several strategically placed miniature cameras. A further visual exploration of the room revealed sophisticated intrusion detection systems and a discretely mounted air quality monitor, the kind used to check for airborne particles a lot more dangerous than pollen and ragweed. Whoever owned this place had certainly put a lot of money into it and took its security very seriously.
Harvath found a clean mug and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot brewing next to the stove. Peering out of the window above the sink, he learned several things. The first was that the window was made from thick synthetic glass, most likely bulletproof. The next was more of a confirmation of an earlier gut feeling—he was indeed in the middle of nowhere.
Finally, after much persistent squinting against the light from behind him in the kitchen he was able to discern several men in winter camouflage on patrol outside. Whoever this Goaltender was, he took his security seriously and money seemed to be no object. Though it was good, there was still no way it could be anywhere near as thorough as what the United States Secret Service provided the president.
That thought was still swirling around Harvath’s head along with what possible clandestine purpose the fortified farmhouse could possibly serve and what these people wanted with him, when he heard the telltale sounds of an approaching helicopter. It came in quickly and landed even faster. Whoever the pilots were, they were very good. Harvath had no idea the helicopter was even there until seconds before it landed.
Through the swirl of snow kicked up by the unmarked, blacked-out craft, Harvath could see a group of people hop out and quickly make their way toward the house. As soon as the party cleared the rotors, the helicopter lifted off and disappeared. It was done with military precision and Harvath had to admit he was more than a little impressed.
He assumed that the mysterious Goaltender was a member of the party who had just been dropped off outside and he readied himself for the encounter.
Two of the men who had taken him prisoner at Frank Leighton’s house entered the kitchen and instructed Harvath to set his coffee cup down. They quickly searched him to make sure he hadn’t secreted anything outside the view of the cameras that could be used as a weapon and then pointed him to a lone chair on the far wall of the kitchen. These people were obviously extremely careful and took nothing for granted. Harvath had to hand it to them. It was exactly the way he would have done things.
He took his seat as instructed and waited. From beyond the kitchen, there was a chorus of indistinguishable voices as the party from the helicopter entered the house. Several minutes passed and then the voices grew louder as the party approached the kitchen. When the first member of Goaltender’s security detail entered, Harvath’s jaw nearly hit the floor.
“Palmer?” he said, the confusion clearly resonating in his voice.
“Harvath?” replied Secret Service agent, Kate Palmer. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Apparently, the local 4H club has an interesting way of soliciting new members,” said Harvath as he began to stand up.
“Don’t stand, Scot. I need you to remain seated until I say otherwise,” replied Palmer as three other agents entered behind her and swept the kitchen.
Harvath recognized two of the other three Secret Service agents as former colleagues of his from the president’s protective detail. Though he nodded to them, they ignored him until they had determined that the room was completely secure.
“What the hell is going on here?” asked Harvath.
Kate Palmer spoke to the agents, who then left the room, before turning her attention back to Harvath. “We’ve got a very big problem that I am not at liberty to go into. You’re free to stand up now if you want.”
“Thanks,” said Harvath as he rose from his chair. “What do you mean, you can’t go into
Harvath found a clean mug and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot brewing next to the stove. Peering out of the window above the sink, he learned several things. The first was that the window was made from thick synthetic glass, most likely bulletproof. The next was more of a confirmation of an earlier gut feeling—he was indeed in the middle of nowhere.
Finally, after much persistent squinting against the light from behind him in the kitchen he was able to discern several men in winter camouflage on patrol outside. Whoever this Goaltender was, he took his security seriously and money seemed to be no object. Though it was good, there was still no way it could be anywhere near as thorough as what the United States Secret Service provided the president.
That thought was still swirling around Harvath’s head along with what possible clandestine purpose the fortified farmhouse could possibly serve and what these people wanted with him, when he heard the telltale sounds of an approaching helicopter. It came in quickly and landed even faster. Whoever the pilots were, they were very good. Harvath had no idea the helicopter was even there until seconds before it landed.
Through the swirl of snow kicked up by the unmarked, blacked-out craft, Harvath could see a group of people hop out and quickly make their way toward the house. As soon as the party cleared the rotors, the helicopter lifted off and disappeared. It was done with military precision and Harvath had to admit he was more than a little impressed.
He assumed that the mysterious Goaltender was a member of the party who had just been dropped off outside and he readied himself for the encounter.
Two of the men who had taken him prisoner at Frank Leighton’s house entered the kitchen and instructed Harvath to set his coffee cup down. They quickly searched him to make sure he hadn’t secreted anything outside the view of the cameras that could be used as a weapon and then pointed him to a lone chair on the far wall of the kitchen. These people were obviously extremely careful and took nothing for granted. Harvath had to hand it to them. It was exactly the way he would have done things.
He took his seat as instructed and waited. From beyond the kitchen, there was a chorus of indistinguishable voices as the party from the helicopter entered the house. Several minutes passed and then the voices grew louder as the party approached the kitchen. When the first member of Goaltender’s security detail entered, Harvath’s jaw nearly hit the floor.
“Palmer?” he said, the confusion clearly resonating in his voice.
“Harvath?” replied Secret Service agent, Kate Palmer. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Apparently, the local 4H club has an interesting way of soliciting new members,” said Harvath as he began to stand up.
“Don’t stand, Scot. I need you to remain seated until I say otherwise,” replied Palmer as three other agents entered behind her and swept the kitchen.
Harvath recognized two of the other three Secret Service agents as former colleagues of his from the president’s protective detail. Though he nodded to them, they ignored him until they had determined that the room was completely secure.
“What the hell is going on here?” asked Harvath.
Kate Palmer spoke to the agents, who then left the room, before turning her attention back to Harvath. “We’ve got a very big problem that I am not at liberty to go into. You’re free to stand up now if you want.”
“Thanks,” said Harvath as he rose from his chair. “What do you mean, you can’t go into
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