For a moment, Harvath was at a loss for words. “I’m guessing the Saudis didn’t pick him up for unpaid parking tickets.”
“No, they didn’t. He was turning into a problem. They decided to act before he developed any more of a following. The damage, though, has already been done. Mixed within the chatter have been references to the same fatwa, from the same obscure cleric.”
“So you want me to find this Mustapha Marzouk. Is that it?”
“Not exactly,” replied McGee as he removed another photo and handed it to him. It showed a bloated corpse with chunks of flesh ripped away.
“Mustapha Marzouk is dead. The Italian Navy fished his body out of the Mediterranean yesterday. Near the island of Lampedusa. They’re not sure if he drowned before or after the sharks got to him. Not that it makes much difference.
“We had his fingerprints from the laptop. Despite his having spent several days in the water, they were still able to ID him. He was on a smuggler’s boat, packed with migrants, headed toward Sicily. The boat went down in a storm Tuesday night.”
Harvath handed the photo back. “For three years, this guy has been a ghost bouncing around the Middle East, North Africa, and Somalia—then he suddenly hops on a boat to Italy? Why?”
“That’s what we need you to find out. We think whatever he was planning, it’s ready to go operational.”
“When do you want me to launch?”
“ASAP,” McGee replied. “We’ve got a plane standing by. All you need to do is tell it where to go.”
“Let’s start with whatever intel you’ve compiled.”
The Director slid a stack of files toward him. “These don’t leave this room.”
“Understood.”
“What else do you need?”
At the top of his list, he needed to call Lara. He wouldn’t be back to Boston anytime soon. He was also hungry. Looking at his watch, he said, “Let’s order some food. We’re going to be here awhile.”
CHAPTER 9
* * *
* * *
Always prepared, McGee and Ryan had brought their encrypted laptops. Whatever information Harvath needed beyond the files, they were able to retrieve via a secure link back to Langley.
Slowly, he developed three different plans. The first two were immediately shot down. They weren’t crazy about the third one either. As capable as Harvath was, it put him in very hostile territory, without backup. It was, though, their only viable option. Reluctantly, McGee agreed, but with one condition. He wasn’t sending Harvath into that hellhole alone.
Removing his cell phone, he stepped into the other room to get the ball rolling on all of the things Harvath had asked for. Ryan was left sitting at the table. She cleared her throat.
Harvath looked up from the folder he was studying.
“I was hoping for a better time to tell you this,” she said. “I’m leaving the Agency.”
He didn’t believe it. “You’re kidding.”
“No. I’m serious.”
“Does the President know?”
She nodded.
“McGee?”
She nodded again. “It was their idea.”
He closed the folder and set it on the table. “I don’t understand. You were tapped to help fix it. How do you walk away from that responsibility?”
“I’m going to head the Carlton Group.”
Harvath was stunned. “My organization?”
Ryan raised an eyebrow in response.
The Carlton Group had been Harvath’s organization, or more appropriately, it had been the organization he had spent the last several years working for. It was a private intelligence organization, founded by one of the founders of the CIA’s Counter Terrorism Center.
Reed Carlton, a legendary spymaster with more than thirty years in the business, had gotten fed up with all of the bureaucratic red tape at Langley and had left to start his own company.
When a previous president had cut Harvath loose, Carlton had recruited him. He had become Harvath’s mentor, teaching him everything he knew. And then, he took the collar off and unleashed him on America’s enemies.
Theirs was a formidable pairing. Harvath was an apex predator and Carlton was one of the greatest strategic thinkers the intelligence world had ever known. Together, they were unstoppable.
The Old Man, as Harvath referred to him, had always envisioned Scot as his successor and had groomed him to one day take over the Carlton Group. The only problem was that Harvath wasn’t interested in that job.
He loved being in the field. If the truth be told, he was addicted to the action. He had also met someone.
With Lara and her little boy, Marco, he had a real chance for a family—something he had always wanted.
When Lara received a major promotion, cementing her need to remain in Boston, he had had a choice to make. And choose he did. He chose to walk away from D.C.
The Old Man had encouraged him to go, but had also refused his resignation. “Let’s see what happens,” he had said.
Harvath continued to take contract work from the Agency—the best part being that he could say no.
As far as he was concerned, he had the three necessary ingredients to happiness: something to do, someone to love, and something to look forward to.
With the revelation that Ryan had taken the position meant for him, he felt a ripple of guilt. He knew he had let the Old Man down.
Nevertheless, he had made the right decision for himself and his own future. He was sure of that.
“Congratulations,” he offered.
“Thanks.”
“But why now? And why the push from McGee and President Porter?”
Ryan leaned back in her chair. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s always complicated.”
“I don’t know that I should go into it.”
“Go into what?”
She took a deep breath and exhaled. “He’s not well.”
“Wait. The Old Man isn’t well? What’s wrong?”
“It’s being kept quiet, but he’s starting to forget things.”
Harvath looked at her. “As in dementia?”
She nodded. “He has Alzheimer’s.”
It was like getting hit in the chest with a hammer. “How long has he known?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Lydia, how long?” he repeated.
“The diagnosis came right before you decided to go to Boston.”
Harvath’s ripple of guilt turned into a wave. “He never told me.”
She managed half a smile. “He didn’t want it to influence your decision.”
“How bad is it?”
“He’s having trouble retaining new information, but all the old stuff is right at his fingertips.”
“Will it get worse?”
She nodded again. “It typically starts with difficultly retaining new information. Then, as it moves through the brain, symptoms get more severe. Confusion about times, dates, places, and events are common, along with disorientation, and deepening suspicion of friends and family. Behavior changes are often seen, and eventually there’s more serious memory loss, which can be followed by the inability to speak, swallow, or walk. None of it’s pretty.”
Smiling, Ryan added, “He’s a tough son of a bitch, though. He doesn’t want anybody feeling sorry for him.”
“Why you, though?” Harvath asked. “Why would McGee and President Porter want to lose you at CIA?”
“Because the reforms at the Agency aren’t going as well as we’d hoped.”