Free Hidden Order: A Thriller by Brad Thor

this deal. If I’d had my weapon, I might have put a bullet in you right there myself.”
    Harvath shook his head. “None of this bothers you?”
    “Of course it bothers me. Every assignment we take bothers me. Each one has its share of headaches and blind alleys. That’s why people call us. But despite all the problems, we always find a way through. It’s what we do.”
    It’s what I do , thought Harvath. And while he didn’t discount the Old Man’s genius, Carlton didn’t do much if any fieldwork anymore. It was always Harvath who was being sent into shitholes around the world having to face danger on a regular basis. There was a ton of it he loved, but there was some he was starting to dislike.
    “Listen, for Monroe Lewis and his crew money is literally no object. At some point, someone in the press is going to connect the dots and this is going to be a huge story. In fact, I don’t even know how long they’ll be able to keep the murder down in Georgia quiet. When this thing does go supernova on them, they’re going to want to appear to have done everything they could, which includes bringing in a K-and-R team to assist the FBI. They’re hedging their bets.”
    The Old Man was right. Harvath didn’t want to dwell on it. “Where do we begin?” he asked.
    Carlton signaled and merged into a faster-moving lane. “Jacobson gave us his file with everything on the kidnappings plus what they have on the murder. I think we ought to start there.”
    “Speaking of which, did you notice how her body was laid out?”
    “On the bed of logs? Weird, huh?”
    “Not so much weird as purposeful,” Harvath replied.
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Because whoever killed her was sending a very specific message.”
    “Of course they were,” the Old Man stated. “They’re some wacko group that thinks the Fed is comprised of a bunch of tyrants.”
    “It’s not just the line from Jefferson about the tree of liberty. It’s also the skull and crossbones with the crown above it. And there’s something with those logs that bothers me, too.”
    “Like what?”
    “I want to double-check it when we get back to the house. It may not be anything.”
     • • • 
    Harvath’s property sat above the Potomac, just south of George Washington’s Mount Vernon. The modest estate, called Bishop’s Gate, was a former Anglican church dating back to the Revolutionary War and was one of hundreds of properties owned by the United States Navy. Out of gratitude for his service to the United States, a previous president had arranged a ninety-nine-year lease for Harvath. All that was required was that he restore and maintain the property in a manner befitting its historic value. His rent was established at one dollar per annum.
    With all of the places he had lived as an adult, nothing had ever felt truly like home to him until Bishop’s Gate. Not someone particularly given to a belief in fate, he made a discovery on the day he took possession of the property that caused him to wonder if his tenancy wasn’t somehow preordained.
    In the attic of the rectory, he had come across a sign. On a beautifully carved piece of wood was the Latin motto of the Anglican missionaries. It was almost as if it had been left there for him. When he read the words that so perfectly summed up what he did and who he was, Scot knew he had found his refuge—TRANSIENS ADIUVA NOS— I go overseas to give help .
    He removed the sign from the attic and hung it in his entry hall so he could read it each time he came or went.
    Stepping inside, he told Carlton to help himself to whatever he could find in the kitchen and that he would join him there in a few minutes.
    He turned and walked down the opposite hall to his study. Once he got there, he stood looking at the shelves and shelves of books. Everything was in perfect alphabetical order by author. When he had first moved in, he thought that was the best way to organize his vast library. Only now did he wish he