The Last Patriot - Brad Thor [105]
“What do you think it means?”
“Based on the little we have, I can’t be sure.”
“But what we can be sure of,” stated Harvath, “is that it won’t take Dodd very long to figure out where we’re going. They have all of it now—your computer, your notes, the wheel cipher, everything.”
“If this even means anything,” replied Nichols as he held up the folder.
Harvath wasn’t listening. His mind had drifted to Gary. Together with Ozbek, they had supported his neck and had log-rolled him to assess his injuries. Head wounds were notorious for the amount of blood they produced, but even so, when Harvath saw that the man hadn’t been shot, but merely clubbed, he was shocked. Harvath couldn’t understand why, especially after considering all of the people that Dodd had already murdered, Gary hadn’t been killed.
Shortly before the ambulance arrived at Bishop’s Gate, Gary regained consciousness. Having the good sense to be glad that he was still alive never occurred to him. He was too pissed off that Dodd had been able to sneak up on him. He may not be a spring chicken, but he was very good at what he did, and Harvath could tell he was embarrassed. The last thing Gary ever would have wanted to appear was old. In the world of counterterrorism, operators needed to possess both brains and physical ability. Any suggestion that you weren’t up to snuff in either department was cause for concern, and Gary knew it.
Within minutes of coming to, he wanted to take control. Though both Ozbek and Harvath assumed he had a skull fracture, he pushed them away and struggled to sit up. Gary was at his best managing difficult situations.
He demanded a full rundown of what had happened. Harvath knew better than to deny him.
Once he had a picture of what they believed had taken place and he understood the extent to which their operation had been compromised, he started issuing orders. Chief among them was the edict that Harvath would not ride to the hospital with him. Time was everything at this point.
Harvath knew he was right. The only question was what their next move should be.
Having finally discovered the small tracking device after sweeping his Denali, Ozbek was very much in favor of throwing hoods over the heads of Sheik Omar and Abdul Waleed, dragging them back to Harvath’s, and applying pressure until they gave up all that they knew.
The idea did have a certain appeal to it, Harvath had to admit, but they were going to get only one chance to confront those two. He preferred to relegate kidnapping them to Plan B. Right now, the best possible outcome would be to get to the prize before Dodd. Hooking the jumper cables up to Omar and Waleed could very easily buy Dodd the time he needed to beat them to Mohammed’s final revelation. And once that happened, regardless of what Omar and Waleed might tell them, the chances were very good that Dodd would disappear and along with him the revelation.
Harvath swung out from behind the slow moving car in front of them and pushed down hard on the accelerator.
CHAPTER 76
Susan Ferguson, the curator for Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello, met them a quarter mile past the estate in the circular blacktop drive of the International Center for Jefferson Studies. She was a tall, attractive brunette in her early forties casually dressed in blue jeans and a fleece with a walkie-talkie clipped to her waist.
When the professor climbed out of the truck, the two shared an affectionate hug. “It’s good to see you, Anthony,” said Ferguson.
“You too, Susan,” he replied. “Thanks for coming in on your day off.”
“Well, you said it was urgent.” Ferguson’s voice trailed off as she noticed both of the well-built men Nichols was traveling with get out of the vehicle behind him. They had cop, or soldier, or something she couldn’t exactly describe written all over them. Though she didn’t see any weapons, she had a feeling that they were armed. “What’s going on?” she asked.
Nichols pointed to his companions and said, “Susan, I’d like to introduce you to Scot Harvath