State Of The Union

As they strolled, Harvath reminisced about his grueling SEAL training, most of which had taken place not very far from where they were right now. Meg put her feet in the surf and got a laugh out of Scot when she commented on how cold the water was. Those had been some of the toughest days of his life, and he remembered at times envying the families and casual tourists strolling along the beach while he and his fellow classmates endured frigid swims, never-ending runs, and being forced to help hold a combat rubber raiding craft above his head until he thought for sure his arms were going to fall off. Looking back on it now he realized that while he was competing against his classmates and most definitely against the elements, more than anything else he had been competing against himself.

He had also come to another realization. Scot Harvath was comfortable with who he was and what he did for a living. Though his father might have had some influence on his becoming a SEAL, it was Scot who had mustered the strength, stamina, and integrity to stay one. Yes, he loved his father very much and he missed him too, but who his father had been had nothing to do with who he was now. The career changes from SEAL to Secret Service and now OIIA had nothing to do with trying to please his deceased father. It was about finding new challenges for himself and being there when his country needed him most. The fact that the highest point in his life had come when he had been saluted by General Venrick, Defense Secretary Hilliman, and President Rutledge two months prior in the White House Situation Room, told him everything he needed to know about himself.

Harvath didn’t require accolades or parties in his honor; that wasn’t why he did what he did. Scot Harvath did what he did out of honor. An honor instilled in him by his father, but an honor which he had come to know, understand and deserve as an adult. While he couldn’t go back and fix the way things had been between them when his father had died, he could appreciate the man for who he was. Scot also came to peace with the fact that he was proud of himself and what he had been able to accomplish and in life that was all that mattered.

As Meg walked beside him, she slipped a reassuring arm around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder. They had done a lot of talking over the last two months and had both come to the conclusion that slowing down didn’t have to be a bad thing. Scot had the brand new OIIA to help organize, and Meg decided that it would be best for her to develop a client base in DC first, before possibly relocating her office there. For the time being they would coordinate their schedules so they could see each other whenever they could and decided that if things between them were really meant to be, then everything would work out-long-distance relationship and all.

Scot put his arm around Meg, and they watched as the sun slid beneath the horizon and was swallowed up by the deep Pacific Ocean. Neither of them was in a hurry to get back to the hotel. It was their last night together and in the morning they’d be taking two different planes to two different cities.

They dragged their feet in the sand, each silently asking time to slow down, but eventually arrived back where they started. Part of Harvath was tempted to hold onto Meg, keep walking and never look back, but when he saw Gary Lawlor standing on the steps of the Babcock amp; Story bar, his curiosity got the better of him and he steered Meg away from the beach and toward the hotel.

“I thought Gary turned in early,” said Meg upon seeing Lawlor perched at the top of the stairs.

“Me too,” replied Harvath.

“Maybe he’s changed his mind about having a drink with us.”

“Maybe,” said Scot, though by the look on Gary’s face, he doubted it.

As they approached, Gary put on a smile for Meg’s benefit and asked, “It looked like a beautiful sunset. Did you have a nice walk?”

“We did,” replied Meg, who then asked, “Did you change your mind about having a drink?”

Gary’s smile faded. “Actually, no. I need to talk to Scot.”

Harvath knew it. “What about?”

“I just received a call from DC. We’ve got a situation.”

“What kind of situation?”

“There was a shooting in Paris at the Montparnasse train station. You’ll be briefed en route with all the details. Your plane leaves at midnight.”

Harvath began to probe for more details but was interrupted by Meg as she slipped her arm through his and said to Gary, “I’ll have him packed and downstairs by 10:30.”

“The car’s going to be here for him at ten,” replied Lawlor. Catching the look on Meg’s face, he smiled and said, “but 10:30 will be just fine.”

Author’s Note