The Last Patriot

Jabbing the M4 through his broken window, Harvath ignored the rounds coming at him from the Nissan and depressed his trigger. When he hit the final round, he dropped his spent magazine and reloaded with a spare from the reserve carrier in record time.

After whipping his head around in search of any additional threats, Harvath fired fifteen more rounds into his attackers’ vehicle and then exited the passenger side of his SUV.

As he crept to the back of his Trailblazer, his head was on a swivel. Scan and breathe, he told himself. Scan and breathe. Don’t get taken by surprise.

His weapon was up and in the firing position as he slipped out from behind his vehicle and approached the blue Nissan. All around him, UVA students were screaming and running for cover.

When he drew even with the driver’s side window he saw that the driver had sustained multiple shots to his head and torso and was definitely dead.

In the distance, Harvath could hear the staccato cry of approaching police cars. He opened the Nissan’s door and pulled the driver’s corpse out onto the street. He patted him down, but didn’t find any identification. He assumed it would probably be the same for his partner lying dead on the sidewalk.

Harvath swung his head around once again and this time caught some imbecile with a camera phone actually trying to take his picture. Without even thinking, he raised his weapon and pointed it at him. “Drop it,” he ordered.

The terrified student did as he was told.

“Now get lost,” ordered Harvath.

As he watched the idiot take off, he walked over and retrieved the phone. The sound of police cars was getting closer. Harvath didn’t have much time.

Hopping in the still idling Nissan, he threw it in reverse and backed up enough to be able to get his SUV out. Then, careful not to leave any prints, he did a quick sweep of the car for anything that might tell him who these guys were or who they worked for-visors, center console, glove box; all of it was empty.

After retrieving the man’s weapon, Harvath jumped out and used the camera phone he had confiscated to take two quick pictures of the driver and then one of the license plates.

He repeated the process with the corpse in the windbreaker, who as he had suspected wasn’t carrying ID either, and then pitched the men’s guns into the back of his Trailblazer.

Using two ratty towels he kept in back, he quickly wrapped them around his front and rear license plates and hopped into his SUV.

Screaming out of the parking space, he put as much distance between himself and the University of Virginia as fast as he could.

CHAPTER 60

UM AL-QURA MOSQUE

FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

“What’s he doing here?” said Abdul Waleed as he walked into Sheik Omar’s office.

Matthew Dodd, his face badly scratched, was sitting on the couch. “As sala’amu alaikum, brother,” he replied. Even though he’d been wearing the female CIA operative’s vest at his apartment when he’d been shot, his chest still hurt like hell. It was difficult to speak or breathe deeply.

Waleed hesitated a moment and then replied, “Walaikum as sala’am.”

“Our operation in Paris was unsuccessful,” stated Omar. “There are other problems as well.”

Waleed’s eyes shot back to Dodd. This was not what he needed to hear right now. He had spent the morning getting grilled by the FBI about Nura Khalifa and Andrew Salam. His nerves were shot. Pointing his finger at Dodd, he said, “All of the problems have been your fault.”

“Stop,” ordered Omar as he waved the director of FAIR to a chair. The sheik didn’t want another fight in his office. He’d already gone apoplectic with Dodd and his blood pressure was just now finally coming back under control. “When what we want doesn’t happen, we must learn to want what does.”

More proverbs, thought Waleed. “Mahmood, the FBI know everything.”

“Everything?” questioned the sheik. “I don’t think so. They know only what Andrew Salam has told them and Salam is a liar and a murderer.”

“But even liars sometimes tell the truth,” replied Waleed, tossing a desert proverb right back into the imam’s lap. “I’m telling you the FBI believes what Salam is telling them.”

“How can you know this?”

“Because I saw it on every one of their faces. I heard it in their voices; in every one of their questions. They know what we have been doing. And what they don’t know, they assume and their assumptions are correct!”

“Calm down,” said Omar. “We need to remember to believe what we see and lay aside what we hear.”

Waleed shook his head in disgust. “We have underestimated them.”

“They have no evidence. The American people will never allow a Muslim witch hunt. Islamophobia, remember?”