most dangerous terrorists. Without her ability to ID the faceless terrorist, the United States might never have stopped him.
Meg brought along her new fiancé, and while he seemed a decent enough man, he definitely didn’t have the charisma of Scot Harvath. The president had always been sorry that the two of them hadn’t been able to work things out. They still seemed perfectly suited for each other, but with the demands of both of their careers, he also saw that their breakup just might have been inevitable.
The trio was enjoying a pleasant conversation when the head of the president’s security detail, Carolyn Leonard, discreetly approached. She apologized for the interruption and then whispered into the president’s ear. Immediately, Rutledge’s entire body stiffened.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking first Meg’s hand and then her fiancé’s. “A situation has come up and I have to leave.”
“I hope it’s not serious,” said Meg, but the president had already been joined by several more agents from his Secret Service detail and was being escorted off the Jolly Rodger.
“What’s going on, Carolyn?” asked Rutledge as he looked over and saw the wet-suited SEAL Team that augmented his maritime activities surface with their weapons at the ready.
“New York has been hit,” replied Leonard.
“What do you mean, hit ?”
“I have very few details at this point, Mr. President. I think it would be better if your own people briefed you on that once we’re in the air.”
Rutledge didn’t want to wait until they were in the air. He wanted answers now, especially considering the fact that his daughter was spending the holiday weekend with friends on Long Island. But as he turned to put the question of Amanda’s well-being to his chief Secret Service agent, the rotors of his rapidly approaching helicopter quickly made talking impossible.
Fourteen
N EW Y ORK C ITY
W ith traffic at an absolute standstill, Harvath threw twenty bucks onto the front seat of the cab, and he and Bob jumped out.
According to Herrington, they were only about six blocks away from the VA, and so they decided to make that their destination.
In every bar and restaurant they ran past, people were glued to the televisions and scenes of the devastating explosion on the Queensboro Bridge.
When they arrived at the VA, the lobby was in chaos. Everyone, including the VA police, was huddled around the television sets. Bob led Harvath through the crowd and upstairs to the office of Dr. Sam Hardy. Hardy was in his late forties, tall and fit. He was balding and had a look in his eyes that suggested he’d been around the block more than a few times.
Hardy looked up from the TV set on his desk when Harvath and Herrington entered and said to Bob, “It looks like multiple attacks.”
“Multiple?” asked Harvath as Bob introduced him to Dr. Hardy. “We just heard about the Queensboro Bridge. There have been more?”
Hardy nodded his head. “The reports are just starting to come in, but it looks like all of the bridges and all of the tunnels into and out of Manhattan have been hit.”
Harvath was at a loss for words. He stood there with his mouth agape as they watched the television on Hardy’s desk. Finally, he stated, “I guess now maybe we know why they wanted to draw off the tactical teams.”
“And why they wanted to take out the Emergency Operations Center,” added Bob as he turned to Hardy and asked, “Have you heard from anybody else?”
“No,” replied Hardy, “but I think they’ll start showing up here real soon.”
“Who are you talking about?” Harvath asked.
Herrington ignored him and said to Hardy, “Can I borrow your keycard?”
“What for?”
“I want to take Scot up to the roof and get a look at what’s going on.”
“I’ll go with you,” said the doctor. “I want to get a look too. Let me just leave a note in case anyone comes by while we’re up there.”
Up on the roof, they could see
Meg brought along her new fiancé, and while he seemed a decent enough man, he definitely didn’t have the charisma of Scot Harvath. The president had always been sorry that the two of them hadn’t been able to work things out. They still seemed perfectly suited for each other, but with the demands of both of their careers, he also saw that their breakup just might have been inevitable.
The trio was enjoying a pleasant conversation when the head of the president’s security detail, Carolyn Leonard, discreetly approached. She apologized for the interruption and then whispered into the president’s ear. Immediately, Rutledge’s entire body stiffened.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking first Meg’s hand and then her fiancé’s. “A situation has come up and I have to leave.”
“I hope it’s not serious,” said Meg, but the president had already been joined by several more agents from his Secret Service detail and was being escorted off the Jolly Rodger.
“What’s going on, Carolyn?” asked Rutledge as he looked over and saw the wet-suited SEAL Team that augmented his maritime activities surface with their weapons at the ready.
“New York has been hit,” replied Leonard.
“What do you mean, hit ?”
“I have very few details at this point, Mr. President. I think it would be better if your own people briefed you on that once we’re in the air.”
Rutledge didn’t want to wait until they were in the air. He wanted answers now, especially considering the fact that his daughter was spending the holiday weekend with friends on Long Island. But as he turned to put the question of Amanda’s well-being to his chief Secret Service agent, the rotors of his rapidly approaching helicopter quickly made talking impossible.
Fourteen
N EW Y ORK C ITY
W ith traffic at an absolute standstill, Harvath threw twenty bucks onto the front seat of the cab, and he and Bob jumped out.
According to Herrington, they were only about six blocks away from the VA, and so they decided to make that their destination.
In every bar and restaurant they ran past, people were glued to the televisions and scenes of the devastating explosion on the Queensboro Bridge.
When they arrived at the VA, the lobby was in chaos. Everyone, including the VA police, was huddled around the television sets. Bob led Harvath through the crowd and upstairs to the office of Dr. Sam Hardy. Hardy was in his late forties, tall and fit. He was balding and had a look in his eyes that suggested he’d been around the block more than a few times.
Hardy looked up from the TV set on his desk when Harvath and Herrington entered and said to Bob, “It looks like multiple attacks.”
“Multiple?” asked Harvath as Bob introduced him to Dr. Hardy. “We just heard about the Queensboro Bridge. There have been more?”
Hardy nodded his head. “The reports are just starting to come in, but it looks like all of the bridges and all of the tunnels into and out of Manhattan have been hit.”
Harvath was at a loss for words. He stood there with his mouth agape as they watched the television on Hardy’s desk. Finally, he stated, “I guess now maybe we know why they wanted to draw off the tactical teams.”
“And why they wanted to take out the Emergency Operations Center,” added Bob as he turned to Hardy and asked, “Have you heard from anybody else?”
“No,” replied Hardy, “but I think they’ll start showing up here real soon.”
“Who are you talking about?” Harvath asked.
Herrington ignored him and said to Hardy, “Can I borrow your keycard?”
“What for?”
“I want to take Scot up to the roof and get a look at what’s going on.”
“I’ll go with you,” said the doctor. “I want to get a look too. Let me just leave a note in case anyone comes by while we’re up there.”
Up on the roof, they could see
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