Page 80 of Edge of Honor

With traffic, it was going to take him at least twenty minutes to get to the parking garage where he’d left Haney’s Bronco and then another hour and a half to get to the safe house at the Cove Creek Club. Removing his jacket, he tossed it on the back seat of the Malibu and was about to put the key in the ignition when his phone rang.

Picking it up, he saw it was McGee calling and answered.

“That’s a good start,” said the ex–CIA director. “At least you’re still alive.”

“Been a long day,” Harvath replied. “I’ll explain when I get there. Leaving D.C. now. ETA about two hours.”

“Negative. You’re going to want to see what I’ve got ASAP. I’m already on my way to your place.”

“What about our guest?”

“He’ll be fine. Mike’s going to keep an eye on him.”

Harvath was intrigued. “Can you give me a hint as to what you’ve got?”

“Remember those photos I took this morning?” McGee said. “We got a hit on one of them—abighit. And you’re going to want to act on it tonight.”

CHAPTER 40

FBI HEADQUARTERS

Jesus,” said Fields as she walked into the office and looked at the TV screen. “RPGs? On a Secret Service motorcade?”

“The agents on scene say it’s absolutely horrific,” Carolan replied. “Blood, bodies, burned-out vehicles—it sounds like a war zone.”

“The whole damn city is under siege. Did you hear about the shoot-out at Ambassador Rogers’s house this morning?”

Carolan nodded.

“Do we know any more about it?”

“No,” he replied. “Not yet.”

“Do we think these are connected?”

“Until we have evidence to the contrary, we probably should assume that.”

Fields didn’t seem convinced. “As far as Operation Black Line and the Russians are concerned,” she said, pointing at the TV, “this makes sense. They get to take a swipe at NATO and create chaos. But Rogers? The average person has no idea who he is. What do the Russians get out of going after him?”

“I don’t know yet. But we’re going to find out,” he replied. Then, pointing to the document in her hand, he asked. “Is that it?”

Fields nodded and read from it: “In light of exigent circumstances, and having been screened by appropriate FBI psychological personnel, Special Agent Jennifer Elizabeth Fields is hereby provisionally returnedto duty, pending the next full meeting of the FBI’s Shooting Incident Review Group. Signed, Special Agent Alan Gallo, Assistant Director, FBI Counterintelligence Division.”

“That only took all day.”

“I had to wait for the shrink to sign off and then Gallo was out of the building at the National Counterterrorism Center, so once his assistant typed up the letter, I had to drive it up there for his signature. But at least it’s done. And I’m back. How’d that lead you were working on pan out?”

“Remember when I sent the underground fight-club video for facial recognition?”

Fields nodded as she pulled up a chair and sat down.

“While I was waiting for it to come back,” he continued, “I ran the sword-and-tree tattoo through all the federal databases—the Bureau of Prisons, our own National Gang Intelligence Center, you name it—especially as one of the things that gang intelligence units track is tattoos. But I didn’t get any hits. Which at the time, I just took in stride. You hit a brick wall, you go around it, over it, whatever.”

“Okay,” she replied, not fully understanding where he was going.

“But the fact that we couldn’t identify a single attacker from the Naval Observatory was driving me crazy. These were young men, eighteen to thirty-four with not only no criminal backgrounds, but also no discernable social media presence. I kept asking myself, how is that possible?”

“It isn’t,” said Fields. “Not in today’s world. One guy, maybe. All of them? No way.”