The Last Patriot

Harvath was loathe to make such a suggestion, but he felt it had to be said. “I wasn’t necessarily proposing a Marquess of Queensberry approach.”

“I understand,” replied the president. “I also agree. The two gentlemen in question have been watched very closely and we’re also looking into their ties with Saudi Arabia, but as far as we can tell right now they haven’t come into possession of the al-Jazari device.”

“Which means Dodd must still have it.”

“We’ll get to Dodd in a minute,” said the president. “As per the two dead Saudis from UVA, for whom the crown prince is going to be made to answer for, we were able to link them via DNA discovered in their car, as well as additional evidence at the Jefferson Memorial, to the murder of Nura Khalifa, and what has now been classified as the attempted murder of Andrew Salam.

“Mr. Salam was freed last night and is continuing to cooperate with the FBI and D.C. Metro Police.”

Harvath already knew that Susan Ferguson had spent an evening gagged and handcuffed in a rest stop bathroom outside D.C. before being discovered, so he turned his attention to someone else. “How’s Ozbek’s operative, Rasmussen?” he asked.

“He’s going to be fine. He’ll probably be out of the hospital by the end of the week.”

“What about Ozbek?”

The president was quiet for several moments. “Like I said, he’s a good operative, but somebody died under his command in an unsanctioned assignment. From what I’ve been told, he’s an asset we don’t want to lose and I have echoed those sentiments to DCI Vaile.”

“So he’s still with CIA? They didn’t let him go?”

“No, he hasn’t been let go. Officially, Ozbek is on unpaid leave from CIA pending a disciplinary review. Unofficially, he is continuing his unsanctioned surveillance of Omar and Waleed, but let’s talk about Tracy for a minute.”

This was the topic Harvath was most apprehensive about getting to. He felt certain the other shoe was about to drop and that it was going to be full of bad news.

“The French are playing hardball,” said Rutledge, “big time. To tell you the truth, I can’t say that if the situation was reversed we wouldn’t act the same.

“They’re aware of the fact that we know more than we’re letting on. The only way they’ll cooperate with us is on a quid pro quo basis. They won’t consider turning Tracy over until we give them something of equal or greater value.”

“Like what?” asked Harvath.

“Like Matthew Dodd.”

“But we don’t even know where he is.”

“That’s about to change,” replied the president.

Harvath leaned forward. It was the first piece of good news he had heard in days.

“We just learned that Dodd used a satellite phone to contact Omar. He was smart. He kept the call short in order to make it difficult to trace.”

“But you did,” said Harvath, “correct?”

“We know he was calling from somewhere outside the United States.”

“That’s it?”

The president held up his hand. “The Defense Department has a new satellite program that we’ve started using in Iraq and Afghanistan, to track high-value targets who make short SAT phone transmissions. The secretary of defense has his best people standing by. If Dodd uses his phone again, we’ll be able to pinpoint his whereabouts no matter how short the call.”

“What do you want me to do?” asked Harvath.

“I have a plane at Andrew’s ready to go. When we find out where Dodd is, I want you on it. I’m authorizing you to do whatever is necessary to recover the al-Jazari device. Once we have what we need, we can get to work on finalizing Tracy’s exchange. Any questions?”

Harvath shook his head and stood.

As he was nearing the door, the president stopped him. “By the way. Your report mentioned that before Dodd took the device, you managed to get a small bit of writing out of it.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Harvath. “Just one word.”

“What was it?”

Harvath looked back across the Oval Office and said, “Peace.”

CHAPTER 86

VIRGIN GORDA

BRITISH VIRGIN ISLANDS

Located on the North Sound of the small island of Virgin Gorda was one of the best-kept secrets in the world. Accessible only by sea, the Bitter End Yacht Club was the last island outpost before the open waters of the Atlantic.

It was where Matthew Dodd and his wife, Lisa, had spent their honeymoon and to where Dodd had now returned.

He had flown into Tortola’s Beef Island airport and walked the three hundred yards to Trellis Bay where the boat he had chartered was waiting. Though he could have taken the high speed ferry to Bitter End, Dodd didn’t want to mingle with other people. He had come to be alone.