State Of The Union

“Be that as it may, I have other photos you might like to see,” said Stavropol as he produced another set.

“Paste yourself up a fucking scrapbook. I’m not interested.”

“Don’t be too sure. There’s some people in here you might recognize.”

Lawlor turned his face away and Stavropol nodded to Draegar and Überhof, who came over and grabbed hold of Lawlor’s head and forced him to look at the pictures.

“You’re quite an enigma, Mr. Lawlor. You and your wife never had children. You don’t have any other family to speak of. You’re not even particularly close with any of your coworkers, except,” said the man presenting a new photo, “for this one.”

The picture was of one of Gary Lawlor’s barbecues. From the angle it was taken, Lawlor figured the photographer must have been using a long lens somewhere in the woods behind his house. Two things about the photo disturbed him deeply. One was that the picture had to have been taken sometime in the fall, which meant that they had been watching him for several months and he had never noticed it. Two, and this was probably the worst thing, was the person singled out on the photo with a red circle drawn around his head complete with mock crosshairs. That person was like family to him.

“Your silence speaks for itself,” said Stavropol.

“I can guarantee you’ll never get to him,” replied Lawlor.

“Really? So he’s that good? Is he as good as the men on your Dark Night team?”

There was no point in pretending. Lawlor knew that they were on to the Dark Night operation. How, he had no idea, but the key was not to give them anything that they didn’t already have, anything that would aid them in shutting down the operation altogether.

“He’s even better,” said Gary.

“Well, that’s good for him, because from what my people tell me, your other operatives were some of the easiest kills they have ever made.”

Lawlor couldn’t believe his ears.It wasn’t true. Stavropol was lying. This was his way of breaking him down, trying to get him to talk.

“Would you like to see pictures?” asked Stavropol, as he ran through a series of photos that all but confirmed for Lawlor that his team was dead. Except for one, it seemed.

“So what?” said Gary.

“So if you don’t want to see what happened to them happen to this fellow,” responded Stavropol as he brought back out the picture of Harvath with the crosshairs through his head, “I suggest you tell me about your contingencies. What was the next step if your team failed? Certainly your pathetic operation wasn’t your country’s last hope.”

Stavropol was much cooler, more controlled in his interrogation than Draegar. He referred to what hewanted to know rather thanneeded. That made him all the more dangerous in Lawlor’s book.

“I don’t care how good you think you are,” said Lawlor. “You’ll never get him.”

“Really?” asked Stavropol. “What about Helmut? I’m thinking about letting him do it. I think he’d have a very good chance of succeeding.”

Gary knew that Stavropol was serious. He had no doubt that the man would fulfill his black promise to the very letter. He wished there was a way he could warn Scot, but that didn’t look as if it was going to happen. The one thing that Lawlor could take solace in was that he knew Scot Harvath would avenge his death. No matter how much cajoling, favoring, swapping, and pressure he had to put on people, Harvath would discover Gary’s real past and would eventually track down his killers. Gary only hoped that Harvath would do a better job avenging his death than he had Heide’s. The mere fact that Helmut Draegar was still alive, much less had managed to get the better of Gary and take him prisoner was more than he could bear. No, Scot was a better operative than Gary had ever been. Scot would see to it that Gary’s killers were brought to justice-theright kind of justice.

“So,” said Stavropol, removing a magnificently engraved pistol from beneath his suit coat, which shone with an amazing brilliance in the murky, semi-darkness, “are you going to make it easier on your friend, or harder?”

Lawlor’s mind struggled under the weight of what he was being asked to do. It was one of the most painful decisions anyone could ever be faced with. Scot was like a son to him. At the same time, there wasn’t room for choosing. He had an assignment and the freedom of his country hung in the balance. The only reason that Stavropol hadn’t killed him yet was because he had something they not only wanted, butneeded to know. He had no choice. He would take the information with him to the grave. Based on the photos of the slain Dark Night operatives he had seen, they hadn’t gotten to Frank Leighton. And if they hadn’t gotten to Frank Leighton, then there still was hope.

Gary cleared his throat and repeated, “Like a ghost. By the time you realize he’s in the room, it will be too late.”