Page 74 of Edge of Honor

Despite all the carnage, she didn’t have a scratch on her. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her like he had never hugged her before. She hugged him right back but cut it off after several seconds. There was still work to be done.

Taking the med kit from him, she introduced him to Bente as she searched for the items she needed.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, crouching down and carefully giving her right hand a soft fist bump.

The female PST agent looked like she had been dragged down eight miles of unpaved highway. She was covered with abrasions and what appeared to be second-degree burns. Something also appeared to be wrong with her left arm, which lay limp in her lap.

Bente had caught a bunch of broken glass in her face and upper torso. Thankfully, none of it had gotten in her eyes. Sølvi did what she could to remove the most uncomfortable pieces. The smaller bits, the ones that had embedded themselves beneath her skin, would have to be addressed at a hospital.

Next, she used the kit’s triangular bandage to fashion a sling and gently positioned it around Bente’s neck and left arm.

The last injury she had to deal with was Bente’s right leg, near her knee. She was in a lot of pain and couldn’t put much weight on it. Cracking a cold pack, Sølvi let Bente place it where it hurt the most and then wrapped it with an Israeli bandage.

As Sølvi tended her injuries, Bente explained to Harvath everything that had happened and how she had been the only person in her SUV to have survived.

Her radio had been damaged, so she couldn’t transmit, but she could receive. That was how she knew Sølvi was coming into the woods to locate and take out the sniper. Bente had decided to provide backup.

“Saving my life in the process,” Sølvi admitted.

Harvath looked at the three corpses. “Have you been able to search them?”

She shook her head.

Standing up, Harvath walked over and went through all their pockets.

“Anything?” Sølvi asked as she finished tending to Bente and zipped back up the medical kit.

“Nothing,” he replied, taking photos of each of them. “No phones. No ID. No pocket litter even.”

“More professionals.”

Harvath nodded. “There seems to be an outbreak of them.”

Sølvi motioned him over and they helped get Bente to her feet.

“Can you make it back to the road?” she asked.

“I think so,” the PST agent responded.

“Put all your weight on Scot,” Sølvi instructed. “He can take it.”

Bente nodded and Harvath let her lean on him as hard as she wanted, grateful that she didn’t need to be carried.

As they neared the edge of the woods, Haugen radioed that the Prime Minister and the Ambassador were being evacuated back to the White House via helicopter and that he was going with them. Sølvi responded that she would link up with them as soon as possible.

Moments later, they heard the presidential helicopter powering up and then, stepping out of the trees, they saw it take off and head for D.C. In the distance, more helos were inbound.

A triage area, with plastic tarps stretched between two large trucks to help provide shade, had been established. They placed Bente there for the time being, sitting her on the ground, and returned to the armored Tahoe.

It was empty. Everyone was gone, except for Sorola, who had removed his suit jacket and used it to cover Miller’s body.

“I’m so sorry,” said Sølvi.

“Thank you,” the FBI agent replied. “He was a good man.”

“My condolences,” replied Harvath.

“Agent Sorola, this is my husband, Scot Harvath.”