CHAPTER 55
Secretary Fleming died shortly after Harvath transmitted the footage from Damien’s interrogation on Bird Cay. The kill orders he had signed, though, remained open. When the Secretary of Defense ascended to the position of Acting President, he was unable to reach Harvath.
Moving like a cold wind through the capitals of Europe, Harvath was Death. Riding upon his pale horse, he struck with great fury and without mercy.
No matter where the members of the Plenary Panel hid, Harvath found them. And when he found them, he killed them.
When the last one was dead, he made his way from Lisbon to Malta, threw everyone out of the Solarium interrogation site, and killed Jan Hendrik. He then tracked down a case of Jack Daniel’s and stayed drunk for three days.
He couldn’t watch the news. He couldn’t listen to the radio. He couldn’t think about the future. There was no future. People around the world were dying so quickly and in such massive numbers that the bodies couldn’t be buried fast enough.
When Vella came and tried to talk to him, Harvath took a shot at him. It was a warning. If he had wanted to kill him, he would have — even as drunk as he was. It was one of the lowest points in his life.
Thirty-six hours later, a priest showed up. It was as if he had appeared out of nowhere, somehow bypassing all of the Solarium’s security systems and walking in.
“Jesus,” Harvath exclaimed when he saw him.
“Far from it,” the man replied.
“What are you doing here, Peio?”
“I’ve come to save you.”
“From what?”
“From yourself.”
Harvath began to lift his pistol, but set it back down and picked up his half-finished bottle of Jack instead.
“Do you want to talk?” Peio asked.
“Sure. How the hell did you find me?”
“A little bird told me.”
Harvath began laughing. “Padre, you should be above short jokes.”
Peio smiled, but it was a smile mixed with pity. He had been right where Harvath was now. Before he was a priest, he had been an intelligence officer in Madrid. He had lived through the horror of the Madrid train bombing and losing his wife. He had then hunted the men responsible, succumbing to his bloodlust. And when alcohol failed to assuage his pain and guilt, he had turned to drugs.
It was a spiral that lead him right to the very gates of hell. Death was extending its cold hand to him when a priest found and rescued him.
“Perhaps referring to Nicholas as a little bird is unfair. Let me try again. A friend told me you might need help.”
“I’m fine,” said Harvath.
Peio looked around at the disarray. “I can see that.”
“You are wasting your time, Padre. There are others who need you more than me.”
“Maybe, but I’m here now. Would you like to talk?” he asked again.
He was the most tenacious priest Harvath had ever met. “What’s the death toll now?”
“On Malta?”
“Everywhere.”
“It’s not good,” Peio conceded.
“I didn’t think so.”
“But there is a silver lining.”
Harvath chuckled. “Really? What’s that? Less traffic?”
“It’s slowing.”
That was something Harvath hadn’t expected. Sitting up, he said, “Slowing how?”
“Some experts, not all, think it is burning itself out. Apparently, it was too lethal, killed too quickly. Getting the vaccinated out to help the unvaccinated appears to have made a huge difference. Nicholas tells me you thought of that.”
“Somebody else thought of it.”
“Modesty from a man in your condition is quite charming.”
Harvath gave his friend the finger.
Padre Peio smiled. “This isn’t you, Scot.”
“You have no idea, Father.”
“Maybe not. But I think I do.”
Harvath didn’t reply.
“You chose to shoulder a great burden, to do things that no one should ever be asked to do. But you did them, and if you hadn’t, evil would be allowed to run unchecked.”
Harvath still didn’t reply.
Peio was about to say more, but decided to remain silent. He knew Harvath well enough to know that he wasn’t a man to be pushed.
Reaching for the bottle of Jack Daniels, the priest poured himself a cup, sat down against the near wall, and said, “Salud” as he took a drink.
They sat in silence for at least an hour, passing the bottle back and forth while Harvath avoided Peio’s gaze.
“These aren’t the circumstances under which I usually hear confession, but if you’d like to confess, I’ll hear yours,” the priest said.
Harvath started to laugh, and it only built from there.
“What?” Peio asked.
“Someday, when it’s all over and we’re old men, maybe we’ll sit together and I’ll confess. Until then, keeping it inside is what keeps me going.”
The priest knew the feeling all too well, and he nodded. “I understand.”
“In the meantime,” Harvath said, looking around and done wallowing. “I think I need to get back home.”
Padre Peio smiled at him. “I can make that happen.”
CHAPTER 56
Thank you,” Reed Carlton said as he walked onto the nursing home veranda and handed Harvath a hot cup of coffee. “For everything.”
The sun was slowly rising, chasing away the overnight cold. In the parking lot below was the truck Harvath had sent Palmer and Ashby to stuff full of supplies and bring back from Damien’s Clifton Farm estate.
Carlton had promised the nursing home staff that if they stayed and saw to the patients, he would find a way to take care of them and their families. He began by going person-by-person, verifying who had been vaccinated. All of the nursing home staff had, as had most of their family members. Those who hadn’t were made comfortable in their own protected wing.
With that out of the way, he had established a guard schedule. A nursing home with pharmaceuticals and a commercial kitchen was a prime target for looters.
By the time Harvath returned, the looting was still going on, but was much more sporadic. He had insisted on being added to guard duty. Their small group of battle-hardened operators continued to be more than enough to beat back the rabble that came sniffing around.
Twice a day, he spoke to Lara via sat phone and ended each call by telling her how much he loved her. He never spoke of his bloody path through Europe or his bottoming out in Malta. For now, some secrets would still remain a part of who he was.
“How is President Porter?” Harvath asked the Old Man.
“They think he’s going to make it.”
“How?”
“The virus has about a seventy percent lethality. They beat the hell out of it with antivirals, plus an experimental AIDS drug. It seems to be doing the trick.”
“Have they shared that with the other countries?”
“Totally.”
“What about Bentzi and Helena?” Harvath asked.
“They’re both still recovering at Camp Peary. He didn’t get the vaccine like she did, so they’ve also got him on antivirals and under observation. So far, so good.”
“Any word from Jessica Decker?”
“Kinshasa, like the rest of Africa, looks like the Zombie Apocalypse. Very few got the good flu vaccine, but even there African Hemorrhagic Fever has quickly burned out. Your SAS team brought Jambo, Leonce, and Pepsy to Kinshasa and linked up with Decker. From what we hear, they’re weathering the storm. They’re doing okay.”
Harvath was glad to hear that. And with everything else taken care of, it was time for him to go.
Taking a sip of his coffee, he prepared to speak, but the Old Man cut him off. “You need to get going. I’ve reached out to General McCollum. A plane has already been arranged for you.”