The Last Patriot

“Anthony Nichols?” asked Rutledge, thinking it was odd that he hadn’t heard from him and yet here was the head of his protective detail bringing up the man’s name. The president sat up a bit straighter. “What about him?”

“Are you aware that Mr. Nichols is in Paris, sir?”

The president shook his head and lied. “No, but Mr. Nichols is free to travel wherever he wants. He’s a grown man. Why are you bringing this to my attention?”

“You were briefed on the bombing that happened there earlier today?” asked Leonard.

“Of course, but what does that have to do with Anthony Nichols?”

“He was there.”

“He was?” Rutledge exclaimed. “Was he hurt?”

“No sir, he was very fortunate. Someone knocked him down just before the blast happened.”

As the president took a moment to process what he was hearing, Leonard continued. “The person who knocked him down was Scot Harvath.”

Rutledge was shocked. “Harvath? What’s he doing in Paris?”

Leonard turned on the digital camera, selected the video clip of the shooting and handed it to the president. “This was taken at the Grand Palais in Paris several hours after the bombing.”

The president watched the footage all the way through and then replayed it.

“Two of the three police officers who were shot were pronounced dead on the scene. The third passed away in a hospital forty-five minutes ago.”

“My God,” replied Rutledge.

“The CIA believes-”

“The CIA?” exclaimed the president.

“Yes, sir. They believe that the shooter in that clip is a CIA operative named Matthew Dodd who faked his own death and disappeared off the grid several years ago after converting to Islam.”

“Islam?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do they know what Harvath was doing with him?”

“From the video,” said Leonard, “it looks like he was his prisoner.”

“Where is Harvath now?”

“According to my source, no one knows.”

Rutledge reminded himself to remain calm and more importantly, quiet.

“I made a couple of anonymous inquiries through contacts I have in Paris,” said Leonard. “Harvath’s picture along with those of the shooter, Anthony Nichols, and Tracy Hastings are being circulated to law enforcement officers throughout France.”

“Tracy Hastings is caught up in this as well?”

“Apparently, she had been at the Grand Palais with Harvath and Anthony Nichols shortly before the shooting.”

“Who’s the other man in the video; the man in the white suit?” asked the president.

“He’s a rare-book dealer with quite a sketchy background named René Bertrand.”

The book dealer? thought Rutledge. Everything was coming unglued. “Why am I hearing this from you and not the CIA?”

“The CIA has a unit responsible for hunting down intelligence agents who go missing. The man who heads the unit is an acquaintance of mine,” said Leonard.

“That still doesn’t explain why he came to you with this.”

“He knows Professor Nichols has visited the White House on several occasions. He also knows of course that Harvath worked here. He’s looking for information that might lead to the capture of his rogue operative and he thought I could help him.”

The president raised his eyebrows. “Which means what?”

“As I said, sir,” replied Leonard, “I take my job very seriously. I do not discuss what goes on inside your administration.”

Rutledge felt the knot in his stomach loosen ever so slightly. “I appreciate your professionalism, Carolyn. What else can you tell me about what happened in Paris?”

“My contact says the CIA has reason to believe that Nichols is involved in something that certain fundamentalist Islamic figures find very threatening; something they may be willing to kill for in order to keep quiet.”

“Does your acquaintance know who this Matthew Dodd is working for?”

“He wouldn’t say,” replied Leonard. “To tell you the truth, I think he might have been holding out on me.”

“Why?”

“From what I gathered, he has been putting his fingers into pies here at home, which is something that the CIA is forbidden to do. He did tell me, though, that Matthew Dodd is one of the most dangerous operatives the Agency has ever fielded. He doesn’t know what Harvath’s involvement is in all this, but he’s concerned that Harvath doesn’t know the seriousness of what he’s up against with Dodd.”

Rutledge took a second to let it all sink in and then stood. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Carolyn” he said. “I haven’t spoken with Scot Harvath recently-”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” interjected Leonard politely, “but I actually heard a rumor that Harvath had a nasty run-in with someone and actually retired over it. Is that true?”

“I can’t comment.”

“I understand, sir,” said the Secret Service agent, who then shook her head and laughed. “Whoever would allow an operative like Scot Harvath to hang up his jersey has got to be a complete fool, right?”

“If I hear from Professor Nichols,” replied the president, “I will definitely make sure to pass along your warning.”