The Last Patriot - Brad Thor [90]
After his phone call with the president from Paris, Harvath hadn’t expected the subject to be brought up again. The president’s humility spoke to the strength of character that Harvath had always admired in him.
Rutledge came around to Harvath’s side of the table and extended his hand once more. “I only want you to take it if you truly accept my apology.”
Harvath didn’t need to think about it and he didn’t need to hear any more. Firmly and without hesitation, he gripped the president’s hand and forgave him.
“Good,” said Rutledge as he lined up his next shot. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I can give you what you came for.”
CHAPTER 63
Aydin Ozbek sat in his house alone with the lights out and only a bottle of Maker’s Mark to keep him company. It had been one of the worst days of his life.
Rasmussen’s gunshot wound was more serious than he had thought. Without the tourniquet pants he would have bled out and died in the apartment. He was lucky to be alive.
Then there was Stephanie Whitcomb. Her throat had been slashed ear-to-ear. When Ozbek found her, she was already dead. There was nothing he could have done to save her.
Her body lay in the back of his truck under a blanket while he transported Rasmussen to the nearest level one trauma center and dumped him at the Emergency Room entrance.
It was cold, but necessary. Raz would have done the same thing had the situation been reversed. It was better if only one of them was compromised and had to deal with all the BS that came with seeking treatment for a bullet wound. It was also better that the Denali with Stephanie Whitcomb’s body in back not be discovered either.
Bruce Selleck, the NCS Director, had gone absolutely ape shit when Ozbek had called him and explained why he needed to see him at Langley as soon as possible.
When he showed up and Ozbek told him what had happened, Selleck gave him the ass-chewing of his life. Ozbek deserved it. He had overstepped his authority in a big way. They had one dead operative and another in the hospital, and the entire undertaking threatened to burn the agency to the ground.
Running ops on American soil was completely forbidden. It didn’t matter what the prize was. Ozbek had colossally fucked up.
The Agency had to bullshit the hospital on Rasmussen’s gunshot wound to avoid an investigation and deal with Whitcomb’s murder and what to do with her body. The woman had a family, friends. She couldn’t just vanish. Besides, that wasn’t how the CIA liked to do business.
Selleck debriefed Ozbek himself and then sent his “good for nothing” ass home and told him not to come back to work until the Agency decided what it was going to do with him.
As if that wasn’t enough, there was a message waiting for Ozbek on his voice mail when he got back to his house. It was the vet. Shelby had succumbed to her cancer and had passed away. Ozbek was crushed.
Though there was nothing else he could have done for his dog, he hadn’t wanted her to die without him. He had been selfish in making her hang on this long. He should have ended her suffering days, if not weeks, ago.
And though he knew it was shallow to dwell on his dog’s passing, the pain he felt was simply training wheels for having to deal with Stephanie’s death.
The shock from it all was starting to wear off and he had no intention of facing the guilt over her murder by himself. That was why the Maker’s Mark sat on the table in front of him.
He had already passed through the first stage of grief—denial. This can’t be happening raced through his mind repeatedly as he drove Stephanie Whitcomb’s body back to Virginia.
Then came the anger stage. Ozbek was masterful at that one. He had a lot of anger and he wasn’t stingy with it. It was misplaced, he knew, and Selleck almost punched his lights out for trying to project some of it in his direction rather than at himself.
From anger, Ozbek moved to the third phase—bargaining, except his deal making with God had a vengeful twist. He offered God anything He wanted, as long as Ozbek could be allowed