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H arvath’s preference for something a little more robust, perhaps a Toyota Land Cruiser or even a Ford Explorer notwithstanding, the Malibu would get him from point A to point B, which was all that mattered right now.

Thanking Nicholas’s guys, he accepted the keys and, after making sure the care package Nicholas had promised had been placed in the trunk, went back into the house to finish getting ready.

In the background, he had the TV tuned to a cable news station and shared a panelist’s surprise that none of the attackers outside the Vice President’s Residence had been identified.

He found it hard to believe that anyone capable of that kind of violence didn’t have a police rap sheet a mile along.

His second thought was even more unsettling. Based on the tactical proficiency the attackers had shown, how had none of them surfaced as having served in the military? He prayed that wouldn’t end up being the case.

As volatile as things felt at the moment, the idea of ex–service members attacking American citizens turned his stomach.

Political opinions might burn pretty hot, but the United States wasn’t a nation where it was okay to settle differences with violence.

And it most definitely wasn’t a nation where those who had sworn to protect it should ever contemplate taking up arms against their fellow countrymen and women.

The thought of any of that being possible chilled him to the core.

Shaking it off, he tried to focus on what was at hand. There were multiple, small details that needed to be top of mind. Screwing up just one of them could put the whole evening, along with Ambassador Rogers’s life, in jeopardy.

After staging his gear near the front door, he checked his flight-tracker app one more time. The plane must have been getting pushed by a good tailwind. It was now set to arrive several minutes early.

Pouring a coffee to go, he also grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge and then carried everything out to the car.

Once the car was packed, he texted Nicholas that he was en route, fired up the Malibu, and got on the road.

The car had a navigation system, but he had no idea how reliable it was, nor did he want to stuff it with digital breadcrumbs.

Instead he used the app on his phone that would help route him around any D.C.

traffic and automatically delete his trip once he arrived.

Based on current conditions, it looked like the George Washington Memorial Parkway was once again his fastest route, just like yesterday when he and S?lvi had driven up to the Norwegian Embassy.

It was hard to process how much had happened in just under twenty-four hours.

Hopefully they had both already logged their quota of excitement.

Nothing would make him happier than to find out Rogers was in no danger and to have S?lvi’s assignment be mind-numbingly dull.

Unfortunately, he had a bad feeling that neither of those things was going to turn out to be true.

Cranking up the AC, he was greeted with a blast of hot air.

He waited for it to cool, but it didn’t.

Cranking it back down, he opened the windows and basked in the thick, D.C.

humidity. It was a bit ironic that after Rogers had saved him from the frozen wastes of Russia, he was now coming to his aid amid the oppressive summer heat of the nation’s capital.

As he continued to drive, he regretted not having bombarded his coffee with ice.

By the time he reached Daingerfield Island, he was moving fast enough that the wind coming through the windows was able to cool him off, if only a little bit.

At the sign for Reagan National Airport, he exited the parkway and headed for the long-term economy lot.

He found Rogers’s Audi right where the Ambassador had said he’d left it and then kept on driving. Two aisles over, with a good view of the man’s car, he pulled into a space and texted Nicholas to let him know that he had arrived. He received two thumbs-up in response.

Eight minutes later, he saw the customer assistance truck pull up and Nicholas’s technician, dressed in a mechanic’s uniform, climb out.

Being careful to make sure no one was watching, the technician took out an under-vehicle inspection mirror and went to work.

After checking the entirety of the undercarriage, as well as the wheel wells, he removed the key fob from where Rogers had left it behind the gas-cap cover and checked the trunk, under the seats, and throughout the engine compartment.

Satisfied that there were no explosives, he closed the car back up, returned the key to its hiding place, got back in his truck, and left.

Less than a minute later, Harvath received a text from Nicholas giving him the all-clear.

Rolling up his windows, he turned off his ignition and used his untucked shirt to dry the sweat off the butt of the Glock sitting in his inside-the-waistband holster.

Getting out of the car, he walked back to the trunk and opened it up.

One of the items Nicholas had included in his care package was the clone he had asked for of Rogers’s phone. Tucking it in his pocket, he grabbed his overnight bag, closed the trunk, and headed for the shuttle bus stop.

When the mercifully air-conditioned bus eventually arrived, he hopped on board and rode it to the terminal. But when he got there, instead of walking inside, he headed for the garage.

Nicholas’s blacked-out van was in an accessible parking spot on the second floor.

Harvath rapped on the side door and Nicholas hit a button, sliding it open.

Inside, Nicholas was joined by Argos, Draco, and Ambassador Rogers.

Harvath climbed in and Nicholas hit the button again, closing the door behind him.

“Ready to go to work?” he asked the Ambassador, as he sat down in one of the handsewn leather captain’s chairs and gave the dogs a little attention. Like the shuttle bus, Nicholas had the AC blowing full blast and it felt terrific.

“Meaning, am I ready to be the bait?” Rogers answered, reprising his earlier concern over the operation. “I guess so.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Harvath replied as he checked his flight-tracker app again. “I’ll be with you the entire time.”

Once they had decided to help Rogers, one of the first things Harvath had asked Nicholas to do was to kill the Ambassador’s old phone.

If he was being hunted, the last thing they wanted was a hit team to show up at some sweet family’s home in Colorado—all because Rogers had slipped his phone into grandma’s suitcase.

After deciding which return flight they would use as their Trojan horse, Nicholas waited until an hour before its departure and then activated a phantom signal at Denver International.

The goal was to make it look like Rogers had popped back onto the grid and was on the move.

When the D.C.-bound flight took off, Nicholas made it appear as if the phone had been switched into airplane mode and was using the in-flight Wi-Fi.

Whether the people who were after the Ambassador had the tools and were sophisticated enough to put it together didn’t matter to Harvath. His job was merely to scent the trail.

“Do you actually think they’d send somebody after me here? To the airport?”

“That’s what I want to find out,” said Harvath, glancing up from his phone. “It looks like the flight from Denver just landed. We’re going to walk over to Terminal One and turn on the clone we made of your phone. Do you like Dunkin’ Donuts?”

“Sure,” he replied.

“There’s a Dunkin’ before the security checkpoint.

Get a coffee. Get a bear claw. Whatever you want.

We just need to give your signal long enough to populate.

Then you’re going to walk outside and wait for the shuttle bus to the economy lot.

When it comes, you get on. Just like we discussed. Understood?”

The Ambassador nodded.

“Good. Let’s get going.”

Nicholas opened the door and Harvath and the Ambassador got out.

Per Harvath’s instructions, Rogers put on the baseball cap and sunglasses, and had a small backpack slung over one shoulder.

It was important that he look like a man who was trying to remain incognito as he moved through the airport.

If he looked like bait, their fishing expedition would be over before it even started.

Carrying his overnight bag and putting on his own sunglasses, Harvath rode down in the elevator with Rogers and then let him walk ahead. It wasn’t exactly “close” protection, but it was the best Harvath could do given their situation.

When Rogers entered Terminal One, he turned on the phone he had been given and then headed for Dunkin’. There, having already had plenty of coffee, he ordered an iced tea.

Harvath hung back, watching to see if the Ambassador was being followed. So far, he didn’t notice anyone on his tail.

As soon as Rogers had his drink, they moved through the baggage claim area and, using different doors, exited the terminal.

They walked to the shuttle bus pickup, where Harvath stood close, but not too close, to the Ambassador. While Rogers pretended to scroll on his phone, Harvath kept his head on a discreet swivel. Neither man acknowledged the other.

By the time they boarded the bus to the economy lot, it was standing room only.

Crowds were great to get lost in, but that could be a two-way street.

A skilled assassin could quietly attack and disappear at the next stop before anyone knew what had happened.

Harvath made sure to stay close to Rogers and he kept his eyes wide-open.

Arriving at the economy lot, they debussed together and walked separately to their vehicles.

All the while, Harvath kept his eyes peeled for threats.

This part—moving through the parking lot, with its practically limitless possibility for ambush—was one of the steps in the plan that had concerned him the most.

He moved slowly, allowing the Ambassador to get to his car first. If he needed to spring into action, he didn’t want to have to leap out of his car to do so. He much preferred to already be on his feet and able to get his gun quickly into the fight.

Thankfully, however, that hadn’t proved necessary. Rogers made it back to his vehicle, retrieved his key fob, and fired up his Audi. As soon as Harvath saw him backing out of his spot, he picked up his pace.

Unlocking the Malibu, he tossed his bag on the back seat and climbed behind the wheel. Rogers had been told to go slow, even stopping and pretending he was searching for his ticket, until he saw Harvath’s vehicle closing in.

Exiting the economy lot, Harvath allowed Rogers to get a couple of car lengths ahead. He didn’t need to be right on his bumper. All that mattered was that he be able to spot any potential tails. So far, so good.

And as an additional set of eyes, several car lengths farther behind, Nicholas followed in his blacked-out van.

The drive to McLean was clogged with afternoon traffic, and as much as it sucked for Harvath to do it without AC, he knew that the next leg was going to be even worse.

When they arrived at their destination—an indoor public parking garage for an office building adjacent to the Tysons Corner mall—Harvath followed Rogers inside while Nicholas pulled into the open-air lot across the street and kept an eye on the entrance.

Though not eager to screw around, Harvath had agreed to one request from Rogers. If they were going to use an enclosed garage to ditch Harvath’s vehicle, it might as well be one attached to a good restaurant.

The Capital Grille’s curbside pickup service had the Ambassador’s order ready to go the minute they pulled in.

All he’d had to do was notify them that he’d arrived.

He was not only a regular, but also a good tipper.

They had no problem bringing it to the garage versus handing it to him at the front door.

The Ambassador put the bags on the passenger seat as Harvath loaded his gear as efficiently as he could in the trunk.

He had already mapped the trip to the Ambassador’s house and knew how long, even in lousy traffic, it should take.

Unscrewing his water bottle, he took a long swallow and climbed into the trunk. As Rogers came around to close the lid, Harvath reminded him, “Right home. No stops. I don’t want to spend a second longer back here than I have to.”

“Copy that,” the Ambassador said, carefully lowering the lid and pressing down on it to make sure that it was closed.

Within seconds he had started the car, backed out of the space, and was heading for the exit. Harvath had no idea if they were being followed. In addition to not finding any explosives in the car, Nicholas’s tech hadn’t found any tracking devices either.

The thinking behind leaving the cloned cell phone where Rogers could retrieve it was that if anyone was locked on to his signal, they would know that he had “returned” to D.C. and was on the move. After a brief stop at one of his favorite restaurants, he was now on his way home.

And, if they were dumb enough to come after him at the house, Harvath was going to make sure it was one of the last things they ever did. All he had to do was survive the car ride.