Path Of The Assassin

Nine miles southwest of the sleepy town of Hertford, the road abruptly ended at a sign that read, “Harvey Point Defense Testing Activity.” Officially, it was known as a remote Pentagon post, but ever since its inception in 1961, just weeks after the Bay of Pigs fiasco, area residents believed it to be some sort of base for the CIA. Explosions from the Point could be heard and felt for miles around as windows shook and walls sometimes cracked. Strange-looking helicopters often swept in low from the skies overhead, while blacked out transports conveyed unknown passengers quickly through town in the middle of the night. All sorts of old cars, buses, SUVs, and limousines were seen entering on flatbed trucks, only to be carried out later either riddled with bullet holes or burnt to nothing more than charred hulks, or both. The locals had, indeed, pegged Harvey Point correctly, but they didn’t know the half of what went on there.

The Point was where the CIA’s hard-core paramilitary training took place. Personnel were schooled in explosives, paramilitary combat, and other clandestine and unconventional warfare techniques. While the “Farm” at Camp Peary was where CIA personnel earned their stripes and learned their tradecraft, the Point was where a chosen few received a Ph.D. in serious ass-kicking.

The personnel invited to the Point weren’t only limited to American CIA operatives. In the past fifteen years, the CIA had provided counterterrorism training to several American Special Operations groups, as well as foreign intelligence officers from more than fifty countries, including South Korea, Japan, France, Germany, Greece, and Israel.

As the Falcon 900 jet banked and came in over the water for its landing, Harvath watched Harvey Point’s runway magically materialize out of the dense cover of foliage. He knew it was only a trick of the landscape, but an uncomfortable feeling swept over him, nonetheless. Nothing was ever what it appeared to be with the CIA, and Harvath wasn’t looking forward to being a guest on their turf.

The plane touched down and taxied over to an aircraft parking revetment. When the copilot opened the Falcon’s door, the cabin immediately filled with the muggy, swampy air that Harvey Point was famous for. Harvath and Meg descended the metal stairway and found Rick Morrell on the tarmac waiting for them in front of a blacked-out Suburban.

“Thank you for coming, Ms. Cassidy,” he said. “I know you’ve been through a lot, and we want you to know that your country appreciates your cooperation. I hope your flight was comfortable.”

“Yes, thank you,” replied Meg.

“Well, if you’ll follow me. We’ll get you settled in.” Morrell took Meg’s bags and loaded them into the back of the Suburban. He didn’t offer to help Harvath, nor did he even acknowledge his presence.

“What? No kiss? Not even a, honey, I missed you? I’m going to start thinking you don’t care,” said Harvath.

“I don’t,” responded Morrell as he helped Meg into the Suburban and closed the door behind her. “You’ve stepped on a lot of toes wiseguy. There are more than a few people at the Point who don’t like you, so as long as you’re on my playing field, you’ll keep your mouth shut and watch your act.”

“If that’s your idea of a warm welcome, it’s no wonder this resort has yet to rate five stars.”

Morrell climbed into the driver’s seat and expected Harvath to hop into the passenger seat next to him. Instead, Scot got in back and sat next to Meg, effectively reducing Morrell to chauffeur status. Morrell wanted to tell Harvath off right then and there, but he had been warned to be on his best behavior around Meg Cassidy.

For a while, it had looked as if they were not going to be able to bring her in, but somehow, Harvath had managed to swing it. That made Morrell dislike the Secret Service agent even more. Meg Cassidy was integral to the operation, that much was true, but Harvath was barely palatable baggage and would be treated as such.

They drove past a lodge, a gym, and a conference center before pulling up in front of a low-rise barracks-style building.

“Not exactly the most glamorous accommodations in the world, but I’m sure you’ll find it very comfortable,” said Morrell as he hopped out of the SUV and went around to open the door for Meg. After retrieving her bag, he led them up a short flight of stairs and into the main door of the building. “Meals are served at the lodge, but there’s also a fully stocked kitchen at the end of the hall here. There’s a lounge with a big-screen TV, but you also have a television in your room.

“Okay, here we are. Ms. Cassidy, this is your room, number eleven, and you’re over there,” he said to Harvath as he jerked his head at the door across the hall.

“Would you be so kind as to hold my calls? It’s been a long day.”