The Last Patriot - Brad Thor [71]
“No one,” replied Nichols.
“No assistants? No grad students? No girlfriend?”
“Don’t I wish,” said Nichols as he rose and crossed to the galley.
“Where did you do your research?” asked Harvath.
The professor filled the kettle with water and turned on the stove. “Everywhere. The UVA library. Monticello. The Library of Congress.”
“The White House?”
“Off and on,” said Nichols. “I also brought a lot of source material home with me, but per the president, I didn’t keep any handwritten notes. All of my work was kept on a flash drive.”
“Where is it?”
“Hidden in my office.”
Harvath shot him a look.
“Very well hidden,” he added.
“Is it encrypted?” asked Harvath.
“I used an open-source, on-the-fly encryption program called True-Crypt. Even if I was forced to give up the password, it provides two levels of plausible deniability. The president signed off on it.”
“Did you pay any research firms to conduct research on your behalf?”
“Again, no,” said Nichols. “I bought articles about Jefferson off the Web and paid for them with my own credit card and reimbursed myself out of the account the president had established for me. Any books I needed and didn’t want to check out of the library, I purchased over the Internet and paid for the same way.”
“Chat rooms? Lectures you attended? Other scholars you reached out to besides Marwan?” inquired Harvath.
“Nope,” said Nichols as he retrieved a spoon from a drawer in the galley. “Then Marwan has to be your leak. Whoever is on your tail is there because he said the wrong thing to the wrong people.”
“That’s impossible. Marwan wants this project to be successful just as much as we do.”
Harvath was about to reply when the laptop in his stateroom started beeping with an incoming call.
CHAPTER 48
The caller ID on the incoming VoIP call showed up as unavailable. Having given the number for this account to only one person, Harvath assumed it was Gary Lawlor. He was wrong.
“Hello, Scot,” said the voice as Harvath put his headset on and accepted the call. “It’s been a while.”
Not long enough, thought Harvath as he recognized the voice of President Rutledge. Several emotions coursed through his body, including anger at Lawlor for blindsiding him with this phone call. “Hello, Mr. President,” he said flatly.
Rutledge had no reason to expect a warm reception after what Harvath had been through. “We need to talk.”
“Yes, we do,” replied Harvath, unashamed of his priorities. “What’s being done for Tracy?”
The president looked down at the update Lawlor had handed him before initiating the call. “She has experienced some swelling of the brain. That’s where the headaches have come from. The doctors think it may have been brought on by stress. They are starting her on medication and will keep her for observation.”
“What are you specifically doing to help her?”
“Everything I can,” said Rutledge, “and in exchange, I need you to help me.”
Harvath was silent.
Rutledge waited for him to respond and when he didn’t, the president said, “I know you disagree with the way I handled things and I know you hold me responsible for what happened. I can live with that. But what you need to understand is that I made my decisions, as I always have, based on what I believed to be best for our country.”
“People I care about were killed; even more were injured,” countered Harvath. “A terrorist with a vendetta against me was freed from Guantánamo and when he came after the people I care about, I was told to stand down and not do anything about it.”
“And for that I am truly sorry, but it was a choice I had to make. We need to move past it.”
“You’ll forgive me, Mr. President. I have a problem getting over things that fast.”
Rutledge’s blood pressure was starting to rise. “Do you want me to give you an order? Is that what this has to come down to? My God, if we can’t come together to fight these people what’s going to happen to our nation?
“Listen, you can dislike me all you want, but I know you dislike the enemy more. I also know that