Free State of the Union by Brad Thor

he had asked about it, Gary had shrugged it off as a simple memento of his time spent overseas.
    As he took a closer look, Harvath noticed that the stein appeared to have been commissioned by a pub called the Leydicke because its name was not only engraved upon the lid, but was also painted on the bottom, along with a serial number. Leighton’s was number seven of only twelve. Harvath wasn’t about to risk another trip back to Lawlor’s house, but he was sure that if he did, he would find that the same barbed-wire-wrapped stein resting above Gary’s kitchen cabinets was a perfect match for Frank Leighton’s. It probably also had a serial number from the same batch. Had Leighton and Gary known each other in Berlin?
    Scot set the stein back in its place and rolled himself back over to the computer when he heard it chime. Leighton’s web browser had opened to an Internet weather site that had been established as his home page. Clicking on the tab next to the address field, Harvath dropped down a list of the most recently visited web sites. At the top of the list was American Airlines. Scot clicked on the link and moments later was transported to their home page. The site recognized that it was being accessed by Leighton’s computer and asked him to enter his password. Harvath took a couple of incorrect stabs before the site finally shut him down.
    He scrolled through Leighton’s Outlook Express and found nothing out of the ordinary. Like everyone else with a computer, Leighton was plagued with electronic junk mail. Harvath was about to give up when he noticed that Leighton had received an auto-confirmation email from American Airlines for a roundtrip ticket purchase to Stockholm, Sweden. The ticket had been issued in the name of Johan Saritsa for same day travel three days ago. The return was set for a month later, but Harvath figured the date was probably bogus and the return flight would go unused.
    Leighton obviously had not anticipated an automatic email confirmation of his flight purchase. Now, Harvath had the alias he was traveling under and with a couple of well placed phone calls, would be able to get the full credit card number Leighton had used to pay for his flight. The haystack had not necessarily gotten any smaller, but the needle had just gotten a little bit bigger.
    Harvath was about to turn on the printer and print out a copy of the flight confirmation, when he heard something from the kitchen. With barely a sound, he was out of the chair with his SIG Sauer drawn. Someone was in the house.
    He pulled the night vision goggles from his backpack, powered them up and put them on. Leighton could have returned, but he doubted it. His gut told him somebody else was inside and he had learned long ago that his gut was seldom wrong.
    Hugging the wall of the laundry room, he focused on slowing his breathing. He counted to three and then button-hooked around the laundry room door into the short hall leading to the kitchen. With his pistol out in front of him, he swept it along with his eyes from left to right and back again. Nothing. Could he have imagined it? , he wondered as he moved cautiously forward. Maybe it was just the heater kicking on. It had been getting progressively colder in the house and part of him had been willing the old Cape Cod to warm up.
    As he neared the kitchen, he stopped for a moment and listened. He could hear what sounded like air blowing through the heating vents. Maybe it was the heater after all.
    Just at that moment, the door to the butler’s pantry exploded open, and before Harvath could react, someone knocked him onto the floor. The figure clutched furiously at Harvath’s right hand, trying to tear away his weapon.
    Harvath fought back hard, delivering several sharp punches to the man’s kidneys. The intense pain caused the man to let up on his assault, and that was the edge Harvath needed.
    He pushed himself away from his attacker and struggled to regain his feet. His mysterious