“I’ll be okay. Let’s get her up.”

To Scot’s relief, Claudia was coming around. Her lip was split and bleeding, but at least she was responding. He put his arm around Claudia’s waist and struggled with her to the door. He was beyond the point of exhaustion. We’re almost there. Don’t give up, he told himself. Don’t give up.

“Mr. President,” said Scot, motioning toward Miner, “unless you’ve got an idea on how to get him out of here, we’re going to have to leave him. My mission is your safe evac, period.”

“You called the man Gerry. Do you know who he is?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President. He is a high-ranking member of Swiss intelligence.”

“Swiss intelligence? What’s he doing over here in the middle of the godforsaken desert?”

“Actually, sir. You are in a mountain in Switzerland.”

“Switzerland?”

“Yes, sir. For some reason-I don’t know why-they wanted you to believe you were being held by a Mideast terrorist group.”

“Fine. We’re in Switzerland; we’ll let the Swiss handle him. Let’s get out of here.”

“Yes, sir!”

Scot steered Claudia out the door and to the right. The president followed behind. Harvath had no idea if any of Miner’s men would be in front of them, but he knew they had to chance it. Going back the way they came didn’t seem like the best idea.

Not even five feet down the hallway, they discovered the direction Scot had chosen wasn’t such a hot idea either.

A tall man, with the build of a linebacker, stood blocking their way with a submachine gun. Unlike Miner’s men, he was dressed in street clothes. The minute he spoke, Harvath knew exactly who he was.

“No gun, eh? What a shame.”

It was the hired killer who had been after him since D.C.

“You know what?” the man continued. “You are the biggest pain in the fucking ass I have ever encountered. I’m going to charge double for you and waste your girlfriend for free. Good men, talented men, died trying to nail you, and I guess that makes me the best because I finally got you.” The hit man raised his gun for a better firing angle. “I took two rounds from you in D.C., and my ribs are so fucked up, I can hardly breathe. If I’d had a clean shot, I would have nailed your ass before you led me up this godforsaken mountain. You know, you actually lost me for a bit. You almost got away. While you were climbing up the side, I took the easy way up and eventually saw you going into the church. That’s when I knew I had you. It’s been fun, but now it’s time to meet your maker!”

The assassin’s finger had just begun to apply pressure to the trigger when his head exploded. His lifeless body lurched toward the wall and then fell to the ground.

Standing behind him was his killer. He was quickly joined by a group of similarly dressed figures in black Nomex fatigues with goggles and black balaclavas. My God, how many men does Miner have? Harvath thought desperately.

He had no idea what to do. His mind raced for options. He knew he had to protect the president at all costs, but what could he do against a group of six heavily armed men when he had nothing? He and Claudia had almost made it. Almost.

The man who had killed the assassin reached across his weapon and pulled a piece of black material from his arm. Underneath was a red, white, and blue flag along with the symbol for the army’s elite Special Forces. He then removed his balaclava, revealing the face of Dr. Skip Trawick.

Using his favorite mock Scottish accent, the first words out of his mouth were, “Surprise, surprise.”

“You guys sure took your time,” deadpanned Harvath.

“We were on our way for a pint and heard ya needed a wee bitta help,” said Trawick still in character. “Where’s the president?”

“Right here,” he said as Claudia and Scot parted to let him pass.

Trawick dropped the accent immediately and identified himself.

“Glad to see you. Hell, I’m glad to see all of you. Is the area secure?” asked the president.

“Yes, sir. It is now.”

“Thank God you got here in time.”

“If you don’t mind, sir, I would like to check you out before we evac.”

“Absolutely not. First you check on the young lady, and next it’s Agent Harvath. Then I want your men to-”

“I’m sorry, sir, but these are not my men. I just happened to be first down the hall and got a clean shot. This is a JSOC op. These men are from SEAL Team Two.”

As the men started removing their balaclavas, Scot recognized almost every one of them. Their commander shot Harvath a thumbs-up and several others followed suit.

It was finally over.

80

Geneva, Switzerland-two days later

Scot Harvath awoke slowly. The room took a few moments to come into focus. Looking down at his arm, he saw that he was on an IV. The sunshine streaming in through the window bothered his eyes. A shadowy figure loomed at the edge of his bed.

“How ya feeling, buddy?” a voice said.

Scot recognized the voice, but it took him a few moments to focus in and clearly see the face.

“Dr. John Paulos. Well, I’ll be. This is getting to be like old home week around here,” said Scot, struggling to sit up. John helped him adjust the bed.

“Yeah, the kid told me he found you,” said John.

“Who, young Dr. T? Skip knows better than to share classified information. I’m sure this mission has big red stamps all over it.”

“He only told me he was part of the team that picked you guys up. He wouldn’t say anything he’s not supposed to.”

“Well, why don’t you tell me what the hell you’re doing here?”

“First, tell me what you remember.”

Scot closed his eyes and thought back over what had happened and what he’d be able to tell without revealing too much. “You’re doing a diagnostic and checking my memory, right?”

“Yeah, that’s all I’m doing. I’ve been cleared to a certain extent, but why don’t we start from when Skip gathered you all up.”

“Is that how he’s putting it? He gathered us all up?”

“The kid’s a cowboy. You know how those guys from Texas are.”

“Okay, so Skip gathered us up. We took the cogwheel to Alpnachstad, where a couple of jets were waiting to bring us to Geneva. I assume the president is still here?”

“Nope, they brought him in for the complete once-over and then zipped him back to D.C. They want to do the hand surgery back there. You’ve made a lot of people very happy and very proud of you.”

“Thanks, John, but what the hell are you doing here? Last time I saw you, you were back in Park City.”

“There was a lot of concern about what condition the president might be in, if and when they found him. You know about the finger?”

Scot nodded his head. The fact that they’d done that to the president still made him sick.

“Well,” continued his friend John, “there were big-time fears that these guys might go even further and that he might be in pretty bad shape once they found him.”

“So, they had the world’s greatest orthopedic surgeon standing by, right?”

“I don’t know about the greatest. One of the top ten, how about that?”

“Plus, you already had security clearance, so that didn’t hurt. But if they were flying Skip over, why not let him do it?”

“Like I said, the kid’s a cowboy. He’s good, but don’t forget who discovered him. He still has a way to go before he can take the old man.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Scot said, chuckling. “What confuses me, though, is how you all knew the president would be here in Switzerland.”

“That is information that I am not on a need-to-know basis on. You’d have to ask your buddy Lawlor at the FBI; he put this thing together from what I hear.”

“So if the president’s gone, why are you still hanging around?”

“Scot, just because you’re not on the ski team and don’t live in Park City anymore doesn’t mean I don’t still care about you.”