Path Of The Assassin

“As the president said,” answered Lawlor, “this is the CIA’s baby, but I can’t see why you wouldn’t participate, can you, Mr. President?”

“I can’t either,” replied the president. “There is nobody I trust more or who is more capable than you to see to her safety. Let’s not forget, this is a highly unprecedented and potentially explosive operation. We’re taking a civilian and fast-tracking her through training so that she can participate in a top-secret covert operation. When it’s all said and done, I want Meg Cassidy delivered home without so much as a scratch on her. This is an American hero we’re talking about here. The public would be outraged if any harm came to her. You do whatever it takes. We’re asking a lot from this woman, and I want you to protect her with the same degree of vigilance you would protect me. And, lest we forget why we’re even having this conversation, I want Hashim Nidal to cease being a problem for us, and the rest of the world.”

That was all Scot Harvath needed to hear. He had been given a direct order by his commander in chief. It was not a question of if he could convince Meg Cassidy to come on board. He absolutely had to. Hashim Nidal was to be taken out and Meg Cassidy returned home without harm. The president had handed him quite an assignment. The only question Harvath had at that point was, “When do I leave?”

“Tonight,” said Lawlor as he slid an envelope with cash and plane tickets across the situation room table to him.

31

Harvath’s ride into downtown Chicago wasn’t as fancy as it had been a couple of days before. He grabbed a Continental airport shuttle, which dropped him across the street from the Ambassador East Hotel. Once he was settled, he put in a call to his contact at the Chicago FBI field office. Nick Wilson was an old friend whom Harvath had worked with several times in the past. Wilson explained that Meg Cassidy was at her cottage in Lake Geneva and that he had new information he was sure Harvath would be interested in hearing. They made plans to meet for drinks, and then Harvath hung up and dialed Meg’s number in Wisconsin.

A few moments later, he had her on the phone. “You’re back in town?” she asked.

“Yes, and I need to see you,” replied Harvath.

Meg was guarded and realized he probably had not come back just to see her again. This was business. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Were you sent here to try and change my mind about things?”

“Believe it or not, my instructions were to explain to you what my motivation is, but for what it’s worth, I’m not sorry I got sent back.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I love Chicago. It’s the one town that won’t let you down.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, disappointed that he hadn’t cited her as the reason he was happy to be back. This was ridiculous. What was she doing? He was here to try and persuade her to team up with the CIA. He had been sent on official business, and she needed to get that through her head.

“How about dinner? It’s on me. What time will you be back in the city?”

“I’m spending the night up here. I won’t be back in the city until tomorrow morning.”

“Well,” said Harvath as he scribbled on the pad on his desk, “that’s going to make dinner a bit difficult then, isn’t it?”

“How about breakfast?”

“That would work. Do you want to eat here at the hotel? I’m staying at the Ambassador East.”

“Let’s meet at Mitchell’s on the corner of North Avenue and Clark Street around eight. This way I can drop my car at my place and meet you over there. It’s an easy walk for both of us.”

“Great, I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“I wouldn’t be too excited about it if I were you. I’ve already made my position on this very clear.”

“I understand, and whatever you decide, I’ll respect. I just want a chance to talk with you about it. I think we see eye to eye in many ways on this subject.”

“I don’t think you know the half of it.”

“Well, you can fill me in tomorrow morning. Okay?”

“Fine then. I’ll see you at Mitchell’s around eight,” and with that, Meg Cassidy hung up the phone.

Harvath was already sitting at a table in the Ambassador East’s famed Pump Room when Nick Wilson entered. They made small talk while waiting for their drinks, and then, once the waitress had left the table, Wilson got straight to the point. He removed a large manila envelope from his briefcase and spread several grisly Chicago Police Department crime scene photos on the table in front of them.

“This guy’s been torn apart,” said Harvath as he sifted through the pictures.

“Just his throat,” replied Wilson as he took a sip of his drink and used the straw to draw Harvath’s attention to the wounds.

“Who the hell was he?”

“Serial rapist the Chicago PD had been after for some time.”

“What’s this have to do with Meg Cassidy?”

“She’s the one who did that to him.”

Harvath couldn’t believe it. As he picked up the photos to study them more closely, Wilson held up his empty glass and signaled the waitress. “You want another?” he asked.

“No,” answered Harvath. “When did this happen?”