Code of Conduct (Scot Harvath, Book 14)
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Code of Conduct: A Thriller (Scot Harvath Book 14)
Synopsis book Hidden deep within one of the worlds most powerful organizations is a secret committee with a devastating agenda. Its members are afforded incredible protectionsconsidered elites, untouchables. What begins as a favor will evolve into a globe- spanning drama of highly personal stakes played out against a backdrop of stunning international intrigue, duplicitous political gamesmanship, and the darkest, most clandestine fears of the espionage world.
With razor-sharp plotting, richly rendered characters, and heart-stopping surprises on every page, Thor isnt just at the top of his gamehe owns the entire genre. You just clipped your first slide!
Clipping is a handy way to collect important slides you want to go back to later. Now customize the name of a clipboard to store your clips. Visibility Others can see my Clipboard. Cancel Save. Right out of the gate, they had a problem. He had been working at a furious tempo and had just come off of a hellacious operation in Syria. Everything at home had been put on hold, and that included his relationship. She lived in Boston and Harvath lived outside D.
The distance made things difficult enough. What was making it almost impossible, though, was how many times Harvath had rescheduled with her or had left the country entirely without giving her any notice at all. She had asked him to put one week on the books, then set it in stone, wrap it in bulletproof Kevlar, and bury it under fifty feet of concrete. Harvath picked one, went to Carlton, and had him sprinkle holy water on the dates. The deal was done.
She pulled strings at work to have the same week off. She rented the perfect cottage on the water and convinced the Realtor to take delivery of two cases of their favorite wine. It would be a great surprise. They would stop at her favorite general store on the way and stock up on supplies.
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The master bedroom had enormous windows and they could watch the colors peak from there. It was exactly what they needed. Be here by seven-thirty. Wear a suit. The old spymaster never revealed more than he wanted anyone to know. He was used to it by now. He was also already half checked out, looking forward to a week away up in New England. With only cardio for his workouts overseas, he had dropped about ten pounds from his already fit frame. His blue eyes stood out against his tan skin, and his sandy brown hair appeared lighter. In the mirror that morning, he had looked more like a beach-going Southern California college student, than a U.
Navy SEAL turned covert counterterrorism operative. The Old Man was already in the conference room with their guest. After Harvath asked how the doctor he had rescued in Afghanistan was doing, Carlton invited everyone to take their seats and then steered the conversation to the matter at hand. The slides included pictures of the facility, its staff, and the people they served, mostly families with children.
It was deep in the jungle near the border with Uganda—the only medical facility for over two hundred kilometers. It boasted fifteen beds, an exam room that doubled as a laboratory, and a small dispensary. He pushed the play button and the three men watched. When it was over, Beaman closed his laptop and sat back in his chair.
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The Old Man activated a flat screen beyond the conference table. On it, he explained, was recent satellite footage he had acquired. When he clicked a small wireless device, the image was magnified, coming to rest on a small clearing that had been hacked out of the dense jungle.
There was no sign of anyone anywhere near it. Manipulating the wireless device, he refocused the image, northwest of the clinic. There, they could see what looked like a long, scorched trench at the base of a hill. Tendrils of black smoke curled into the air from it. Beaman shook his head. Any thoughts on what they were burning? Our staff and patients? He had seen things beyond horrible. The worth of a culture, in his opinion, could be boiled down to one thing—how well that culture took care of its weakest members, particularly its women and children.
The satellite image of the burn pit brought back a flood of memories, none of them pleasant, none of them things he wanted to remember.
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Something about it, though, was odd. An uncomfortable silence fell over the conference room. Finally, Beaman broke it. Harvath, I want to find out what happened. I owe it to those people, to all of my people. Beaman wanted him to lead the operation.
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If their places were reversed, of course Harvath would want to know what had happened to his team. Five and a half million dead in less than twenty years. Invasions from neighboring countries, wars, political instability—it was like a match factory, if match factories also stored buckets of gasoline and hung lit sparklers from the ceiling. Calling it unstable was too generous by half.
The danger and instability of the region were just two of the many problems Harvath saw with this situation. No one even knew who had sent the video to CARE and worse still, no one could explain why the gunmen entering the clinic had been wearing biohazard suits. According to Beaman, Matumaini was a small family medicine clinic.
The furthest they went was performing minor surgeries. If something exotic or unusual walked in their door, they knew to call for help. He hated loose ends. Beaman was also running out of time. The longer it took to get a team over to Congo, the colder the trail would become. The scenes of families were the hardest to stomach. He had witnessed what monsters could do. He knew what monsters continued to do when not stopped. In this case, the monsters embodied an amplified evil. They had preyed not only on the sick and infirm, but also upon those who had helped to care for them.
His mind then drifted to his trip to New England, but only as an afterthought. He had already decided what he was going to do. What he told himself he had to do. It would be an absolute ballbuster of an assignment, and he would have to figure out a lot of it on the fly, but he knew he could do it. Just like he knew he could convince Lara that he had no choice but to postpone their trip to New England. He would find leaves for her someplace else, someplace even better.
It would all work out. And with his decision made, he had jumped in with both feet. Logistics, equipment, funds, support. The Old Man had left him with one final directive.