State Of The Union

Upon their arrival at Reagan National Airport, there were two cars waiting. One was there to take Meg Cassidy back to Scot’s apartment in Alexandria, while the other brought Harvath directly to Homeland Security headquarters.

When Harvath entered the director’s secure conference room, Driehaus gestured to a chair about halfway down the smooth oak table. Sitting to his right were CIA Director Vaile and FBI Director Sorce. Harvath nodded at Vaile and Sorce as Driehaus said, “We appreciate your coming back so quickly, especially considering the circumstances which had taken you out to California in the first place.”

Harvath was feeling guilty as hell for backing out of his father’s memorial service and wanted to put those feelings behind him for the time being. “You said this was a matter of urgent national security?”

“It is,” replied Driehaus as he extracted a thick blue folder from the accordion file sitting on the table in front of him, removed a series of glossy eight-by-ten photographs and handed them across the table to Harvath. “Do you recognize any of these men?” he asked.

Harvath was taken aback to see that the pictures were a mix of crime scene and autopsy photos of ten men who looked to range in age from their late forties to mid-sixties. Most looked to have been shot in the head while a couple had had their throats cut. After going through them a second time, he slid them back over to Driehaus and said, “I’ve never seen any of them before. Do their deaths have something to do with Gary ’s disappearance?”

“Maybe,” responded FBI Director Sorce. “The bodies were found over the last several days and from the limited amount of information we’ve been able to uncover, all of these men were part of an Army Intelligence unit based in Berlin at the same time Gary was. What they were doing was highly classified and there is no record of it.”

“So what? Gary was already out of the army by the time he moved overseas. The fact that these guys were also with Army Intelligence is nothing more than coincidence.”

The minute the words were out of his mouth, Harvath wished he could take them back. He knew how lame he sounded. He also knew that even he didn’t really believe what he was saying. Of all people, Harvath was usually the first to say that there was no such thing as coincidence. That simple belief had saved his life more times than he cared to remember and he knew it was one of the primary tenets of the intelligence community.

“Agent Harvath, let’s back things up a bit here. I can appreciate your loyalty to Gary,” said Driehaus. “Why don’t we begin by having you tell us what you know about him.”

Harvath reached for the carafe of water on the table in front of him and poured a glass. He took a long sip as he collected his thoughts before speaking. “Gary Lawlor was a friend of my parents before I was even born. He’d been involved with Army Intelligence and met my father, who was a SEAL, when they were both in Vietnam. Through their work, they became pretty good friends and undertook several missions together. During one mission in particular, my father told me Gary had even saved his life. So, I guess you could say that if it wasn’t for Gary Lawlor, I wouldn’t be here today.”

Harvath paused and studied the faces across the table from him before continuing. “After leaving the Army, Gary and his wife lived in Europe for a while before he returned to pursue a career with the FBI, where he specialized in areas ranging from counterterrorism to white-collar crime. He was eventually promoted to Special Agent in Charge of the San Diego field office and that’s when I really got to know him.

“When my father died in the accident at the Naval Special Warfare Center in Coronado, Gary took a leave of absence from work to be with us and help us begin to put our lives back together.”

Remembering his father’s death and its aftermath caused Harvath to pause and seizing the opportunity, FBI Director Sorce asked, “Agent Harvath, did anyone ever talk to you about the death of Gary ’s wife?”

“My mother did.”

“What did she tell you?”

“Heide had been accidentally hit by a car in Europe.”

“Did your mother tell you where in Europe they were when it happened?”

“It was in Germany, I think. What difference does it make?”

Now it was Director Vaile’s turn to speak. “Agent Harvath, do you know what they were doing in Germany?”

“Heide’s family was from there, and she owned an art gallery while Gary worked in investment banking.”

FBI Director Sorce looked first at Vaile then at Driehaus who both nodded. “Scot, Heide did own a gallery in West Berlin and Gary was on the rolls of an American investment banking firm there too, but that was just a front for what they were really doing.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Harvath, who leaned closer into the table as if it would force Sorce’s words to make more sense.

“Did you know that Gary speaks fluent Russian?”

“ Gary? Russian? Are you serious?”

“Extremely.”