

No matter where the members of the Plenary Panel hid, Harvath found them. And when he found them, he killed them.

When the last one was dead, he made his way from Lisbon to Malta, threw everyone out of the Solarium interrogation site, and killed Jan Hendrik. He then tracked down a case of Jack Daniel’s and stayed drunk for three days.

He couldn’t watch the news. He couldn’t listen to the radio. He couldn’t think about the future. There was no future. People around the world were dying so quickly and in such massive numbers that the bodies couldn’t be buried fast enough.

When Vella came and tried to talk to him, Harvath took a shot at him. It was a warning. If he had wanted to kill him, he would have—even as drunk as he was. It was one of the lowest points in his life.

Thirty-six hours later, a priest showed up. It was as if he had appeared out of nowhere, somehow bypassing all of the Solarium’s security systems and walking in.

“Jesus,” Harvath exclaimed when he saw him.

“Far from it,” the man replied.

“What are you doing here, Peio?”

“I’ve come to save you.”

“From what?”

“From yourself.”

Harvath began to lift his pistol, but set it back down and picked up his half-finished bottle of Jack instead.

“Do you want to talk?” Peio asked.

“Sure. How the hell did you find me?”

“A little bird told me.”

Harvath began laughing. “Padre, you should be above short jokes.”

Peio smiled, but it was a smile mixed with pity. He had been right where Harvath was now. Before he was a priest, he had been an intelligence officer in Madrid. He had lived through the horror of the Madrid train bombing and losing his wife. He had then hunted the men responsible, succumbing to his bloodlust. And when alcohol failed to assuage his pain and guilt, he had turned to drugs.

It was a spiral that lead him right to the very gates of hell. Death was extending its cold hand to him when a priest found and rescued him.

“Perhaps referring to Nicholas as a little bird is unfair. Let me try again. A friend told me you might need help.”

“I’m fine,” said Harvath.

Peio looked around at the disarray. “I can see that.”

“You are wasting your time, Padre. There are others who need you more than me.”

“Maybe, but I’m here now. Would you like to talk?” he asked again.

He was the most tenacious priest Harvath had ever met. “What’s the death toll now?”

“On Malta?”

“Everywhere.”

“It’s not good,” Peio conceded.

“I didn’t think so.”

“But there is a silver lining.”

Harvath chuckled. “Really? What’s that? Less traffic?”

“It’s slowing.”

That was something Harvath hadn’t expected. Sitting up, he said, “
Slowing
how?”

“Some experts, not all, think it is burning itself out. Apparently, it was too lethal, killed too quickly. Getting the vaccinated out to help the unvaccinated appears to have made a huge difference. Nicholas tells me you thought of that.”

“Somebody else thought of it.”

“Modesty from a man in your condition is quite charming.”

Harvath gave his friend the finger.

Padre Peio smiled. “This isn’t you, Scot.”

“You have no idea, Father.”

“Maybe not. But I think I do.”

Harvath didn’t reply.

“You chose to shoulder a great burden, to do things that no one should ever be asked to do. But you did them, and if you hadn’t, evil would be allowed to run unchecked.”

Harvath still didn’t reply.

Peio was about to say more, but decided to remain silent. He knew Harvath well enough to know that he wasn’t a man to be pushed.

Reaching for the bottle of Jack Daniels, the priest poured himself a cup, sat down against the near wall, and said, “Salud” as he took a drink.

•••

They sat in silence for at least an hour, passing the bottle back and forth while Harvath avoided Peio’s gaze.

“These aren’t the circumstances under which I usually hear confession, but if you’d like to confess, I’ll hear yours,” the priest said.

Harvath started to laugh, and it only built from there.

“What?” Peio asked.

“Someday, when it’s all over and we’re old men, maybe we’ll sit together and I’ll confess. Until then, keeping it inside is what keeps me going.”

The priest knew the feeling all too well, and he nodded. “I understand.”

“In the meantime,” Harvath said, looking around and done wallowing. “I think I need to get back home.”

Padre Peio smiled at him. “I can make that happen.”

CHAPTER 56

Northern Virginia

T
hank you,” Reed Carlton said as he walked onto the nursing home veranda and handed Harvath a hot cup of coffee. “For everything.”

The sun was slowly rising, chasing away the overnight cold. In the parking lot below was the truck Harvath had sent Palmer and Ashby to stuff full of supplies and bring back from Damien’s Clifton Farm estate.

Carlton had promised the nursing home staff that if they stayed and saw to the patients, he would find a way to take care of them and their families. He began by going person-by-person, verifying who had been vaccinated. All of the nursing home staff had, as had most of their family members. Those who hadn’t were made comfortable in their own protected wing.

With that out of the way, he had established a guard schedule. A nursing home with pharmaceuticals and a commercial kitchen was a prime target for looters.

By the time Harvath returned, the looting was still going on, but was much more sporadic. He had insisted on being added to guard duty. Their small group of battle-hardened operators continued to be more than enough to beat back the rabble that came sniffing around.

Twice a day, he spoke to Lara via sat phone and ended each call by telling her how much he loved her. He never spoke of his bloody path through Europe or his bottoming out in Malta. For now, some secrets would still remain a part of who he was.

“How is President Porter?” Harvath asked the Old Man.

“They think he’s going to make it.”

“How?”

“The virus has about a seventy percent lethality. They beat the hell out of it with antivirals, plus an experimental AIDS drug. It seems to be doing the trick.”

“Have they shared that with the other countries?”

“Totally.”

“What about Bentzi and Helena?” Harvath asked.

“They’re both still recovering at Camp Peary. He didn’t get the vaccine like she did, so they’ve also got him on antivirals and under observation. So far, so good.”

“Any word from Jessica Decker?”

“Kinshasa, like the rest of Africa, looks like the Zombie Apocalypse. Very few got the good flu vaccine, but even there African Hemorrhagic Fever has quickly burned out. Your SAS team brought Jambo, Leonce, and Pepsy to Kinshasa and linked up with Decker. From what we hear, they’re weathering the storm. They’re doing okay.”

Harvath was glad to hear that. And with everything else taken care of, it was time for him to go.

Taking a sip of his coffee, he prepared to speak, but the Old Man cut him off. “You need to get going. I’ve reached out to General McCollum. A plane has already been arranged for you.”

•••

As the Cessna Citation X jet raced toward Anchorage, Harvath tried to forget everything that had happened, and instead look forward to what was coming.

Pouring himself a large glass of Woodford Reserve, he put the cork back in the bottle and sat back down in his seat.

As he sipped his drink, he tried to let go. He had done his best. Whatever happened now was beyond his control. Like his mother had said over and over again to him,
you can’t always control the situation you find yourself in, but you can control how you react to it
. It was a nice saying, though he doubted whether his mother had envisaged this kind of situation.

That said, the disease, by all accounts, was slowing. That was a good thing.

In the United States, the government had adopted a duck-and-cover posture. Every effort was being made to take care of the sick, while a quarantine remained in effect in the hopes that the virus would finally burn itself out. All Harvath cared about at this point, though, was getting to Lara.

He slept for a while, but not near enough to kill the time. After watching a movie, he tried to go back to sleep, but it was fitful.

When the jet finally landed in Anchorage, he couldn’t wait to jump out of it and onto the floatplane that would fly him up to Lara and Marco.

Bag in hand, he thanked the pilots and charged down the airstairs, hurrying toward his next leg.

Halfway down, he was surprised to see her standing there, waiting for him. She had never looked more beautiful.

As he moved toward her, he was knocked out of the way by Nicholas’s hounds, Argos and Draco, as they raced down the stairs toward Nina, who was also standing on the tarmac, waiting.

“Kids,” the little man said as he brushed past Harvath. “They never listen.”

Harvath smiled and walked down the last few stairs.

When he reached the bottom, Lara ran up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” he said, kissing her.

“Thank you,” she said.

Harvath looked at her. “
Thank you
for what?”

“For doing what you do. As hard as it is, and as much as I may not like it, thank you.”

He wanted to tell her how the dead weighed on his shoulders, how he wished there was some way he could save those who were still going to die, but he couldn’t.

She “got” him, though not completely. No one really ever would. But she was better than anything he had ever known, and he loved her immeasurably.

“Come here,” he said, pulling her closer and kissing her again. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

Lara was about to respond when his cell phone rang.

“Show me,” she said.

Looking down at his phone, Harvath silenced the ringer and tucked it into his pocket.

“Good start,” she said.

“Tell me what’s next.”

“There’s a little boy who is extremely eager to see you and have you take him fishing.”

“I can’t wait,” Harvath said as he put his arm around her and led everyone toward the waiting floatplane.