The Last Patriot

After he returned to his hide, he observed the house for several more minutes to make sure nothing had changed. Confident that everything was as he had left it, Dodd removed two canisters from his pockets and moved forward in a low crouch.

When he had gotten as close as he dared, the assassin slowly moved his face from side to side as he searched for any indication of a breeze.

Dead calm.

He looked at his watch. It was time. Popping the first canister, Dodd stood just long enough to overhand it toward the far side of the rectory. He followed suit with the second canister, locked in his bearings, and then waited.

A thick, specially engineered fog designed to defeat motion sensors and thermal imaging devices began to engulf the old stone building, as well as the grounds in front of it.

This close to the Chesapeake, fog was not unusual. It was the perfect cover and the assassin used it fully to his advantage as he maneuvered his way to the front door.

Locating the knob, he removed a set of picks and went to work on the locks. As the last one released, he drew a suppressed Walther P99 and slipped inside.

The interior smelled like coffee and wood smoke. Dodd checked the alarm panel and smiled. Everything was perfect.

Glancing at his Omega again, the assassin strained for any sound of the man on watch. There was nothing. At this point, he was most likely in the church, or already on his way back. After making sure there were no other sounds of life from upstairs, Dodd moved into the kitchen to wait for the older man to return.

He didn’t have to wait long. When he entered, the assassin acted without hesitation.

CHAPTER 73

Harvath awoke to the sound of his doorknob slowly turning. Grabbing his pistol from on top of the nightstand, he leapt out of bed and shot across the room to the wall near the door.

Flattening himself against it, he watched as the knob stopped turning and the door began to quietly swing open. Twisting his torso, Harvath drew his pistol to his chest and allowed his left hand to hover slightly in front of his body.

As a figure appeared in the doorframe, Harvath grabbed a handful of shirt, pushed his gun into the man’s face and spun him a hundred and eighty degrees into the room. He slapped up hard against the wall where his head hit with sharp crack. At that moment he suddenly realized who it was.

“Are you crazy?” snapped Harvath as he let go of Nichols. “I specifically warned you against doing things like this. I could have killed you.”

The professor was seeing stars, but he ignored them. “Gary’s down,” he said in a panicked whisper.

Immediately, Harvath’s mind went back into danger mode. “Where is he?”

“The kitchen. There’s blood all over the floor.”

Harvath was about to respond when he heard the creak of a floorboard outside the room. He raised his index finger to his lips and then held his hand out signaling Nichols not to move. The man nodded and pressed himself up against the wall.

Harvath heard another board groan. It was closer this time. He raised his pistol and prepared to fire.

A fraction of a second later, Ozbek spun into the doorway, his pistol up and ready to fire. When he saw Harvath, he lowered his weapon. “What the hell is going on?” he asked.

“Gary’s been hit in the kitchen,” replied Harvath.

Ozbek stood back so Harvath could pass. “Let’s go.”

Harvath ordered Nichols to stay put and lock the door. Then, he and Ozbek made their way toward the staircase.

It was shades of Tracy’s attack all over again and Harvath struggled to keep the images of coming down the same set of stairs to find her lying in a pool of blood from taking over his mind. There was a threat in his house and if he didn’t keep it together, he was going to get himself killed.

Harvath slammed an iron door down in his mind and focused on what needed to be done.

He and Ozbek covered each other as they swept down the stairs. In the vestibule, Harvath noticed that not only was the front door ajar, but the alarm key pad showed the system was still armed and fully functioning. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

Harvath signaled to Ozbek and they crept down the narrow hall to the kitchen. Even before they got inside, Harvath could make out Lawlor’s shoes and the cuffs of his trousers.

Cautiously, the two men inched into the kitchen checking every possible point of concealment until they were satisfied it was clear. Ozbek then stood guard as Harvath rushed to Lawlor.

A pool of blood had spread out on the floor beneath his head. Harvath’s throat tightened as he reached for Gary’s carotid in the hopes of finding a pulse.

To his relief, he found one. Lowering his ear, he noticed that he was still breathing.

As best he could, Harvath scanned his face and neck for any signs of an entry or exit wound. There were none. Snatching a kitchen towel from the oven door, he gently slid it under Gary’s head. There was nothing more he could do for his friend until he caught whoever was in his house.