body had felt in his arms. He remembered the sensation of her hair brushing across his chest and the sensation of her lips on his mouth. He remembered all of it and it drove him crazy.
Signaling the flight attendant for another glass of wine, he tried to think of something less devastating. Something good. Something pure.
His mind went to Lara’s beautiful son, Marco. They would have made such a wonderful family together.
They had all needed each other. But when Lara had been taken, it had all fallen apart.
The last time Harvath had seen Marco was the day of Lara’s funeral. He had taken the little boy out to eat, then to the Lego store, and finally to a spot on the Charles River in Boston where he liked to feed the ducks.
It had been heart-wrenching for him, but also heartwarming as there was a wonderful spark of Lara that lived on inside Marco. Lara’s aging parents were taking care of him.
During a couple of alcohol-fueled episodes, Harvath had reached for his phone, intending to call his in-laws and tell them that he wanted to adopt Marco and raise him himself.
It was, of course, totally insane. Harvath couldn’t even take care of himself, much less a four-year-old boy. Nevertheless, it had felt like the right thing to do and something he wanted.
As the flight attendant refilled his glass and cleared the dishes, he settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. He was remembering the first vacation he and Lara and Marco had taken together. It had been to Cape Cod and they had spent every waking hour on the beach, riding bikes, or eating ice cream.
The trip had been cut short by work. A crisis had popped up and Harvath had to leave. Lara, though, had understood. She had been grateful for their time together and she had assured him that there’d be many more vacations to come. And he, because he loved her and her little boy so much, had believed her. If only, somehow, he could go back in time and warn himself.
But of course, he couldn’t do that. All he could do was relive those wonderful moments in his mind. So that was exactly what he did.
He fell asleep, remembering one of the happier times in his life—having no idea of the incredible danger he was flying into.
CHAPTER 23
CHIÈVRES AIR BASE
BELGIUM
When the jet touched down at Chièvres, Harvath descended the air stairs and was met on the tarmac by Lieutenant Colonel James Mitchell, Commander of the 424th Air Base Squadron. The 424th was a geographically separated unit of the 86th Airlift Wing out of Ramstein Air Base in Germany. Mitchell was in charge of everything that happened at Chièvres.
As Harvath had been identified as a Department of Defense adviser and was dressed as a civilian, Mitchell greeted him with a firm handshake, saying, “Welcome to Belgium, Mr. Brenner.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” he replied.
“I understand you won’t be with us long.”
“Just a quick meeting and then I’m on my way to Šiauliai.” Nodding toward a waiting car and driver, he asked, “Is that for us?”
“I thought you might want to get cleaned up before your meeting,” the Base Commander said. “We’ve got a VIP lounge, complete with shower, set aside for you. Airman Williams can take you over and then bring you back to my office whenever you’re ready. You’ll be using our secure conference facility.”
Lawlor had gone directly to the President with Harvath’s request. The President had then put Lawlor in touch with the Secretary of Defense, who had set everything up. He had definitely instructed Mitchell to pull out all the stops. This was first-class treatment.
Looking at his watch, Harvath rubbed the stubble on his cheeks. He had more than enough time for a hot shower and a shave before his meeting with Proctor and Jasinski.
“That sounds excellent,” he responded. “Thank you.”
Airman Williams helped transfer Harvath’s gear from the jet to his vehicle while Harvath thanked the flight crew. They planned on spending the night in Belgium and flying back to the States in the morning. He wished them safe travels, thanked Mitchell again, and hopped into the passenger seat of the car.
Williams was a courteous, professional young man originally from the Florida Panhandle near Destin. The building they were headed for was so close, they barely had any time for small talk.
Parking out front, Williams popped the trunk and insisted on carrying Harvath’s personal bag inside.
“Not necessary, Airman,” Harvath replied. “But thank you. All I