Free Blowback by Brad Thor Page A

bake a very big cake-one which she hopes to cover with candles and use to celebrate the Democrats taking back the White House.”
    “But how do we know she can even prove anything?”
    “She doesn’t have to prove anything. This is Washington. All she has to do is have enough to suggest that the president may have been sanctioning off-the-books black ops, and it’ll hurt him in the election. It doesn’t matter that Jack Rutledge has been proactive as hell and has had the balls to do whatever necessary to keep this country safe, there’s a good percentage of the voting public out there who don’t like the idea of their president operating outside the scope of his power and not having to answer to anyone.”
    “But that’s not how he works, and you know it,” replied Harvath.
    “Of course I know, but what I say isn’t going to make a bit of difference. Carmichael is going to make him look like an egomaniacal despot waging his own war via his own private assassin. It’ll decimate the public’s trust in him.”
    Harvath was silent. How could he argue? Lawlor was right.
    “I don’t need to tell you what a battlefield DC is,” said the older and often wiser man, “and I also don’t need to tell you that on the battlefield, you never underestimate your opponent. The president and his chief of staff are certainly not underestimating Helen Carmichael right now.”
    “You can say that again,” replied Harvath. “According to Anderson, they expect her to have a subpoena ready for me by three o’clock this afternoon.”
    “That’s one of the reasons I wanted us to meet here. Carmichael means to drag you out in front of the media, and the sooner the better, as far as she’s concerned. But if she can’t find you, she can’t serve you. And if she can’t serve you, then she can’t expect you to appear before her committee and the media.”
    Harvath was quiet for a moment while he tried to divine his boss’s meaning. “Are you telling me you want me to duck a congressional subpoena?”
    “Right now? Yes. I want you to duck it as hard as you can.”
    “You know what that means,” replied Scot. “It means not going to the office, not going home-not going anywhere I normally go. What do you suggest I do?”
    “Disappear.”
    “For how long?” he asked
    “For as long as it takes for us to fix this thing,” said Lawlor. “The last thing the president wants is for you to appear before Senator Carmichael’s committee.”
    “But why did he have me sign a letter of resignation then?”
    “He didn’t have you sign it, Anderson did, and it’s just a fail-safe. The president has no intention of accepting it, “He replied as he handed Harvath an envelope. “In fact, he has something else in mind for you.”

THIRTEEN
    BRITISH AIRWAYS FLIGHT 216
    SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC
    LATER THAT EVENING
     
    As Harvath’s flight sped across the Atlantic, his mind was reeling. He doubted if anything could have prepared him for the contents of the envelope Gary Lawlor had handed him only hours earlier. The photos and description of what had happened in the village of Asalaam were horrific. In addition to the non-Muslim population, the illness had claimed five U.S. soldiers, all members of Stryker Brigade Combat Team sent to look for missing American aid workers.
    Harvath ran through the images again in his mind’s eye, reliving every horrible stage of infection as it unfolded. A crack containment team from USAMRIID had been dispatched to Iraq as soon as it was discovered that the SBCT soldiers had become infected. It was no use. Hours after the body strapped to the ceiling of the Provincial Ministry of Police had covered them in a fine bloody mist, they began to show symptoms of contamination. Immediately, the soldiers were placed in quarantine, which helped to prevent the illness from spreading, but despite being pumped full of antibiotics, there was nothing that could be done to save them.
    The illness worked faster