The Last Patriot - Brad Thor [20]
Down a short flight of steps were a kitchen, three staterooms with baths, and the main living and dining space. Harvath excused himself and headed toward the main cabin in the stern.
He closed the door behind him and crossed to a built-in bookcase. Running two fingers along the top, he found the hidden hasp and pushed down. A section came forward on hinges and Harvath opened it the rest of the way. Inside was an airtight plastic Storm case. Harvath lifted it out and placed it upon the bed.
The case held a loaded .45 caliber Taurus 24/7 OSS pistol with a sound suppressor and two spare magazines. There was also a small manila envelope with ten thousand euros in cash. The Sargasso program was prepared for any eventuality.
Harvath divided the gear amongst his coat pockets and then put the empty case back where he’d found it.
After powering up the stateroom’s laptop and sending an encrypted message to Finney and Parker to let them know they’d made it safely aboard the péniche, he rejoined Tracy and Nichols in the living area.
Nichols was sitting on the couch with a bag of ice clutched against his jaw with one hand and a glass of Scotch from the barge’s well-stocked bar in the other. Tracy was at the varnished kitchen counter holding an orange bottle of prescription medication.
Harvath slid into the galley beside her and quietly asked, “What are those? Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” she replied as her hand closed around the bottle of painkillers. “They’re just for headaches.”
She shook two tablets into the palm of her hand and popped them into her mouth. “Excuse me,” she said as she nudged Harvath out of the way to get to the refrigerator.
Reaching inside, Tracy removed a small bottle of Evian, unscrewed the cap, and took a long swallow.
“Since when have you been taking the pills?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said as she brushed past him and walked into the seating area. “Really, I’ll be fine.”
The headaches had come and gone ever since she’d left the hospital, but they had been mild and Tracy had a very high threshold for pain. The bottle was half-empty, and he wondered how long she had been hiding the severity from him.
It was a talk they would have to have later. Right now, he needed to focus on Nichols. Removing a bottle of Evian for himself, Harvath joined Tracy on the short couch across from the man who’d been the target of both a car bombing and a sniper attack all in the space of one day.
As they had already explained to the professor who they were, formal introductions were not necessary.
“So, Mr. Nichols,” said Harvath. “Let’s talk about what you and the president are working on and why someone apparently wants you dead.”
“It’s a long story.”
Harvath fixed his eyes on him. “Try to make it short.”
CHAPTER 15
“Why don’t you start with how you and the president got together in the first place?” said Harvath.
Nichols knew that he had no choice but to comply. His mind was drawn back to the night he was summoned to the White House to meet with the president. “The president said he had read several of my books and had selected me because of my expertise as a Thomas Jefferson historian.”
“Selected you for what?”
“To act as his archivist to help organize his papers and other things for his presidential library.”
“Isn’t that what the National Archives is supposed to do?” asked Tracy.
“That’s correct, but most presidents have someone on their staff or someone they bring in from the outside go through the materials before the National Archives comes in. It allowed me to come and go from the White House and the residence without arousing any suspicion.”
“Suspicion over what?” asked Harvath.
Nichols took a deep breath. “In the wake of 9/11, the president sought to comfort a grieving nation, but he also needed comfort. More importantly, as he explained it to me, he needed guidance. And he found it in a White House diary Thomas Jefferson had kept during his presidency.
“President Rutledge had believed that fundamentalist Islam was an enemy the