The Last Patriot - Brad Thor [116]
Tucking his shirt back in, he noticed the blood on it and that gave him an idea. Turning to Nichols, he said, “Give me that piece of paper for a second.”
As he did, Harvath grabbed his Poplar Forest information packet and spread its contents on the desk.
Crouching down so that he could have the device at eye level, Harvath stacked several of the brochures until they came to just beneath the level of the scribe’s quill. He then tilted the scribe back, slid Nichols’ piece of paper atop the brochure and then put his thumb in his mouth and pulled the dried Krazy Glue off his skin with his teeth.
After wetting the scribe’s quill with his blood, Harvath tilted him back down. With the nib against the paper, he started turning the handle again. As he did, Arabic writing began to materialize on the page.
“My God,” said Nichols.
“You mean Allah, don’t you?” joked Ozbek as he slapped Harvath on the back. “Well done.”
Harvath smiled. Looking at Jonathan Moss, he asked, “Do you have any bottles of writing ink anywhere?”
Moss was so amazed it took him a moment to register Harvath’s request. “Yes we do,” he finally said. “I’ll go get some.”
As he left, Harvath wrapped the bottom of his shirt around his bleeding thumb again.
“You know,” remarked Ozbek, “Saddam Hussein had a whole Koran written in his own blood. I thought SEALs were supposed to be tough guys.”
Harvath mumbled a good-natured “Fuck you” as he opened the tube of Krazy Glue again with his teeth and resealed his wound.
“I can’t believe it,” said Nichols as he stared at the scribe clock.
“Believe it,” replied Harvath who retrieved the page from beneath the scribe’s quill and opened the lid to look inside again. “When Moss gets back, we’ll reset it and get the whole message from the beginning.”
“I only wish Marwan could have been here to see this.”
“I know,” said Harvath as he put his hand on the professor’s shoulder and they stood there admiring the machine and the awesome impact it was going to have.
Five minutes later, Poplar Forest’s director walked back into the room. The first thing Harvath noticed was that his hands were empty and he had a look on his face like he was being chased by the Headless Horseman himself. Harvath was about to ask him what was wrong when he noticed someone behind him.
Susan Ferguson began sobbing as she appeared in the doorway with a suppressed weapon tight against her head held by none other than Matthew Dodd.
Harvath and Ozbek drew their pistols.
“Easy, gentlemen,” said Dodd with a smile. “Now, drop the guns on the floor and kick them over here.”
When the men hesitated, Dodd readjusted his aim and shot Jonathan Moss through his left shoulder.
The Poplar Forest director screamed in agony.
“Weapons on the floor and kick them over here now,” yelled Dodd.
Harvath and Ozbek reluctantly complied. Neither of them had even a halfway decent shot. If they’d had, they would have taken it, but as it was, Dodd was using both Susan Ferguson and the doorframe to his utmost advantage.
“Good,” said Dodd, who then shouted at Moss, “Get over here and pick those up.”
The man was crying and rapidly going into shock. His right hand was clamped down over his shoulder which was becoming soaked with blood.
Dodd repeated the command and punctuated it by firing a round into the floor near Moss’ feet.
The director stumbled over to the weapons and picked them up. Remaining near the floor with his head down, he handed them up one at a time to Dodd.
“Now go get that clock,” ordered the assassin, “and all the papers on that desk.”
Harvath was standing in front of the device, with the back of his legs pressed up against the desk. As Moss approached, Dodd indicated with two quick flicks of his weapon for Harvath to move out of the way.
Harvath knew better than to tempt Dodd. Lowering his hands against his sides, he gestured for Nichols to move to his left, closer to Ozbek. Once Nichols had done so, Harvath followed.
“Bring it here,” said