“Huh,” said Tullis as he removed a spiral notebook from his pocket. Flipping several pages in, he scanned his notes. “Based on the suitcase and clothing in the guest room, we assumed the Corpsman was staying here in the house. Lydia Ryan and Lara Cordero, though, had key cards for rooms at a nearby hotel.
“Ryan’s room was single occupancy, but Lara Cordero checked in with a man, a man whose clothes are still in their room and who hasn’t been seen for at least the last two days. Any idea who that might be?”
The knot in McGee’s stomach ratcheted ten degrees tighter. Pointing at the evidence bag containing the cell phone, he asked, “Is it on?”
The Chief nodded. “It is. It even has some battery left, but it’s locked.”
The CIA Director didn’t care. He had people who could open it. Though he had recognized the case, he just wanted to be certain it was Harvath’s.
Taking out his own cell phone, he pulled up his call log and redialed the number he had been calling and texting before leaving Langley.
It took only a moment for the call to connect.
As the phone inside the evidence bag began to vibrate, one of McGee’s worst fears was confirmed.
CHAPTER 7
* * *
* * *
The CIA Director was no stranger to death, but identifying the bodies of three close friends had taken a toll. He needed to get some air and clear his head. Until he did, he wasn’t going to be able to think straight.
Tullis could sense the DCI needed a break and suggested they all step outside. One of his officers had just made a run into town for coffee.
“Hope black is okay,” he said as he handed him a cup.
McGee, who was leaning against one of the patrol vehicles and studying the house, thanked him.
The pair stood in silence for several moments as the steam rose from their cups.
“What can you tell me about this Scot Harvath?” Tullis finally asked.
McGee chose his words carefully. Harvath was one of the country’s most valuable intelligence assets. “He’s one of the good guys. And tough as hell. He reminds me a lot of Carlton.”
The Chief let that sit for a moment. He didn’t want to ask his next question, but he had to. “Is Harvath capable of what happened inside?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You sound pretty certain.”
“I’m positive,” McGee declared. “And if you knew him, you’d be positive, too.”
“Then help me out. Who is he? Tell me about him.”
The only reason McGee was here was that Tullis had extended him a professional courtesy. The CIA had no jurisdiction. And short of some as-yet-undiscovered federal nexus or an official request for help, neither did the FBI. The least McGee could do was cooperate. “Where do you want to start?” he asked.
“How about we start with his full name?”
“Scot Thomas Harvath.”
Tullis had his spiral notebook back out, along with his pen. “And what was his relationship to the victims?”
“He worked for Reed Carlton.”
“At The Carlton Group?” the Chief asked.
“Yes.”
“In what capacity?”
McGee raised his cup and took a sip of coffee. “I believe he was Director of Operations.”
“You don’t know for certain?”
“It’s complicated. Harvath wasn’t big on titles. All I know is that Lydia carried out the day-to-day business, while Harvath took care of the ops side of the house.”
“Which entailed what?”
“He dealt with the assignments. Staffing them. Executing them. That sort of thing.”
Tullis took a few notes and then asked, “Tell me about his background.”
“He was a Navy SEAL for many years.”
“Which team?”
“If I remember correctly, he started out at Team Two—the cold-weather specialists—and ended up at SEAL Team Six. He caught the eye of the Secret Service and did some work for them, then ended up at the CIA doing contract work before joining Reed’s operation.”
“What kind of contract work?”
“I can’t discuss that.”
The Chief made several more notes. “Any PTSD?”
McGee shook his head. “The joke in our industry is that guys like Harvath don’t get PTSD, they give it.”
“So no issues that you are aware of.”
“Zero.”
“Any medications?”
“None that I know of.”
“What was his relationship with Cordero?” asked Tullis. “Were they romantically involved?”
“Yes.”
“Married?”
McGee shook his head once again.
“Engaged?”
“Not that I know of.”
“So were they boyfriend-girlfriend?” the cop probed. “Or was it more casual? A friends-with-benefits sort of thing?”
“They had been dating for a while. In fact, Lara had recently moved in with him.”
“Where was that?”
“Virginia, right on the Chesapeake. Just down from Mount Vernon.”