Path Of The Assassin

“Speaking of quickly getting ahold of this thing,” said Scot. “What was with that press conference from the Anglo-American Hospital?”

“At present, I am not at liberty to answer that,” said the assistant station chief.

“Not at liberty? You do understand by whose authority I am operating, don’t you?” asked Harvath.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea, yes. Listen, Agent Harvath, it’s not that I don’t want to answer your question; it’s that I honestly can’t. Things have been evolving very fast this morning.”

Scot looked at Randall Gray and sensed the man was being honest with him. “Well, if you can’t give me some answers,” he said, “then who can?”

“I would imagine my boss, Tom Ellis, can.”

“And where might I find him, short of CNN?”

“He’s still at the Anglo-American Hospital debriefing Meg Cassidy.”

“Is Rick Morrell with him?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Then that’s where I’m going. Gentlemen,” said Harvath with a polite nod toward the mayor and Bob Lawrence, “have a safe flight home. I’m very sorry about all of this.”

“So are we,” said the mayor. “We’re just glad that we had you to help get us out of it.”

“It’s what I was trained to do,” said Scot.

Both Lawrence and the mayor gave Scot their business cards and told him if he ever needed anything, all he had to do was call.

“I’ll get someone to drive you,” said the assistant station chief.

Harvath appreciated the gesture and began to believe that maybe not everyone at the CIA was a total asshole after all.

When he reached the embassy’s motor pool and saw his driver, he started to have second thoughts. Leaning against the car with a cup of coffee and looking more like a Chippendales dancer than a CIA operative, was Gordon Avigliano-the kid who had couriered the CIA’s Hashim Nidal file to Harvath’s apartment back in Alexandria.

He was so engrossed in drinking his coffee that he didn’t notice Harvath had come up alongside him until he said, “Al salaam a’alaykum.”

Avigliano nearly jumped out of his skin. “Holy shit,” he growled as he tossed the cup into a nearby garbage can. “You can’t do that to a person.”

“Well, I just did,” said Harvath, shoving past him and opening the driver’s side door. “Keys.”

“Wait a second, I’m supposed to be driving you.”

“You can’t even courier documents properly. What makes you think I’m gonna let you drive? Besides how many times have you been in Cairo before?”

“None. This is my first time. But I’ve got a map.”

“Learn on someone else’s time, Gordo. Now toss me the keys.”

Avigliano threw Harvath the keys and walked around to the passenger side and got in. As they shot out of the embassy gates, Avigliano attempted to make conversation. “Have you got some sort of problem with me?”

“Not specifically. My guess is that you are somehow tied to Operation Phantom, but aren’t one of the heavy hitters. You’re the new guy and, being low man on the totem pole, get to courier documents and drive guys like me around. Things got hot over here with the hijacking, and you got called in as part of the backup for Rick Morrell and the rest of the team. How am I doing so far?”

“Let me see,” answered Avigliano, “classified, classified, restricted, and classified.”

A broad smile swept across Harvath’s face. “Have you had any military training?”

“I did three years with First Ranger Battalion.”

“What made you decide to leave the Army and hook up with the CIA?”

“Better pay grade and it looked like more fun.”

“And now you’re on the Agency fast track.”

“I can handle it.”

The pair made their way along the Nile and at the el-Tahrir Bridge crossed over to Gezira Island, where the Anglo-American Hospital was located. Harvath found a parking space about a block away, and he and Avigliano made their way toward the building.

The one-hundred-bed Anglo-American Hospital was more then a century old and badly in need of a face-lift. To its credit, the atmosphere was welcoming and the staff very friendly. With one of Morrell’s SAS men standing guard outside, Meg Cassidy’s room wasn’t hard to find. The man stretched his thick arm across the door the minute he saw Harvath.

“If you wanna keep that arm,” said Harvath, “you’d better lower it.”

“No admittance, Harvath. Boss’s orders,” replied the powerful looking operative.

Before Scot could respond, Avigliano piped in. “Jerry, it’s okay. Rick and Tom should be expecting him.”

“Do I care? My orders are no one gets in while the debrief is going on.”

“Stop being such a prick, Jerry, and just knock on the goddamn door, would ya?”

Harvath was impressed. The kid might have potential after all. In fact, Harvath worried that Avigliano was actually starting to grow on him.

The burly operative relented, and after a couple quick raps, the door opened a crack and Rick Morrell peered out. “What is it?”

That was the only opportunity Harvath needed. He slipped past the sentry and shouldered the door open. Morrell caught it with his head.

“For fuck’s sake, Harvath,” he grunted as he rubbed his forehead. “You’re like a bull in a china shop. Shit, that hurt.”