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he put the beer back.
    Harvath didn’t respond. His mind was a million miles away as he pulled his BlackBerry from its holster and checked it again for messages. He’d given Tracy ’s father and her nurses his number in case anything changed. He’d also explained to Bill Hastings, as best he could, why he had to leave.
    Remembering that cell phone reception at the resort was notoriously spotty, Harvath was wondering if he should have given them that number too when Finney asked, “Do you want to eat when we get in, or do you want to get right down to business?”
    “Let’s eat after,” said Harvath as he tucked his BlackBerry away. “Then nobody will have to stay late on my account.”
    Finney chuckled. His laugh, like his voice, was in keeping with the rest of his massive stature-a rich basso profundo. “We work the Sargasso staff in three shifts around the clock.”
    “Business is that good, huh?”
    Finney laughed again. “I keep saying heaven forbid peace should break out any time soon.”
    “Don’t worry,” Harvath replied as he stared at the reflection of himself cast against the passenger window and the ever-darkening sky. “It won’t.”
    They made small talk the rest of the way to the resort. Finney knew Harvath well enough to know that if he wanted to talk about what had happened to Tracy he’d be the one to bring it up.
    Harvath didn’t, so they talked about everything else but.
    Approaching the main gates for Elk Mountain, Finney radioed ahead to the guardhouse that he was coming in “plus one.”
    Though the guards knew their boss and his vehicle by sight, they still stopped the Hummer, recorded its arrival, checked it over thoroughly, and then waved it on through. Harvath had always been impressed with the level of security at Elk Mountain.
    At the main lodge, Finney stopped to pick up his director of operations, Ron Parker. He was a lean man with a goatee, in his late thirties, who stood about five-foot-ten.
    Climbing into the backseat, Parker removed a Coors from the cooler, reached around, and punched Harvath in the left arm. “Good to see you,” he said.
    Looking up, he could see Finney’s raised eyebrows in the rearview mirror. “What?” he asked.
    “Do you think that behavior is appropriate?” replied Finney.
    Parker leaned between the front seats as he popped the top from his beer and asked, “It’s your other shoulder that got messed up, right?”
    Harvath nodded. “My left’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
    Parker smiled, sat back, and took a long pull from his beer.
    “You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” replied Finney. “Right?”
    “Listen,” said Parker, “as of ten minutes ago I’m off-duty. And what I do on my personal time is my business.”
    “Then you’re fired. I’ll have the pink slip on your desk in the morning.”
    Parker took another swig of beer. “Super, I’ll place it on the spike with all the rest of them.”
    Both Finney and Parker were notorious for their professionalism, but as Harvath had gotten to know them he realized that they made an important distinction. They took their careers and what they did at Elk Mountain very seriously, but they never took
themselves
too seriously, especially when in the quiet company of good friends.
    Finney looked over and saw Harvath smile. “It’s good to have you back.”
    “Not much has changed, has it?” said Harvath.
    Finney thrust his beefy hand into the backseat and motioned to Parker to hand him a beer. “We doubled all the locks on the wine cellar after your last visit, but other than that, no.”
     
    Parker and Finney limited themselves to one beer each. Finney had his finished in two swallows, just as they arrived at yet another checkpoint. This time, they were all required to present photo identification. The guards were dressed in Blackhawk tactical gear, like the ones at the main gate, but in addition, these guards had been issued body armor and were openly carrying