The Last Patriot

“Omar, listen to me. The American people are not with us. They are afraid of us. But they are more afraid of being politically incorrect, and we have made that work for us. Make no mistake, though, there is a limit even to that, and we are getting very close to having overplayed our hand. If we are not absolutely careful, absolutely vigilant, the tide of political correctness will turn against us.”

The sheik laughed.

“You think this is funny?” asked Waleed.

Omar looked at the man. “You overestimate the people of this nation. They are soft and stupid. The reason political correctness and multiculturalism exists is because they are too lazy to hold others to what it once meant to be an American. This nation is dying and we are not the problem; we are the solution. Islam-true, pure Islam-is what will save America.”

“If Paris was a failure, though, there may no longer be a true, pure Islam. Not as we know it at least.”

“Paris was unsuccessful because we overreached,” said Dodd as he looked at Omar. “That is not going to happen anymore.”

The inference was clear and Waleed found it quite bold. Dodd was blaming Omar for what happened in Paris. Looking at the sheik, Waleed said, “You mentioned other problems. What other problems?”

“The CIA located my apartment in Baltimore,” replied Dodd.

“How?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that as a result, one of their operatives is dead and another is wounded. It will be chaos at Langley.”

“What matters,” clarified Waleed, “is the timing of all of this. The information had to have come from Salam.”

“But he had no idea who his handler was,” interjected Omar. “He believed he was working for the FBI.”

“Abdul is right,” said Dodd as he tried to unravel it. “Somehow the authorities were able to make the connection. It had to have come from Salam.”

“You need to disappear again,” stated Waleed. “Go anywhere. Just get out of the country and stay hidden.”

Omar held up his hand. “Not yet. Not until his work here is done.”

“What work? The professor who was assisting Marwan Khalifa? Anthony Nichols?” asked Waleed.

The sheik nodded.

“Let your talented Saudi operatives handle him. No, wait, I forgot. They’re the reason Salam is still alive in the first place.”

Omar’s blood pressure was rising again. He didn’t need Waleed’s sarcasm. He was just about to rebuke the man when the telephone on his desk rang. Picking it up, he listened for a moment and then hung up. Reaching for his television remote he said, “There’s been a shooting at the University of Virginia. A bad one. Apparently, it is all over the news.”

CHAPTER 61

With the windshield missing and bullet holes on each side, Harvath knew he wouldn’t make it very far in his Trailblazer. After several minutes of driving, he discovered a heavily wooded access road that boarded the 573-acre Boar’s Head Inn Resort.

Harvath pulled off the road and drove as far as he could into the woods before shutting down the engine. Sticking to the trees, he crept around the edge of the golf course until he reached the inn. The valets were extremely busy, and it didn’t take Harvath long to find what he was looking for.

A queue of cars, with their keys in the ignitions, sat waiting to be parked. Harvath never liked doing things the hard way if he didn’t have to. Walking up to a green Volvo sedan like he owned it, Harvath slid inside, started it up, and pulled away from the inn.

It took him a few moments to get his bearings and find the access road, but once he did, he drove straight to the spot in the woods where he had hidden his Trailblazer.

Harvath took the license plates off his SUV and transferred everything, including all of the weapons, into the trunk of the Volvo and then carefully made his way home.

“I’ll send a team down to pick up your car and have them drop the one you borrowed where it’ll be found,” said Lawlor as Harvath removed the last of his gear from the Volvo. “I’ll get to work on the police at UVA as well.”

Harvath reached into his pocket and removed the memory card from the camera phone. “This has photos of the two men I shot,” he said as he handed it to Gary, “as well as a picture of their license plate.”

“The car’s probably stolen, but we’ll run it anyway. Do you need anything else while I’m out?”

Harvath shook his head.

“Okay,” said Gary as he got into the Volvo. “I’ll requisition a car for you and be back by seven so you’ll have plenty of time to make it into D.C.”