Near Dark (Scot Harvath #19)(39)

Harvath just wasn’t a talker—especially about his feelings. What he was, was a survivor. And in his line of work, you survived by being able to wall yourself off from your feelings; to put unpleasant or uncomfortable things in a box and lock them away. Feelings were distractions and being distracted could get you, or worse, others, killed.

Just off the tee were two golf bags. One was very high-end and obviously belonged to Levi. The other was one of the “loaners” Camp David kept for visiting dignitaries. The fact that the doc had not only had the foresight, but also the self-assuredness, to bring along his own sticks said a lot about him.

His glove in place, Levi leaned over, pressed a tee into the ground, and placed a ball atop it. Straightening up, he gestured toward the guest bag and said, “I thought we’d get a little exercise and have a chat.”

In Harvath’s world, golf wasn’t “exercise.” It wasn’t even close, and especially not on a one-hole course. “How about we go for a run instead?” he offered, knowing the shrink wouldn’t bite. Levi was more of the “gentleman’s triathlon” type—sauna, steam, and then shower.

“Didn’t bring my running gear,” the man replied. “Go grab a club. We’ll see who gets closest to the pin.”

Harvath wasn’t interested. “I’m good,” he said. “You go ahead.”

Levi shrugged and, after taking a couple practice swings, asked, “You know what the difference between golf and government is?”

“No. What is it?”

“In government, you can always improve your lie.”

Harvath smiled. It was funny, even more so coming from someone who worked for the government and whose job it was to get to the truth.

“Now watch this drive,” said Levi, quoting an infamous line George W. Bush had given right after delivering a serious statement to the press on terrorism.

Drawing the club back, he swung straight down and through the ball. There was a resounding thwack and the ball went sailing into the air. The two men then watched as it dropped three feet from the hole.

“Drive for show,” said Levi, “and putt for dough. Let me switch clubs and we’ll walk to the green.”

“Is this the exercise part? Because maybe I should stretch first,” Harvath deadpanned. The green was only 140 yards away.

Levi looked at him and then, removing a pencil and scorecard from his bag, pretended to make a note on the back. “Subject’s sense of humor appears intact,” he said to himself, but loud enough so that Harvath could hear.

“What are you doing here, Joe?”

“Working on my game.”

Harvath smiled. “I think you’re here to work on my game.”

“That depends,” Levi replied, smiling back, as he tucked the card and pencil into his pocket. “Does your game need work?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Then we’re just two guys out strolling the world’s most exclusive golf course.”

Slipping his driver back into the bag, Levi selected his putter and headed for the green. Harvath accompanied him.

“I understand you were down in Florida for a while,” the doctor said. “How was it?”

“Warm.”

“I heard you got kicked out of a hotel for slugging a guest in the bar. Would you like to talk about that?”

“Not really.”

“How about when your team found you? You were outside another bar, this time fighting with not one, but two men. Why don’t we talk about that?”

“Sorry, Joe, I’m not interested.”

“In talking about Florida?”

“In talking about anything,” said Harvath.

Levi changed direction. “What do you think about McLarens?”

“The sports cars?”

“Yeah, particularly the 720S Spider.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m thinking about getting one.”

Harvath didn’t want to laugh, but he couldn’t hold it in. “You’re a psychiatrist employed by the CIA. Those cars cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

“And?”

“And, I think if you rolled up to Langley driving one of those, they’d think you were crazy, on the take, or maybe both.”

“So not a good idea?” the doctor asked.

Harvath shook his head, the smile lingering on his face. “There’d be an investigation opened before you even reached the lobby.”

“Lower my sights then?”

“Just a little.”

Levi nodded as he pretended to reflect upon Harvath’s advice and they walked on.

A few moments later, he asked, “Do you remember the last time we saw each other?”

This time it was Harvath who nodded. “On the Eastern Shore. Right after I got back.”

“Correct. Do you remember what I said to you?”

“We were in that safe house for days. A lot was said.”

Levi shook his head. “No. Out on the dock. Right before I left.”

“Not really.”

It was a lie, but Harvath had meant it when he had said he didn’t feel like talking.

“I spoke about the trauma you had been through. Not just the physical, but the emotional and psychological trauma as well. Those were what I was most worried about—and I told you that, in my experience, people who had suffered like you went in one of two directions. They either allowed themselves to grieve and heal, thereby coming out stronger, or they gave up, turned to substance abuse, and often ended up committing suicide.”