State Of The Union

When Harvath asked if the engine was running, he was told that it wasn’t. In fact, it was in the process of cooling down. That could only mean one of two things. Either Draegar had ditched this car as well and was nowhere near the cemetery, or he had settled in and it was just a matter of finding him. But where could he be hiding? Short of joining the permanent residents, there weren’t that many places in a graveyard where the NRO’s sophisticated, high-tech equipment wouldn’t be able to pick up his heat signature.

The Anacostia Naval Station was three miles downriver from the Congressional Cemetery, and Harvath had been serious about keeping any unnecessary helicopters away from the area. Of course, with the State of the Union address less than two hours away, the skies were being heavily patrolled, but buzzing the graveyard would only have served to tip their hand. The best way in was by water.

Because of his bad ankle, DeWolfe was forced to sit this one out. Everybody else, though, was onboard, their minor injuries all but forgotten as they focused on what lay ahead.

The fifteen-foot black Zodiac combat rubber raiding craft was ready and waiting for them as they made their way down to the river. Harvath and the rest of the team checked their weapons and their communications gear one last time before pushing off. If anything needed fixing or replacing, now was the time to do it. Once they were underway, there was no turning back, not for anything.

The silenced outboard drove the heavily reinforced, inflatable craft quickly up the Anacostia. They beached the boat just under the Pennsylvania Avenue Bridge, and covered the rest of the distance on foot.

Based on maps of the cemetery, it had been decided that the best entry point would be over the south wall. Harvath radioed SIOC for a final Sit Rep off the satellite before they went in. “Negative,” came back the voice from SIOC. “The graveyard is still cold.”

No kidding, thought Harvath as he took a deep breath before scaling the wall.

Once on the other side, the team fanned out behind the sea of headstones and Harvath pulled out his map of the cemetery. It was based on a grid system corresponding to range values and site numbers. Though he would have preferred GPS coordinates, it was nevertheless a fairly decent map. The tiny thoroughfares were well indicated and it wasn’t difficult to place their current position in relation to their objective-a series of family vaults on what the cemetery referred to as “Mausoleum Row.”

It had been decided that Harvath and Alexandra would check out Mausoleum Row, while Morrell, Avigliano, and Carlson went to investigate the nearby car, which was parked unusually close to the grave of J. Edgar Hoover.

The team split up and Harvath and Alexandra cut across a wide, grassy expanse. As they passed, the headstones glowed a ghostly greenish-white through their night-vision goggles. They hugged the side of a small road until they reached the first intersection, and Mausoleum Row.

The vaults were built into a small hill with regular graves just above and behind them. Harvath was about to try the first iron door when he noticed the second mausoleum’s door was slightly ajar. He traded Alexandra the Beretta carbine for the pistol, which was much more suited for going into such a tight space, and had her stand guard outside.

He listened at the door for several seconds until all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart as the blood rushed in and out of his ears. Harvath grabbed hold of the door with his free hand, and slowly pulled it back, praying there wouldn’t be any loud squeal of metal on metal that would give them away.

The old door cooperated and didn’t make a sound. It effortlessly swung back as if on freshly oiled hinges. As Harvath stepped inside, he suddenly realized what the jacks in the trunks of the sleepers’ cars had been for. Still secured upon their stands, two hydraulic jacks balanced a marble faceplate easily weighing three or four hundred pounds. Harvath maneuvered around the heavy piece of marble and found a stone bench behind it, which he stood upon to look into the open crypt halfway up the wall.

Instead of a coffin, the crypt contained a sophisticated communications array. It appeared he had discovered how Draegar planned on communicating with the sleepers. By now he would know they had been picked up and would be one desperate man.

Harvath wanted Alexandra to see what he was seeing and engaged his throat mike, but there was no response. He was about to try one more time when he heard what he knew in the marrow of his bones was a grenade being rolled into the vault. Without thinking twice, he dropped onto the stone bench behind the faceplate, opened his mouth, closed his eyes, pushed his fingers as far as far as he could into his ears and curled into the tightest fetal position a man had ever attempted.