Full Black (33 page)

“In the meantime, I’m not letting him near the ketamine.”

“Probably a good idea,” said Harvath, who sensed their conversation was winding down.

“I’ve got to get back. I’ll call you if I learn anything new.”

“I appreciate it. Thanks for keeping me in the loop.”

“Sure thing,” she replied. “Stay safe.”

“You, too,” he answered and then disconnected the call and set the phone back on his nightstand.

She didn’t have to call him. She could have had the Old Man or even Chase do it. He was glad that she had contacted him personally.

Harvath sat there propped up in bed and debated whether he should try to grab some more sleep. Though the quality of what he’d been able to get so far was marginal at best, he’d still been out for ten hours. What he needed now was some exercise.

Getting out of bed, he got dressed in a pair of shorts and an Atomic Dog T-shirt. A creature of habit, he tucked a loaded Taurus 9mm Slim semiautomatic into a belly band and headed downstairs.

He bypassed the coffeemaker and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. After hydrating, he pulled on his running shoes and stepped outside. It was a perfect day, sunny and with a light breeze.

His house was a small, renovated eighteenth-century stone church known as Bishop’s Gate that stood on several acres of land overlooking the Potomac River, just south of George Washington’s Mount Vernon estate. During the Revolutionary War, the Anglican reverend of Bishop’s Gate had been an outspoken loyalist who had provided sanctuary and aid to British spies. As a result, the colonial army had attacked the church, inflicting grave damage.

It lay in ruins until 1882, when the Office of Naval Intelligence, or ONI, was established to seek out and report on the enormous post–Civil War explosion in technological capabilities of other foreign navies. Several covert ONI agent training centers were established up and down the eastern seaboard to instruct Naval attachés and military affairs officers on the collection of intelligence and the finer aspects of espionage.

Because of its isolated yet prime location not far from Washington, D.C., Bishop’s Gate was secretly rebuilt and became the ONI’s first covert officer training school. As the oldest continuously operating intelligence service in the nation, the ONI eventually outgrew Bishop’s Gate. The stubby yet elegant church with its stone rectory was relegated to “mothball” status.

The Navy had many such properties in its inventory, but the majority of those suitable for use as dwellings were reserved for high-level defectors and other displaced political personages the United States government found itself responsible for.

Regardless of a property’s status, if it fell within the U.S. Navy’s portfolio, the U.S. Navy was responsible for maintaining it. With so many properties to look after, maintenance and carrying costs were quite high. This, coupled with the fact that Harvath, a U.S. Navy SEAL, had shown exemplary service to the nation, played a large role in the secretary of the Navy’s agreeing to a special arrangement suggested by the former president of the United States.

The church building and the attached rectory, which had been converted into a nice-sized house, came to more than four thousand square feet of living space. Those structures, along with a garage, an outbuilding, and the extensive grounds of Bishop’s Gate, had been deeded to Harvath in a ninety-nine-year lease. Per the lease he was to pay a token rent of one U.S. dollar per annum. All that was required of him was that he maintain the property in a manner befitting its historic status and that he vacate the premises within twenty-four hours if ever given notice, with or without cause, by the United States Navy.

While Harvath had gone above and beyond for the president, he had still been stunned to be extended such a generous offer.

On his first visit, while exploring the rectory attic, he found a beautifully hand-carved piece of wood. Upon it was the motto of the Anglican missionaries. It seemed strangely fitting for the career Harvath had pursued.
TRANSIENS ADIUVANOS
, it read. I go overseas to give help. At that moment, he had known he was home.

That was several years ago, and now he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

Standing on his front steps, he stretched each of his legs. He had decided on a short run, just up to Mount Vernon and back. Once his muscles were warm, he started his jog.

Exercise always had a way of clearing his head and making him feel more energized. Today was no exception. He didn’t think about work at all. He thought about the things he needed to get done around his house. He thought about getting out on the Potomac and doing a little sailing. He also thought about what kind of ruse he could run to get Riley Turner to D.C. for a visit.

A few miles later, at the entrance to Mount Vernon, he turned around, picked up his pace, and ran back. When he returned to the bottom of his driveway, he stopped and walked the rest of the way to the house, allowing his body to cool down. It had been a good workout and the endorphins were racing through his body.

Passing through the kitchen, he ignored the coffee machine again and headed upstairs for a quick shower. When he was finished, he threw the temperature selector to the coldest setting and forced himself to remain under the ice-cold water for a full thirty seconds. It was better than three shots of espresso.

He toweled off and shaved at the sink. When he was done shaving, he walked into his bedroom and grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt from his closet. It had been a while since he’d had time all to himself to do whatever he wanted. The last couple of months had been a blur.

Because it was Saturday, there were plenty of people Harvath could have called to meet for drinks, but traffic in and out of D.C. would be a nightmare. He also had a policy of not going out for the first couple of nights after getting back from an operation. He knew himself well enough to know that he might feel good now, but in an hour or two he could be ready to crash again. He’d be better company on another night. Besides, sometimes he enjoyed spending the evening alone.

With his fridge all but empty, cooking wasn’t an option. Grabbing his keys, he headed outside and hopped into his truck.

Twenty minutes and two stops later, he had returned with a six-pack of beer and a bag of barbecue from Johnny Mac’s Rib Shack.

Parking the car, he breezed through the house long enough to drop four of the beers in the fridge, kick off his shoes, and grab a roll of paper towels before heading down to his dock.

It was officially fall, but northern Virginia was enjoying a nice Indian summer. Having been on the road so much, Harvath was grateful to be enjoying at least a small piece of it.

Walking to the end of his pier, he sat down and leaned against one of the posts. Out on the water, there were plenty of boaters getting a head start on their weekend and enjoying what was left of the quickly fading daylight.

Harvath opened one of the beers and took a long sip. He’d made the right choice by staying in tonight. Right now, there wasn’t any place he’d rather be than sitting right there looking out over the Potomac. No matter how often he traveled or how long he was gone, when he thought about home, this was what he thought about, a couple of beers and his pier. This was the one place in the world where he always felt the most relaxed. It was the one place where he seemed to be able to leave his problems, at least most of them, back on the shore.

Taking another drink, he watched as a boat passed by, pulling a young skier in a wetsuit. Inside the boat, Mom, Dad, and a sibling cheered. Harvath smiled. It reminded him not only of why he did what he did, but also of what he hoped to have for himself at some point in time.

Reaching into his bag from Johnny Mac’s, he pulled out a barbecued pork sandwich and tore a paper towel from the roll. As he watched the sky begin to turn orange, he figured the evening was just about perfect. The only thing that could have made it better was having someone else there to share it with him. For the moment, he was happy to take what he had been given. He knew all too well that perfect moments had a way of getting shattered.

CHAPTER 42

D
ES
M
OINES
, I
OWA

T
he Century Theater multiplex in Jordan Creek was the perfect place to see your very first movie. They had twenty screens, stadium seating, an arcade area, and even ice cream at the concession counter. Mike Bentley smiled at his wife, Shannon, as their five-year-old twins grabbed their hands and pulled them through the parking lot in hopes of speeding up their parents’ pace.

“Mom, you’re too slow,” complained Trevor.

“C’mon, Dad,” said Tyler. “C’mon!”

Just to drive the boys nuts, Mike pretended he had pulled a hamstring and began to limp. The twins cried out in protest. Mike teased them a moment more and then gave in and the family increased their pace.

The closest the twins had ever been to a movie theater was the DVD player in the back of Shannon’s minivan. Tonight would be their first real movie theater experience.

It was opening weekend for a new animated family movie that Mike and Shannon had heard great things about. They had read all of the books in the series to the boys and decided this would be the perfect first film experience for them. Mike, an Iowa state trooper, had even arranged to have the night off so they could all go together. Shannon had suggested that maybe an afternoon matinee would be better, but the boys had insisted that nobody goes to movies in the daytime. “If you want to see a real movie,” they had said, “you have to go when it’s dark.” In the face of such wonderful child logic, Shannon found she couldn’t say no.

The boys had taken a nap that afternoon, and when they came down from their room, their mother and father were bowled over to see that they had dressed up for their evening out. They wore matching khaki trousers, blue blazers, white button-down shirts, and matching, striped clip-on ties. It was so incredibly sweet that Shannon had trouble keeping herself together. Even sweeter was that the boys insisted that their parents get dressed up for the big event as well.

Mike and Shannon complied. When everyone was ready to go, they piled into the minivan and drove to Pizza Hut, the boys’ favorite restaurant, for dinner. Everyone commented on how handsome the boys looked. Mike and Shannon were very proud. According to his wife, Mike was actually beaming at one point.

Trevor and Tyler did a great job of not spilling anything on their nice outfits and actually passed on dessert in order to save room for popcorn at the theater.

After paying for the tickets, Mike handed one to each of their sons and allowed them to hand them to the ticket taker, who tore them in half and guided the family to theater number six.

“Anybody want to play some video games before the movie starts?” Mike asked.

Trevor looked at him. “Dad, first we’ve got to get our popcorn and then we have to get our seats.”

“Yeah,” said Tyler. “If you don’t get your seats early, you have to sit in the front row and you end up with a whole creek in your neck.”

“Who told you that?”

“Grandpa,” the boys said in unison.

Mike looked at his wife and shook his head. Shannon’s father lived with them and the boys never made a move without conferring with him. They’d wanted him to come along with them tonight, but his emphysema had been bugging him and he didn’t have the strength to drag his oxygen around with him. Mike loved the man like he was his own father, but he was enjoying its just being the four of them tonight.

“Well, I don’t want anybody getting a crick in their neck,” he said, winking at Shannon, “so I guess we’d better get our popcorn and hurry up to our seats.”

When asked by the concession stand attendant what size popcorn they wanted, the boys each requested an extra-large. Shannon tried to talk them out of it, but they had brought money along from their piggybanks, wanting to help pay for the evening, and they insisted.

“If they don’t finish them, they don’t finish them,” Mike whispered to his wife.

“And if they get sick in the car on the ride home,” she replied, “Daddy gets to clean it up.”

Mike smiled and gave Shannon a pinch right in the spot that always made her yelp. She laughed and slapped his hand away, then told the boys they could each have their own popcorn bag if they ordered the small. Negotiations began in earnest and Shannon caved, allowing each of the boys to have a medium.

Popcorn and drinks in hand, Mike Bentley led his family toward theater number six. As they walked in, the boys’ eyes widened at the enormous space. Despite what Grandpa had said, both of the boys said they wanted to sit in the front row. Though there was no such thing as a bad seat in a modern theater like the Century, Mike was happy when Tyler spotted a group of four seats about halfway up and close to the middle. When it came to seats, he’d always been a middle/middle kind of guy, and he was pleased to see that it was obviously a characteristic passed down on the Y chromosome.

A lot of families had turned out for the movie. The theater was quickly filling up and more families were still pouring in.