burning precious time waiting for you to get here so the investigation can be carried forward. That was a colossal fuck around.”
“You know what? You’ve just stepped on my very last nerve. You don’t know when someone is trying to give you a hand, do you? I’m going to spell it out for you, and you damn well better listen. We are effective because we are organized. I don’t care how many movies you watch. The rogue cowboy never helps get anything done. He screws up the entire works. It is through cooperation, specialization, and division of the investigative labors that any investigation succeeds. It is not the efforts of one man that count, but of hundreds, sometimes thousands. When you go off half-cocked because you don’t like how things are going, you not only screw things up, as in any evidence we might have been able to uncover on Squaw Peak, but you are turning your back on your team.
“When you turn your back on your team, you forgo the rights and associations thereto. Now, I can understand how you’re feeling, but that does not, for one single moment, excuse your behavior. You have broken the law, and, on top of your other problems, you might have to face the music on some serious charges. You think you were fucked before? Well, any compassion that might have been available to you because of your heroic efforts in saving the president’s daughter have been thrown right out the window, by none other than you yourself.
“I can see your mind working, and I’m going to tell you right now, Scot, to keep your big mouth shut. I’m telling you for your own good. You might still have a career that’s salvageable, but if you step out of line one more time, I guarantee you I will personally see that you get every single thing that’s coming to you. Do you get me? And don’t open your mouth to say yes. You just nod your head.”
Anger burned within every pore in his body like acid, but slowly, reluctantly, Harvath nodded his head.
“Good,” said Lawlor, who turned and walked out of the barn. Waving to get the attention of Deputy MacIntyre, he yelled, “I need one of your men to drive Agent Harvath back to the Secret Service command center at Snow Haven. I have had about all the investigative help from him that I can stand. And, while I’m thinking of it, absolutely no stopping for anything.”
Back in Deer Valley, FBI Agent Zuschnitt, feeling the vibration of his pager, looked at the display and then fished in his pocket for quarters. He could have used his cell phone, but this was yet another call he didn’t want traced back to him.
25
Scot fumed all the way back to the command center. The hypocritical bullshit Lawlor was shoveling was too much. He knew damn well that Lawlor probably bowed, bent, and broke every rule in the book during his search for the people responsible for killing his fellow FBI agents. Nobody blamed him at all, and knowing Lawlor, nobody probably even dared to stand in his way.
In all fairness to Gary, Scot understood that there was a chain of command and a way things needed to be done for the sake of effectiveness. He’d been in the Navy, after all. But, the unassailable fact here was that Scot had lost at least thirty men and the president was missing. No matter what Lawlor said, Scot’s career was in his own hands and the only thing that would turn the tide in his favor was if he stumbled upon something that broke the investigation wide open.
He’d assembled a few clues, but nothing earth-shattering. Lawlor wouldn’t listen to him at this point anyway, so he was back where he’d started-on his own.
Harvath hopped out of Deputy MacIntyre’s Suburban before it had even come to a stop and, flashing his credentials at the gate, was shown through. He made his way to the Winnebago and bounded up the stairs, hoping to find Palmer inside. She was in back, working at the same table Longo had been at earlier.
Glancing up from her laptop, she saw Scot coming down the narrow hallway. “Well, someone’s been a busy boy today.”
“Very funny.”
“Who’s being funny?”
“Yuk, yuk, yuk…Any news?”
“We got a couple of breaks.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Well, we got a confirmation back on the Middle Easterner. Name’s Hassan Useff. The Mossad ID’d him. He was a freelance sniper who worked for many of the pro-Palestinian-liberation groups, in particular some of the more radical splinter factions of the PLO. He had been tied to several high-profile assassinations in Israel.”
“Hmmm,” said Scot. “Well, that does and doesn’t make sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“The weapon he was found with was a Skorpion. It makes sense in that the Skorpion is one of the preferred weapons of the PLO, but it’s predominantly a defensive weapon. The long-range accuracy isn’t that good. And because it’s so small, on fully automatic it’s more of an S and P.”
“S and P?”
“Sorry, it’s a term from my past. S and P means ‘spray and pray.’ The Skorpion cuts a wide swath when it’s set to full auto, and the shooter just sprays bullets and prays he hits his target. You know, a room broom.”
“But what if it wasn’t set on fully auto?”
“Well, it can hold a ten-to-twenty-round magazine, but why wouldn’t a sniper use a more accurate and dependable weapon?”
“Maybe he had one and his buddies took it with them.”
“And, what, left him with a weapon that screams PLO? It doesn’t make sense.” Scot took a seat next to Agent Palmer as his eyes glazed over in thought.
“When you were in the SEALs, didn’t you ever carry any American-made weaponry?”
His mind half on what Palmer had said and half somewhere else, Scot answered, “It depended on the mission, but we would never leave one of our men or any of our equipment behind. In and out without trace was our M.O.”
“You know, I once dated a SEAL, and if he had applied the same policies to my bathroom, instead of leaving behind a minefield of wet towels and toilet seats in the up position, we might still be together.” Palmer laughed, trying to help lift the intense mood Scot had slipped into, but it didn’t work.
“You like chocolate, right?”
“Show me a woman who doesn’t,” answered Palmer.
“And all that stuff you brought back from your trip to Europe last year-”
“You mean the chocolate that I brought back and left in the duty room at the White House that you piglets wolfed down and didn’t even leave me a piece of?”
“Yeah, that would be the chocolate I’m talking about.”
“What about it?”
“Where’d you get it? I mean, did you buy it at the duty free, or did you go to specialty shops?”
“Let me see. I kind of bought it all over. I was traveling by train on one of those Eurail passes, and it was nice to have it to snack on. I just picked it up here and there.”
“Any place in particular?”
Palmer tried to jog her memory. “I started my trip in Belgium, and since they’re really known for their chocolate, I think I bought a good supply at a shop across the street from the train station. That lasted me through France, and when I got to Austria, I picked up some Mozart’s Balls.”
“‘Mozart’s Balls’?”
“When you say it in German, it’s not as dirty.”
“And, after Austria?”
“Ah, let me think, after Austria…Oh, yeah. After Austria, I went to Switzerland. They are really famous for chocolate, but I think it’s more like milk chocolate they’re famous for. The Belgians do lots of fancy things with chocolate, but not so much the Swiss. The Belgians would put chocolate on a cheeseburger and try to sell it, while the Swiss really seem to like milk chocolate bars. Next, I went to Italy and they had those awesome Baci Balls-”
