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A mbassador Rogers’s house was on a heavily wooded, two-and-a-half-acre parcel backing up to the Potomac River. It was an absolutely gorgeous property. There was a reason they called this part of McLean the Gold Coast. It was also going to be a nightmare to defend.

From the moment Harvath had seen Nicholas’s satellite imagery, he knew he was going to have his work cut out for him.

The trees were enormous, with leafy branches almost to the ground. You could practically hide half a platoon behind each one. And they came all the way up to the house.

There were bushes, hedges, and grasses so thick and tall they could swallow up an entire elementary school.

The house itself was a modern two-story, painted white, with a metal roof and black accents.

From its sophisticated exterior lighting to the perfectly manicured grass between the pavers, it was obvious that Rogers was a detail guy.

Harvath had only wished that he’d had that same eye when it came to the role landscaping played in a home’s security.

Harvath was actually surprised that back when he was the National Security Advisor and had an active Secret Service detail, they hadn’t gotten him to trim all the foliage back. It was, in his opinion, the Ambassador’s biggest Achilles’ heel.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as he felt Rogers’s Audi slow and then turn off the main road onto gravel.

They had arrived at the house and were now crunching down his driveway. Harvath was baking inside the trunk and couldn’t wait to get out.

Using his remote, the Ambassador opened the garage door and pulled into the first bay. Turning off his ignition, he gathered up the bags of to-go food from the Capital Grille, got out of his car, and walked over to the door that led into the house.

There, he pushed one of the three buttons mounted on the wall and closed the garage door. As soon as the overhead lift fell silent, he set down the food and returned to the Audi to help Harvath out of the trunk.

Popping the lid, he looked down and asked, “Still alive?”

“Barely,” joked Harvath, who was slick with sweat. Accepting Rogers’s hand, he climbed out.

As he did, the door from the house opened, revealing a large man with a short-barreled shotgun.

“You’re out of chocolate ice cream,” he said.

Harvath shook his head. “Ambassador Rogers, I’d like to introduce you to Mike Haney. Mike, meet the Ambassador.”

The ex–Force Recon Marine from Marin County, California, stepped into the garage and shook the man’s hand. “You’re also out of San Pellegrino.”

Rogers smiled. “I’ll add it on the grocery list.”

“No trouble finding the place?” Harvath asked, arching his back as he tried to get the kinks out of his muscles before unloading the trunk.

Haney shook his head. “This place is basically in the CIA’s backyard. The hardest part was deciding where to park.”

“You guys didn’t leave your cars at Langley, did you?” Harvath asked, concerned.

“What are we, newbs? Of course not. Bob has a buddy, retired Agency guy like him, who lives out this way. We parked at his place and he dropped us about two miles downriver. We hiked the rest of the way in. But don’t tell Nicholas that.

I’m still ‘recuperating,’?” he said, using his fingers to make air quotes.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell him a thing. He made it quite clear that I wasn’t allowed to involve you in this.”

“Ever since the baby came, he’s no fun anymore.”

It was a funny remark and Harvath chuckled.

Things had indeed changed for Nicholas, but that was exactly what was supposed to happen when you became a parent.

Priorities shift and responsibilities are reexamined.

Nicholas had all but stepped away from fieldwork.

The risks, in light of now having a baby, simply weren’t worth it.

Harvath understood the man’s reasoning all too well.

Marrying S?lvi had caused him to look at everything with a fresh set of eyes.

He had never thought he’d come out of the field.

Or more succinctly put, he didn’t think he’d be coming out this soon.

He thought he’d be knee-deep in hand-grenade pins for several years yet to come.

But love had a way of making you reevaluate your life.

“Speaking of Bob,” said Harvath, getting back to business. “Where is he?”

“In the den. On watch.”

Nodding at Rogers, Harvath said, “Come on. He’ll be glad to see you.”

Inside the elegant house, all the window treatments had been drawn. They stopped in the sleek kitchen, where Rogers placed the food from Capital Grille into a warming drawer and turned it on. Then they headed to the study.

Bob McGee, the most recent director of the CIA, was sitting on a leather couch watching the property’s security camera feeds. When he heard Harvath and Rogers enter the room, he rose to greet them, a big 1911 pistol on his hip.

“Mr. Ambassador,” he said warmly, extending his hand.

“Mr. Director,” Rogers replied, receiving it. “It’s good to see you, Bob.”

“You too, Brendan. And I hope you don’t mind. As soon as we got here, we made ourselves at home.”

“Not at all. I’m just very thankful for your help.”

“So am I,” said Harvath as he shook McGee’s hand. “All quiet?”

The ex–CIA director nodded toward the large flat-screen TV mounted in the center of a wall of bookshelves. “There’s one squirrel that keeps going for the bird feeder, but other than that, nothing.”

“For the moment then, no news is good news.”

McGee nodded as Rogers asked, “What have you been up to? Someone said you’d moved out to the Eastern Shore.”

The man was tall like Haney, but was in his early sixties, had salt-and-pepper hair and a thick, Wyatt Earp–style mustache. Tugging on the corner of it, he winked at Rogers and said, “That’s top secret.”

The Ambassador smiled. “You didn’t opt for a security detail either. The way I hear it, you came in on your last day, said your goodbyes, and rode off into the sunset. Is that right?”

“There may have been a sheet cake, a few bottles of very expensive bourbon, and some cigars that may have gone missing from the presidential palace in Havana, but I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“I’m sorry I missed that party.”

“That’s not your fault,” said McGee. “In true National Security Advisor tradition, you handed over the keys and were the last one to leave the White House on Inauguration Day. You’re a good man, Brendan. A good American.”

“It was my choice not to have a detail. I figure I can handle myself if it comes down to it. But the new crew at 1600 Penn not giving you one is bullshit. I’m sorry to say it.”

Rogers put up his hands. “Obviously, I agree. It’s not how we would have done things. It’s just different.”

“It’s fucked-up is what it is,” said McGee.

“That too.”

Harvath was about to say something when Haney poked his head in and said, “Mr. Ambassador, you’re also out of microwave popcorn.”

“Top shelf, back of the pantry,” Rogers responded. “There should be a whole other box in there.”

Haney flashed him the thumbs-up and disappeared.

“If nobody minds,” said Harvath. “I’d like to get cleaned up real quick. Is there a shower I can use?”

“Top of the stairs, second door on the left. That guest room is all yours,” the Ambassador responded. “Help yourself to anything you need.”

Harvath thanked him, and after unloading his gear from the car and bringing it inside, he grabbed a large bottle of water from the fridge and began slugging it down as he headed upstairs. The bottle was empty before he even got in the shower.

He made it a super quick one and threw the temperature selector all the way cold at the end, forcing himself to stand under the icy spray for as long as he could. Climbing out, he toweled off, got dressed in fresh clothes, and headed back downstairs.

There had been a changing of the guard since he’d gone.

Haney, bowl of popcorn next to him on the couch, had taken over watching the security cameras while McGee and the Ambassador were in the kitchen catching up.

With Rogers having served as the Hostage Czar and the National Security Advisor, they had quite a bit of history together.

They had also both worked tirelessly to get Harvath back when he had been taken by the Russians.

“So what’s the plan, boss?” McGee asked as Harvath entered the kitchen.

“First, I’d like to run to Home Depot and pick up a chain saw to prune back a few of the trees outside.”

“No way,” said the Ambassador, fully aware that Harvath was pulling his leg. “If we have to start cutting down trees, then the bad guys have already won.”

“In all seriousness,” Harvath replied, “you do realize that having all that growth right up against the house is a legit security concern.”

Rogers nodded. “I had this conversation with the Secret Service and I’ll tell you what I told them. Call me John Muir, but many of these trees were here before this country was even founded. Their history goes back further than ours. I’m not touching a single one of them.”

“Understood,” said Harvath, though if their situations were reversed, he would have clear-cut the entire lot and simply donated the trees to some local historical society that wanted them. In his book, there was nothing that trumped security.

Pulling a stack of plates out, the Ambassador set them on the counter and replied, “Thank you.”

“If anything’s going to happen, I don’t think it’ll happen until after dark,” Harvath continued.

“We’ve got the existing camera system, which we’ll keep monitoring and I’ve brought along a few other items that Carlton Group was kind enough to provide, which I want to get prepped and set up.

In the meantime, I meant to ask, do you ever leave your car outside overnight, or do you always put it away in the garage? ”

“Depends on the weather. The Secret Service used to insist that it always be put away, but since then, I leave it outside about fifty percent of the time. Why?”

“More bait. If anyone comes sniffing around and they see that the lights are on and your car is parked outside, that only helps.”

“Do you want me to move it?”

Harvath nodded. “Bob can position himself at the far corner of the garage and I’ll be at the front door.”

“I’ll let Mike know.”

As soon as McGee gave Haney the heads-up, they took their positions and covered Rogers as he repositioned his car.

Once he had reentered the garage and closed the door, they regrouped in the kitchen.

“Easy peasy,” said the ex–CIA director, patting the Ambassador on the back. “I know that none of this is fun, but you’re doing a great job.”

“Are you worried?”

“About what?”

“The Iranians,” said Rogers. “You helped develop the intelligence for the Soleimani hit. If they’re out there, picking us off one by one, it’s only a matter of time before they get to you.”

“I’m probably on a lot of lists,” McGee admitted.

“But to answer your question, I take this very seriously. That’s why Mike and I spent over two hours in the woods outside your house this afternoon making sure nobody was out there conducting surveillance or sitting in a hide site with a high-powered rifle.

It’s also why, once Harvath sent us the door and alarm codes you gave him, we searched every millimeter of your home—checking for intruders, explosives, and anything that could do you harm. ”

“Thank you for that.”

“It’s the right thing to do. You don’t have to thank me.

You represented this country with courage, with honor, and with dignity.

This is the least any of us can do. And until we have a full picture of what’s going on, we’re treating this as a legitimate threat and will take every precaution we can to keep you safe. ”

Rogers went to say thank you again, but McGee held up his hand to stop him. It wasn’t necessary. He had meant what he said.

Harvath didn’t have anything to add. He owed the Ambassador his life. They would stay for as long as he needed them. It was, as McGee said, the right thing to do.

Grabbing another bottle of water, Harvath decided to check in on Haney.

The two hadn’t talked, at least not face-to-face, in a while.

It had been over six months since Mike had been shot and he still hadn’t been cleared for field work.

That weighed on Harvath. Even their teammate Kenneth Johnson, who had been shot in the same gunfight in Paris and had suffered what appeared a far more serious injury, had been returned to full service status.

Walking across the kitchen to the den, he knocked on the doorframe.

“Go away,” said Haney, his eyes fixed on the security camera feeds. “I’m taking a nap.”

Harvath grinned and walked into the den. “Any updates?”

“All quiet on the western front. And the southern, and the northern, and the eastern.”

“Need anything?”

“Yeah. A suitcase full of nonsequential fifty- and hundred-dollar bills.”

Harvath smiled again. “I’ll have Ambassador Rogers add it to the list. How’s the arm?”

“Only hurts when I laugh.”

“So don’t laugh.”

“Easy for you to say,” Haney replied. “You’re married.”

“So are you,” he said, grinning as he steered the conversation back. “How’s rehab going?”

“They tell me I need to adjust my expectations.”

Harvath braced himself. “How so?”

“Apparently, my dreams of playing violin for the Berlin Philharmonic are ‘unrealistic.’?”

Harvath shook his head. “Are they aware that you don’t even play the violin?”

“Yet,” Haney admonished him. “I don’t play the violin yet .”

“Mike—”

“Can you believe those rehab people?” he continued. “Who signs up for a job where you come in every day just to crush other people’s dreams? It’s not right. I’m telling you.”

Harvath was well-versed in using humor to derail unwanted conversations. He was just about to pin his friend down and have a serious conversation about his injury when the camera feeds flickered and the TV went blank.

As soon as they disappeared, the feeds all came back online.

“What just happened?” asked Harvath.

“I have no idea,” said Haney as he picked up the tablet used to run the security system and cycled through each feed individually. “Power surge? Or some other kind of glitch?”

Harvath doubted it and, by the look on Haney’s face, he doubted it as well. Someone was probing their defenses.