The Last Patriot

“Believe it,” replied Harvath who retrieved the page from beneath the scribe’s quill and opened the lid to look inside again. “When Moss gets back, we’ll reset it and get the whole message from the beginning.”

“I only wish Marwan could have been here to see this.”

“I know,” said Harvath as he put his hand on the professor’s shoulder and they stood there admiring the machine and the awesome impact it was going to have.

Five minutes later, Poplar Forest’s director walked back into the room. The first thing Harvath noticed was that his hands were empty and he had a look on his face like he was being chased by the Headless Horseman himself. Harvath was about to ask him what was wrong when he noticed someone behind him.

Susan Ferguson began sobbing as she appeared in the doorway with a suppressed weapon tight against her head held by none other than Matthew Dodd.

Harvath and Ozbek drew their pistols.

“Easy, gentlemen,” said Dodd with a smile. “Now, drop the guns on the floor and kick them over here.”

When the men hesitated, Dodd readjusted his aim and shot Jonathan Moss through his left shoulder.

The Poplar Forest director screamed in agony.

“Weapons on the floor and kick them over here now,” yelled Dodd.

Harvath and Ozbek reluctantly complied. Neither of them had even a halfway decent shot. If they’d had, they would have taken it, but as it was, Dodd was using both Susan Ferguson and the doorframe to his utmost advantage.

“Good,” said Dodd, who then shouted at Moss, “Get over here and pick those up.”

The man was crying and rapidly going into shock. His right hand was clamped down over his shoulder which was becoming soaked with blood.

Dodd repeated the command and punctuated it by firing a round into the floor near Moss’ feet.

The director stumbled over to the weapons and picked them up. Remaining near the floor with his head down, he handed them up one at a time to Dodd.

“Now go get that clock,” ordered the assassin, “and all the papers on that desk.”

Harvath was standing in front of the device, with the back of his legs pressed up against the desk. As Moss approached, Dodd indicated with two quick flicks of his weapon for Harvath to move out of the way.

Harvath knew better than to tempt Dodd. Lowering his hands against his sides, he gestured for Nichols to move to his left, closer to Ozbek. Once Nichols had done so, Harvath followed.

“Bring it here,” said Dodd as the director closed the lid and then struggled to pick the device up.

Wrapping his good arm around it, the man pinned the al-Jazari clock to his chest, grabbed all the papers, and slowly brought everything back over to the assassin.

As he drew even, Dodd motioned for him to stand in the room behind him. Once Moss had passed, the assassin looked straight at Harvath and Ozbek. “I’ve got what I came for,” he said. “Whether anybody dies today is up to you.”

“We’re not even, Dodd,” replied Ozbek. “Not by a long shot.”

“Should we settle up right now?” asked the assassin as he pointed the pistol at the CIA operative’s head.

Nichols looked like he was gearing up to say something and Harvath stepped on his foot to keep him quiet.

“Get moving,” Dodd said as he placed the pistol back against Ferguson’s head and began to back out of the room.

“What about them?” asked Harvath, referring to the two captives. “You don’t need to take them with you.”

“No, I don’t,” Dodd replied, “but I’m going to.”

“The man needs medical attention.”

The assassin stared at Harvath. “He’ll live as long as nobody tries to follow us.”

“Nobody is going to follow you,” said Harvath.

Tightening his grip on Susan Ferguson, the assassin motioned for Moss to start walking and he slowly backed out of the room.

Once he had disappeared from view and they heard the door at the front of the house slam shut, Ozbek said, “Let’s go. Come on.”

“He’s got two hostages,” replied Harvath.

“I understand that, but we can’t just let him disappear with that device.”

“It’s no good to him anyway.”

“What do you mean?” said Ozbek. “All he has to do is slide some paper in there, ink the quill and crank the handle.”

“It won’t work without this,” replied Harvath as he held up the Basmala gear. His fingertips were bloody from having blindly pulled it from the machine behind his back while Dodd’s attention was on collecting their weapons from the floor.

“He still has Susan and Jonathan, though,” protested Nichols. “He’ll kill them.”

“I don’t think he’ll kill them,” replied Harvath as he once again used his shirt to stem his bleeding.

“Why? Because he didn’t kill Gary?” challenged Ozbek.

Harvath looked at him. “That’s exactly why. If we let him go, Moss and Ferguson have a much better chance of surviving and you know it. I want this guy too, but let’s be smart.”

“Fuck ‘smart.’ We’re wasting time.”

Harvath knew Ozbek had lost a member of his team and had another in the hospital because of Dodd, but getting more people killed wasn’t going to fix anything. “Listen to me. Don’t let your desire to make Dodd pay for what he did to your people cloud your judgment.”