The Last Patriot

He was in the process of balancing the briefcase on the door handles when a noise from behind caused him to turn.

As he did, he was hit in the chest and blown through the doors.

CHAPTER 40

CIA HEADQUARTERS

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

“So that’s it?” asked Aydin Ozbek as he gripped his telephone. “He just kept the camera and said nothing?”

The CIA operative listened to Carolyn Leonard for a few more moments in dismay. The call was winding down as Stephanie Whitcomb poked her head inside Ozbek’s office. He held up his index finger indicating he was almost finished.

“Yeah, I understand,” he said into the telephone. “I appreciate your trying. If you come across anything, please let me know.”

After hanging up, Ozbek turned his attention to Whitcomb, who stood in the doorway with a folder tucked under her arm. “What’s up?” he asked.

“The FBI agents interrogating Andrew Salam want to access some of our database information.”

“Why?”

“The more they talk to him, the more they believe that maybe he didn’t kill that woman at the Jefferson Memorial,” she said.

“No kidding. I told them the same thing, but what’s that have to do with accessing our databases?”

“Using Salam’s description of his handler, they pulled photos of their own people going back twenty-five years, loaded them onto a laptop and worked them into a digitized mug book.”

“And they got nothing,” replied Ozbek.

Whitcomb looked at him. “What does that tell you?”

The CIA operative rolled his eyes. It was a stupid question. “Ah, that whoever recruited him wasn’t really an FBI agent?”

“But what if he was an intelligence operative who just worked for another agency?”

Ozbek picked up his pen and tapped it on his desk blotter. “The FBI would be able to get whatever they wanted from DEA, DHS, DOJ.”

“But not CIA. Not without asking us first.”

“Whoa,” cautioned Ozbek. “Maybe the Bureau’s okay with flashing pictures of their people at Salam, but there’s no way in hell we’re going to do that. We can’t.”

“That’s exactly what I said. No dice.”

“So why are we even talking about this?” asked Ozbek, who was anxious to get back to work.

Whitcomb drew the file folder out from under her arm. “The Bureau guys are smart. They came up with a compromise.”

“Like what?”

“They brought Salam an Identi-Kit and just sent over this composite,” she said as she pulled a page from her folder. She held it up for Ozbek to see. “They want to know if we can search our databases for any candidates that might be a match for this guy.”

Even with Whitcomb standing across the room in his doorway, Ozbek recognized the likeness immediately. Matthew Dodd’s face wasn’t one he was ever going to forget.

CHAPTER 41

CLICHY-SOUS-BOIS

Harvath hit the ground with Big Bird’s two-hundred-ninety-plus-pound frame right on top of him. Aouad must have discovered his switch of the Don Quixote.

With the briefcase still clenched in his right hand, Harvath swung at the giant’s head, but was a second too slow. Big Bird raised his left arm and blocked the blow, forcing Harvath to swing with his other hand.

He connected with the man’s jaw, but his attacker barely even flinched. As Harvath pulled back for another strike, Big Bird unloaded with both of his enormous hands.

The man drove two quick punches into Harvath’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him. As Harvath gasped for air, he kept trying to use his legs to lift his body up, but with Big Bird sitting on top of him, it was like being pinned underneath a truck.

The giant threw another combination of punches that sent an intense wave of pain radiating throughout his body.

Harvath responded with another left and connected once again with the man’s head, but it had no effect whatsoever. It was like trying to melt an iceberg with a hairdryer. Still fighting for breath, Harvath took another shot to his ribs as he tried to figure a way out.

Thinking he might have noticed a weakness when he had first tried to clobber the giant with his briefcase, Harvath drew it back and swung again.

Sure enough, as Big Bird raised his arm to block the case, he lowered his head beneath the level of his arm and that was all that Harvath needed to see. He absorbed two more blows before he could launch his counterassault.

Summoning what few reserves of strength he had left, Harvath let the briefcase fly.

This time, when Big Bird raised his forearm and lowered his head, Harvath was ready for him.

As the man’s head came down, Harvath’s came up and the pair met with a sickening crack of bone against cartilage. There was a spray of blood as Harvath tore open a wound that ripped through the top of Big Bird’s beak and into his forehead.

The giant roared in pain as his hands flew to his face and Harvath wasted no time in going to work on him.

With his breath coming in such shallow gasps, Harvath had trouble gathering his strength. Pulling the briefcase back, he took advantage of the fact that the giant’s eyes were flooding with blood and couldn’t see what was coming.