State Of The Union

Another forensics detail met Harvath and his colleagues at the door and led them through the grand foyer, past the gourmet kitchen with its granite countertops, and into the spacious living room, which had been crammed full of beautiful hand-carved antique hardwood furniture. Framed thank-you notes from diplomats, boutique hotels, private collections, and individual customers recognizing the dealer’s prowess and eye for rare pieces lined one entire wall. Though this FBI detail was confident that they would find something to tie the killer to the crime scene, they had no idea what the bigger picture was. They knew who had killed the antiques dealer. It was Draegar. What they didn’t know was where Draegar was now and what he was planning to do next. That was the type of clue they needed to find.

The apartment included a gas fireplace and French doors that opened out onto the balcony. In addition to its lavish master bedroom, there was also a den and two marble bathrooms. Harvath and Alexandra quickly began picking the place apart piece by piece. They went through closets, drawers, and bookcases while they fired off questions at the forensics agents to try and get a better picture of the antiques dealer.

They studied the blood stained tub where the man’s body had been found, shot twice in the face. Looking at his Kobold, Harvath noticed it was closing in on five o’clock p.m.-right around the approximate time yesterday that the forensics people claimed the antiques dealer had been killed.

After completely tossing the bathroom, Harvath headed back into the living room and asked one of the forensics agents, “We’ve got a copy of the building’s surveillance tape from yesterday, right?”

“Of course we do,” the man answered, rummaging through an evidence box and pulling it out for Harvath to see. “We already went through it and there’s nobody on there that matches Helmut Draegar’s description.”

“How far back did you go?”

“Hours, just on the off chance that he had snuck in here early and had laid in wait for the victim.”

Harvath fired up the antique dealer’s television and VCR. The tape showed pictures from four different cameras placed throughout the building, including the front and back doors, as well as the garage.

“I’m telling you,” said the forensics agent, “we went back and forth over that tape and there was no sign of your man on it at all. If there was, we would have caught it.”

“Not if he didn’t want you to,” replied Harvath as he began shuttling the tape forward.

“You just passed at least five guys on there,” said Avigliano, wondering how Harvath could make sense of any of the images at this speed.

But somehow, Morrell knew what Harvath was doing and stated, “You’re not looking for guys, are you?”

“Not looking forguys? What are you talking about?” asked DeWolfe.

“It would be just like Draegar,” said Alexandra. “Perfect tradecraft. He’d befriend somebody, probably another tenant, and then use them.”

Finally, Harvath found what he was looking for and paused the tape. Yesterday afternoon at 4:07 p.m. a couple entered the building through the garage. The man’s face was totally obscured from view by the woman who appeared to be helping him carry several packages.

“Jesus,” said DeWolfe, “Do you think that’s him?”

Harvath advanced the video frame by frame. Draegar was a pro. With the woman shielding him and his face turned away from the camera, there was absolutely no record of him ever having been in the building. “I know it’s him.”

“So he was here, in the building. We know that much,” offered Morrell. “That’s good.”

“We also now know something else,” offered Harvath, as his eyes remained locked on the TV screen.

“What’s that?” asked Carlson.

Picking up his CX4 Storm as he headed for the door, Harvath stated, “Where he’s hiding.”

Chapter 53

THE WHITE HOUSE

STATE OF THE UNION ADDRESS-3 HOURS

With less than three hours before the State of the Union address, president Jack Rutledge had cleared the Oval Office so he could be alone and he now stared at two different folders sitting on the desk in front of him, which contained two very different versions of his State of the Union address.

One gave the Russians what they wanted-a message from a humbled American president pulling his country out of the sphere of world politics while, the other was a spit-in-the-eye and a heartyfuck you to any individual, terrorist organization, rogue state, or internationally recognized nation who thought they could blackmail the United States.

The irony that one speech lay in a red folder and the other sat in one of presidential blue-all the while separated by a white desk blotter-was not lost on Jack Rutledge.