The First Commandment (Scot Harvath, #6)

by Brad Thor

De inimico non loquaris male, sed cogites. Do not wish ill for your enemy, plan it.

The reason Harvath cared for her so deeply was that for the first time in his life, he’d found someone who truly understood him for who he was.

From the moment they met, they could each be themselves. It was a feeling Harvath had never thought he would experience.

branch of DHS called the Office of International Investigative Assistance, or OIIA for short. The OIIA’s overt mission was to assist foreign police, military, and intelligence agencies in helping prevent attacks against Americans and American interests abroad.

At the resort, Finney created a cutting-edge tactical training facility like no other in the world. It was called Valhalla, after the warrior heaven of Norse mythology.

knowledge didn’t equal power; it was the precise application of knowledge that equaled power.

Though the Troll had never been very fond of Americans, this was a man he respected. He was a ruthless, cold-blooded killer, who also possessed a marked degree of humanity.

It was there that he learned that “Al Qaeda” didn’t translate to “the base,” as most Western media outlets had so ignorantly reported, but rather, “the database.” It referred to the original computer file of the thousands of mujahideen who were recruited and trained with the help of the CIA to defeat the Russians in Afghanistan.

Catching him here on their own soil, they would do even less. That’s how easy they were to exploit. They passed convoluted laws that served to protect their enemies better than their own people.

Sleep was a weapon. It kept you sharp,

America’s time was drawing near. It wouldn’t happen in months or even years, but in a matter of decades, America would fall. It was already happening. It was happening right before the eyes of each and every American, yet they were too fat and happy with their Big Gulps and satellite television to see it.

The fabric of American society was in tatters. All one had to do was to pull at any one of the threads and it disintegrated even faster. If it wasn’t so arrogant, America might have been worth pitying. It had achieved much, but like Rome, its gluttony for power and world domination was already hastening its drumbeat to the grave.

“Why doesn’t the president or Congress do anything about this?” “It’s complicated,” replied Harvath. “So is prostate surgery, but you do it regardless of how much of a pain in the ass it is. The alternative is unacceptable.”

The terrorists, the drugs, the tidal wave of illegal immigrants. I’ve got friends on the Border Patrol. This is criminal, and we’ve only got ourselves to blame. As far as I’m concerned, how can we call America the most powerful nation on earth when we can’t even secure our own borders? We’re being overrun, and if we don’t get a handle on it immediately, we’re going to wake up real soon to a very different America—one that even the most liberal among us isn’t going to enjoy very much.”

he had planted an extensive garden, the highlight of which was neat rows of dwarf fruit trees. Gardening was a pastime Palmera had come to late in life and it had become a reliable way to soothe his nerves and take his mind off all he had seen and all he had done. To represent the five pillars of Islam, he had planted five different types of trees: apple for the testimony of faith; apricot for the ritual of daily prayer; cherry for the obligatory almsgiving; nectarine for fasting, and peach for the pilgrimage to Mecca—a journey Palmera had yet to undertake.

He could tell just by looking at most people what kind of men or women they were. Maybe it was his Secret Service training. Maybe it was the years he’d spent in dangerous professions, but the bottom line was that having killed on numerous occasions, he recognized that ability in others instantly—the hard, implacable face, the ever-watchful eyes, it was always there. A person familiar with killing wore it like a hundred-dollar haircut—it was unmistakable.

The only thing Harvath hated more than coming up with a hastily formed plan was coming up with a second hastily formed plan because the first one tanked. Each time they changed their tack the odds were more heavily stacked against them.

Harvath had been trained to adapt and overcome—to think quickly on his feet and to succeed no matter what the odds.

It was a moment Harvath could never have foreseen. The president of the United States had actually threatened his life. It was incomprehensible—just as incomprehensible as being labeled a traitor.

Harvath felt betrayed and abandoned. The president had actually chosen the terrorists over him. It was absolutely surreal.

His heart pounded in his chest and he loved the sensation. There was nothing so exciting as lying in wait for one’s prey. The adrenaline surged through his bloodstream. Anything else, any other experience of life, was merely a fitful and incomplete dream of reality. To have the power to kill and to take and use that power—that was what life was all about.

One was rarely given second chances in life. He’d managed to get his second chance at happiness put on a life support system. It was an ironic metaphor, as his love life had always been in critical condition.

every single day that good Muslims did absolutely nothing about the atrocities being committed in their name, the line between good Muslim and bad Muslim became even more blurred. All that was necessary for evil to triumph was for good people to do nothing.

Multiculturalism was bullshit. It was political correctness run amok and it made him sick. If these people wanted things to be exactly as they were in their countries of origin, why didn’t they just remain there?

Wow, the author’s politics really show in this book.

In America, expertly organized cells of so-called “moderate Muslims” were waging an ideological jihad, working to undermine everything that the country stood for. They were a patient and determined enemy bent upon turning the nation into the United States of Islam, and many people responsible for protecting America were not paying attention.

Between the tidal wave of illegal immigration and the radical Islamic agenda in America, there were times Harvath felt like weeping for his nation.

More of the author’s political viewpoints conveyed through a fictional character. How important is authorial intent in their writings? Is authorial intent important at all when reading and analyzing that author’s work? I’d say it is important at the very least when an author’s political views bombard the reader throughout the entire publication to the point that it annoys the reader. The annoyance alone removes the reader from the immersive experience of imagining the characters, setting, and plot of the fictional story.

many newspapers had far more pride in their circulation than they did in their patriotism. That they were hobbling America and empowering her terrorist enemies made absolutely no difference to them.

Blackhawk Warrior Wear boots he was wearing had been designed by a former Navy SEAL and were almost completely dry within the first several yards.

“In life, even the smallest advantage is better than no advantage at all.”

he had been marked a traitor, which made him a man without a country,

“Being happy boils down to three things. Something to do. Someone to love. And something to look forward to.”

Rage is a very powerful emotion. If a man has enough of it he loses his self-control. And when a man loses his self-control he is much more susceptible to the control of another.”