Harvath stood under the water for a good ten minutes, drinking his coffee, and not thinking about anything.
When his mug was empty, he set it down, picked up a bar of soap, and scrubbed his entire body. Then, after rinsing off, he shampooed his hair.
Throwing the temperature control all the way to cold, he forced himself to stand beneath the icy needles of water for a full twenty seconds. It was like dropping two shots of espresso into his coffee.
Wide awake, he stepped out of the shower and retrieved a courtesy kit from the medicine cabinet. Inside, he found a comb, a razor, shaving cream, a toothbrush, and toothpaste.
After he was done in the bathroom, he pulled a set of clothes from his bag and got dressed.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the minifridge as he exited the room, he swallowed a couple of Motrin and headed down the hall toward the stairs that led to the infirmary.
The house always smelled like maple syrup to him, which seemed strange, as it was on a farm in the middle of Malta. No doubt it had something to do with Vella wanting to create a certain atmosphere outside the Solarium.
The doctor held Ph.D.s in both psychiatry and neurochemistry, and was obsessed with smell, particularly its ability to open up pathways into the brain.
In fact, Harvath had once watched him interrogate someone using “liquid fear.” It was a synthetic pheromone he had created that triggered the “flight” portion of the famous fight-or-flight response. It was amazing to behold.
Upon arrival, everyone had been issued a key card. Harvath held his up to the reader that controlled the stairwell door. When it clicked, the door opened with a hiss, and he headed down to the Solarium.
The moment the door closed behind him, the maple syrup smell was gone. It was replaced by something colder, more institutional. The black site smelled like what it was, a prison.
As he passed the cell doors, they were all open. The Solarium was only a temporary detention facility. Anyone requiring a long-term hold was transferred elsewhere.
Everything was painted gray—the walls, the floors, even the ceilings. The only exceptions were the stainless-steel sink and toilet units in the cells themselves, and the bright white of the infirmary.
Walking into the outer office area, Harvath saw Vella in front of a large computer screen, chatting with one of the doctors.
The three men shook hands and Harvath asked, “How long do they each have?”
The doctor grinned. “Considering their luck, they’ll both probably live to be one hundred.”
“The rest of the guys will be sorry to hear that,” Harvath replied. “Haney has a pretty wife.”
Still smiling, the doctor shook his head and pointed at the computer screen. There were two digital X-rays up. “The wounds on both men were through and through. No bone fractures, and based on the rest of the tests, no vascular injury. We’ve got them on oral hydration and have started antibiotics and pain meds.”
“How soon can they move?”
“I’d let them sleep tonight, but there’s no reason they can’t be on a plane tomorrow.”
“Back CONUS?” he asked, using the military acronym for the Continental United States.
The doc shook his head. “U.S. Naval Hospital Sigonella is the closest American facility able to give them a full workup. If they’re on Agency contracts, that’s where they’ll go. If they’re at capacity, they’ll turf them to Ramstein Air Base. Either way, they have to be cleared on this side of the pond before they fly home.”
“Understood,” said Harvath. “Have they been told the news yet?”
“I was just about to go in.”
Grabbing a folder from a stack sitting on the desk, he replied, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
He walked down the hallway and entered the four-bed infirmary. Haney and Gage had been set up in beds right next to each other.
“They sent Harvath,” said the burly Green Beret as he walked in. “The news must be terrible”
Haney chuckled. “Yeah, the human bullet magnet. That’s close enough, Harvath. Neither of us wants to get shot again.”
He was glad to see them in good spirits. Getting shot wasn’t fun. He took the ribbing in stride.
Opening the folder, he said, “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.”
Both men looked at him, not sure if he was serious, or if he was kidding around.
Haney spoke up first. “What’s the bad news?”
“You’re going to lose the leg. The good news,” he said with a smile, turning to Gage, “is that you’ll just have to use your other arm to shave your back.”
“Fuck you,” they both said, laughing.
“In all seriousness,” he continued, “the Agency is going to want to get you checked out at a base hospital in Europe before you fly back. Sigonella is the closest, so that’s probably where we’re headed tomorrow.”
“What about you?” Haney asked. “Any update from Rome?”
“Not yet. We’ll probably hear something in the morning. In the meantime, get some sleep.”
? ? ?
Walking back upstairs to the kitchen, Harvath decided to get some real food in his stomach.
Vella had done a good job of anticipating what his American guests might like. There was a large vat of Texas chili on the stove, cornbread still warm in the oven, and cold bottles of Belgian beer in the fridge.
Harvath fixed himself a meal, grabbed a beer, and headed out to the patio. The rest of the team had already eaten and gone to bed.
It was a warm, quiet night. Flickering light spilled from old lanterns placed around the patio.
As he sat down, he realized he’d forgotten a bottle opener. Too tired to go back and get one, he made sure nobody was watching, and then used the edge of the table to pop the cap off.
Leaning back, he took a long pull and closed his eyes. Every muscle in his body was sore. A cold beer was exactly what he needed. If he never saw Libya or another shitty, third-world country like it ever again, it would be too soon.
He knew it was the fatigue talking. Taking another sip, he opened his eyes and leaned forward. He didn’t want to fall asleep outside.
Though Vella had done a good job with the food, Harvath was too wiped out to finish. Carrying everything back inside to the kitchen, he then headed down the hall to his room.
When he got there, he drew the blackout curtains, kicked off his boots, and turned his phone all the way off—something he rarely ever did.
If a life or death situation arose, he didn’t want to get that call. Not tonight. Someone else would have to handle it. All he wanted to do now was sleep.
Falling on the bed, he closed his eyes, and within seconds was completely out.
CHAPTER 46
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WEDNESDAY
When Harvath awoke, he felt worse than when he’d gone to bed. His body was stiffer and in more pain.