“Thanks a lot.”

Harvath hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, but he needed to press on. “We need on-site confirmation of his identity before we take action, and you’re the only person that can do that for us. We have to be absolutely sure that we have got the right man. The CIA can’t do this without you.”

“The CIA almost got me killed. I feel like they used me for bait.”

“You’re right. They did.”

“So I’m nothing more than a means to an end as far as the CIA is concerned?”

“Basically.”

“That’s great. You really know how to inspire confidence in a girl.”

“Meg, what I’m trying to tell you is that you matter to me and you very much matter to the president. It’s not just the CIA that needs you; your country needs you. Right now you’re the only person who can help us nail Hashim Nidal. He’s already put the United States on his list. First he takes care of Israel, and then the terror begins here. It could happen right outside this restaurant, and it will happen if we don’t do something.”

“How do I know I’ll be safe?”

“Because you have one thing tipping the odds dramatically in your favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Me. If you agree to come on board, you and I will be joined at the hip. The president knows what an incredible sacrifice this is for you and he wants you to know that every effort is being made to protect you.”

“So, he’s sent his best man to do the job?”

Harvath flashed his most irresistible smile. “I guess you could say that.”

Meg tried to ignore it and changed the subject. “What am I supposed to do about my company? My clients?”

“The CIA is trying to pinpoint the whereabouts of Nidal as quickly as possible. Surely, you’ve got people who can handle things while you’re gone.”

“Maybe. It’s just tough to up and leave everything for God knows how long.”

“I know it’s hard. If there was any other way, believe me-”

“You wouldn’t be sitting here having breakfast with me. I caught that part earlier.”

“You’ll also be eligible to receive a substantial portion of the reward. Of course, all of this is classified and you’re not allowed to discuss it with anyone.”

“I’m going to be late for work.”

“Fine. Why don’t I get the check and we can talk about it on the way to your office.”

33

Nick Wilson and his partner were the two FBI agents on Meg’s protective detail that morning, and Harvath stopped outside the restaurant to chat with them in their car. He explained that he and Meg would be walking to her office and that the two agents could go pick up breakfast and meet them there.

Despite the thickening storm clouds, it was still a beautiful day to be walking in Chicago. A cool breeze was keeping the humidity down, and there was a tangible electricity in the air as the sky grew darker. Meg pointed out places of interest as they walked, and though Scot wanted to press her for an answer, he could tell walking and talking about other things was Meg’s way of working her way through to a decision.

When they arrived at the Beckwith Realty Building, Meg invited Harvath up to see her offices. It was a reasonable invitation, as Meg had yet to voice her decision, but in truth, neither of them was ready to say good-bye. As the elevator made its slow ascent, Meg leaned over and punched a button for one of the intermediate floors.

“What’s up?” asked Harvath.

“I forgot to get coffee. You don’t mind, do you? It’ll only take a second.”

“As long as it’s good coffee, I don’t mind.”

Meg laughed. “It’s good coffee, all right. Much better than what my assistant Judy’s got waiting up in the office. Trust me.”

The elevator doors opened and Meg showed Harvath to a stairwell that exited onto the alley behind her building. Around the corner was a Starbucks.

In the amount of time it took Meg to get her thermos filled and paid for, it started raining. Harvath was standing at the front of the shop looking out the window. “Lovely weather you have here in Chicago,” he said.

“Hopefully, we’ll get a little of this up in Lake Geneva. My grass needs it badly.”

“I only wish I’d brought an umbrella.”

“I thought you guys were supposed to always be prepared.”

“That’s not the Secret Service; that’s the Boy Scouts,” teased Harvath.

“I’m sure that makes the president feel real safe. Here, we’ll use this,” said Meg as she handed Harvath part of a newspaper to cover his head with. “You ready to go?”

“It looks pretty wet out there.”

“I thought SEALs liked the water.”

Immediately, Harvath’s antennae went up. “I never told you I was a SEAL.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“So how did you know?”

“I have my sources. This one was temporarily stationed in Cairo. He seemed to know you quite well. Said you did a little training together-that is, I assume, when you weren’t barhopping and chasing young ladies.”

A smile crept across Harvath’s face. “Lemme guess. Did this source have a Brooklyn accent by any chance?”

“Maybe,” said Meg, with a coy smile.

Bullet Bob, Harvath thought to himself. “Well, regardless of what fairy tales your source might have told you, I have no problem with getting wet.”

“Good, neither do I. Let’s get going.”

On the count of three, the pair ran from the coffee shop and down the street. When they got to the alley behind Meg’s office building, it was already filled with large puddles, so they decided to stick to the sidewalk and run around to the front.

When they turned the corner and were only fifty feet from the entrance, a huge explosion rocked the Beckwith Realty Building and shook the ground beneath them. Harvath pulled Meg behind the safety of a parked car as broken glass rained down on top of them and an enormous fireball climbed into the black sky. It took Harvath only a moment to realize that the car they were using for cover belonged to Nick Wilson and his partner, who were supposed to be meeting them upstairs at Cassidy Public Relations.

Meg looked up and screamed. The blast had come from directly inside her corner office. Right away, Harvath knew it was no accident. And had they not gone for coffee, both of them would have been killed in the explosion.

“Oh, my God, my office! I have to get up there,” yelled Meg, her ears ringing from the blast.

Harvath grabbed her face in both of his hands and turned it toward him. His ice blue eyes bore into hers as he said, “No way. Whatever that was, it was meant for you. We’re not going up there.”

“But Judy…My staff,” was all Meg could say.

Harvath raised himself from behind the cover of the parked car where they were hiding, and looked up and down the block for any signs of people who might be injured and in need of assistance. His eyes swept past a motorcycle messenger and almost kept going, but something made him stop and look back.

That was all it took. Their eyes met and instantly, each knew who the other was. Before Harvath could draw his gun, the terrorist was firing up the motorcycle.

“Stay here and wait for the police,” Harvath said to Meg.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Just do it!” he yelled as he ran across the street toward the half-moon driveway of the opposite office building. Underneath the canopy was a man waiting out the rain on his motorcycle.

“I need your helmet and keys, now,” said Harvath as he ran up to the man and flashed his Secret Service credentials.

“But, this is my Ducati, dude.”

Harvath pulled out his gun and said, “Your choice.”

The man handed his helmet and keys right over.

Harvath reholstered his gun, pulled the helmet on, and fastened the Velcro chin strap. In an instant, he had the bright red motorcycle throbbing to life. He revved the rpms into the red and popped the clutch, laying down a trail of rubbery fire under the canopy. When he hit the street, the bike fishtailed underneath him on the wet asphalt and threatened to tear loose, but Harvath got it back under control. Almost a full block ahead of him, he saw his target turn left onto State Street.