The Last Patriot - Brad Thor [124]
The DST operative asked if his agency could have a clean exclusive on the list, meaning it could take full credit for developing the names on the list and trust that the CIA would stay quiet. Harvath assured him they would. That left only one problem.
The Frenchman sitting aboard Harvath’s boat had been assigned the job of personally telephoning the president of France once he had Dodd in his custody. The fact that Dodd was dead, and had been killed by the Americans no less, would not go over well. It quickly became apparent that his biggest concern was the French president’s reputation for shooting his messengers.
Harvath reached below the bunk Dodd’s corpse was lying on and withdrew Imad Ramadan’s pistol. Handing it to the DST operative, Harvath said, “If you hadn’t reacted so quickly, he would have killed us both,” and fell silent.
The intelligence agent processed the angles. “I’m going to need to make a couple of phone calls,” he said, “but I believe we may be able to work this out.”
Harvath could see the wheels turning in his mind as he ran through the list of people he would invite to his Legion of Honor ceremony.
They met forty-five minutes later at a nearby beach where Harvath quietly brought the body ashore and helped load it into the intelligence agent’s trunk.
As the man prepared to leave, Harvath put his hand on his car door and said, “There’s one other thing I’m going to need.”
“It’s her,” said Harvath as Tracy Hastings climbed out of the DST operative’s car and began walking down the dock. It was the second delivery the DST agent had made that day.
Thanking the president, Harvath disconnected the call and set the encrypted satellite phone down.
Hopping onto the pier, he made a beeline straight for her. Despite everything that had happened, she had a smile on her face that cut right through him. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Chucking decorum, Harvath ran for her.
When they met halfway in the middle of the dock, they wrapped their arms around each other so tightly, he was afraid he was going to crush the air from her lungs.
“Don’t ever leave me like that again,” he said.
Tracy untangled her arms and reached up to hold Scot’s face with both of her hands. “I love you,” she said.
“I love you too,” he replied. “But don’t ever—”
Tracy kissed him before he could finish his sentence.
Finally, Harvath broke their embrace and asked, “How are you feeling? Are you okay? The flight was all right?”
“The flight was fine,” said Tracy. “I’m fine. The swelling is all gone. I’m just supposed to watch my stress.”
Harvath smiled and hugged her again. “Do you think you can handle being out on the water?”
“What kind of question is that to ask a United States Naval officer?”
“The S.S. Harvath is a tight ship,” he replied. “I’m very picky about my crew. I only sail with the best.”
Tracy laughed and conspiratorially looked over both shoulders. “I don’t exactly see people lining up for the job.”
“Actually,” said Harvath, “the rest of the crew is already aboard.”
“The rest of the crew?”
Turning around to face the boat, Harvath placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled.
In a blinding flash of white, Bullet appeared from belowdecks and started barking.
“We’ve got two weeks until the president wants me back in Washington,” he said. “Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t care,” Tracy replied as she grabbed his chin for emphasis, “as long as we’re the only…ones…there.”
EPILOGUE
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Andrew Salam and his dog stepped inside from the rain, and he searched through his coat closet for the ratty old towel he used to clean the dog’s paws. Once all the mud was gone, he kicked off his running shoes and followed his dog into the kitchen where he filled his bowls with food and fresh water.
Grabbing a bottle of Evian from the fridge for himself, he spun