The Last Patriot

Though Harvath had done his undergrad work at the University of Southern California he had been to the academy a handful of times. On three of those occasions, he had eaten at the academy’s private Officers’ amp; Faculty Club. At the end of each meal he had walked east across the street and down a simple brick pathway to admire the oldest military monument in the United States.

Known as the Tripoli Monument, it was sculpted in 1806 to commemorate the heroes of the first war against the Barbary pirates. Echoing seventeenth-century allegorical style it was made of the same Italian Carrera marble used by Michelangelo. Its central feature was a tall “rostral column” identical to the one used in Rome’s Colosseum. It was studded with the carved prows of enemy ships and capped with a majestic American Eagle.

The square pedestal upon which the column rested depicted the turbaned heads of Islamic pirates.

Around the outside of the monument were a winged angel representing Fame and a female scribe representing History recording the deeds of the brave American heroes who fought against the Muslims. Commerce was shown honoring the heroes’ role in preserving America’s right to trade unmolested by the Muslim pirates in the Mediterranean, and finally a maiden with two young children at her feet represented America.

Upon the monument were carved the names of six heroes, cited by Congress for their gallantry, who took brave action on “the shores of Tripoli” against the Muslim pirates before Tripoli’s “pasha” finally relented.

It was a moving tribute to the brave Americans who stood toe-to-toe with Muslim fundamentalists. Before being moved to the academy, the monument had actually stood in front of Congress. There were many, including Harvath, who thought it should be moved back there as a reminder to the Nation’s elected officials of the true nature of the enemy America faced today and the need to stop putting politics and political correctness above principles.

As optimistic as Harvath tended to be, he knew there wasn’t a chance in hell the monument would ever be relocated back to Congress. In fact, there was a movement being spearheaded by a high-ranking Muslim Pentagon official named Imad Ramadan to have it destroyed because it was “offensive” to Muslims and more particularly to Muslim sailors of the U.S. Navy. Ramadan claimed it was beneath the country’s dignity to denigrate Muslims in such a fashion.

Harvath had met Ramadan twice while working at the White House and had thought he was full of shit. From what he could remember, the man had been born somewhere in the Middle East and had immigrated to America for college, after which he spent two decades with the Air Force before joining the Department of Defense. Though his position involved defense affairs, the only affairs he seemed concerned with were those of Muslims-American or otherwise.

He had come as part of a Pentagon delegation to discuss Muslim outreach programs with the president, who had been wise enough to distance himself from the groups Ramadan was trying to get invited into the oval office for cozy photo ops.

Like many Islamic apologists, Ramadan seemed to be in a state of perpetual outrage. Coming on the heels of his orchestrating the firing of the Defense Department’s Islamic jihad specialist for telling the truth about Islam and how it inspires violence, his call to tear down the Tripoli monument rang absolutely hollow. The majority of the people engaged in the war on terror wondered how this Islamist in sheep’s clothing was able to keep his job, especially at a place like the Pentagon. The running joke was that if Ramadan had his way, pretty soon you wouldn’t be able to make it past the E ring without first taking a foot bath.

Harvath tried to push the irritation from his mind and glanced at his Kobold. “Your pal Marwan is late.”

“He’ll be here,” said Nichols.

Standing next to the monument on the manicured grounds between the Naval Academy museum and the admissions office, Harvath felt like a sitting duck. His eyes kept sweeping the windows, doorways, and rooftops searching for anything unusual; any sign of trouble.

The O amp;F Club was known for its Sunday brunch and because of the exceptionally agreeable weather this morning, there were lots of people walking past the monument.

“We’ll give him ten more minutes,” replied Harvath. “That’s it.”

Nichols nodded and went back to scanning the faces of the people as they walked by.

Suddenly, Harvath’s earpiece crackled to life. “Heads up,” said Gary Lawlor. “You’ve got somebody headed in your direction across the grass from the south. Blue jeans, dark tennis shoes, hooded black sweatshirt with a bag slung over his shoulder.”

Harvath turned. “I’ve got him,” he replied. “Stay sharp.”

“Roger. Standing by.”

Harvath looked at Nichols and said, “Get behind me.” He then reached under his coat and drew his weapon, careful to keep it concealed.