State Of The Union

Harvath had worked with demolitions before, but never in his life had he been so close to such an overwhelming explosion. Despite his desire to keep his mouth open to help equalize the pressure, he bit down so hard he thought for sure he had cracked all of his teeth. The pain of the blast was so intense it felt as if a hand had reached up inside him and was flattening all of his organs. And as for deadening the sound by plugging his ears, he was confident that even Quasimodo himself had never experienced the ringing he was now host to.

As the initial shock of sharing a broom closet with a hand grenade began to recede, Harvath assessed the rest of his situation. The marble faceplate had absorbed most of the grenade’s blast and it now lay on the floor in several pieces. The walls of the mausoleum hadn’t fared much better and were charred and pitted by shrapnel.

The ringing in his ears from the grenade was slowly replaced by the ringing of the words of the FBI’s director who asked Harvath what he was prepared to do if Alexandra Ivanova tried to run. How could he have been so wrong about her? Though his reply to the Director had been simple and to the point, right now putting a bullet in Alexandra Ivanova was a somewhat distant second to what he had been sent here to do.

The mausoleum door had been closed, but not locked and Harvath quietly pushed it open. Knowing that Alexandra still had her radio, he ignored Rick Morrell’s repeated hailings demanding to know what his situation was, and maintained complete radio silence.

He knew that Morrell, Avigliano and Carlson would eventually come and investigate the source of the explosion they had heard and as Harvath pressed himself up against the cold stone façade of the mausoleum, he started off into the most likely direction they would be coming from.

Suddenly, he heard what sounded like the sharp clap of small arms fire, followed by the broken voice of Rick Morrell crackling through his earpiece, “…under fire…been hit and have two men down. I repeat, we are under fire and I have two men down.”

Harvath began running toward them. He wished like hell that he could have called in for a Sit Rep to see where the shooter was, but it was out of the question. The greatest advantage he had going for him was that Draegar and Alexandra thought he was dead.

As he passed the last mausoleum, an incandescent glow from inside caused Harvath to stop dead in his tracks. With his Beretta pistol clasped in both hands, he crept closer to the entryway and used his left elbow to pry open the iron door. The entire mausoleum appeared to be lined with lead and it was now clear why they had failed to pick up any heat signatures in the cemetery. He used his night vision goggles to scan the interior and what he saw scared the hell out of him. The marble faceplates of all six crypts had been removed and each one contained a Russian tactical nuke, their display panels flashing, indicating the weapons had been activated.

It was now apparent how the Russians had been so successful in hiding their nukes all of these years. Harvath had been right on the money when he had said, “Dead men tell no tales.” It was also apparent that the previously unaccounted-for nukes were not in the cities of U.S. allies after all, but were right here in Washington.

There was enough in this crypt to blow the entire capital off the face of the map and Harvath had a feeling that no matter what speech the president gave, the Russians fully intended to send an overpowering message that times had changed and that they were now in control.

The Russians had made one fatal mistake-they hadn’t cleared their message through Scot Harvath, and he was going to be damned if those lying communist bastards caused the collective head of the United States of America to bow even a fraction of an inch in deference to the new world order they planned to unleash. He’d been to Russia, and he’d seen what a shitty country it was. As far as he was concerned, they’d gained too much prominence on the world stage, and it wasn’t time for the United States to step back, it was time for someone to shove the Russians the hell off.

When a shadow fell across Harvath’s shoulder, he knew he was in trouble.

“Don’t bother turning around,” said a voice from behind which he was sure belonged to Helmut Draegar. “Just put your hands up in the air where I can see them.”

Harvath did as he was told.

“Good. Now drop your weapon and kick it away from you, please.”

Once again, Harvath complied.

“I didn’t know if I would be seeing you again,” Draegar continued in English so perfect, there wasn’t even the hint of an accent, “but I’m glad you’re here. I’m going to slide a pair of handcuffs across the floor to you and I want you to clip one end to your left wrist.”

“Why bother?” asked Harvath. “The whole graveyard is surrounded. You’ll never make it out of here alive.”