Spymaster

by Brad Thor

  The Old Man probably had a point. In fact, if Harvath was honest with himself, there was no “probably” about it. Harvath needed to figure out what he wanted, and then act on it.

  He was about to grab another cup of coffee when his radio crackled to life. It was Staelin. “We’ve got activity.”

  Harvath wasn’t surprised. It would be daylight in an hour. There were countless things that needed to be done on a farm every morning. “What do you see?” he asked.

  “The farmhands are jogging.”

  “Jogging?”

  “Yes,” said Staelin. “In formation. Military formation.”

  CHAPTER 35

  * * *

  Harvath would have liked to have seen it for himself, but he never would have gotten there in time. Instead, he had Staelin describe, in detail, what was taking place.

  Apparently, eight rather fit men had assembled outside, two abreast, and had run off in a column. Normally when runners go out in a group, it’s casual and they run in a pack. To run in formation was unusual. It suggested that structure and discipline were being imposed.

  Harvath’s mind went back to what Nicholas had said about placing a deep-cover team of Spetsnaz operatives on the island. He also remembered what Nyström had said about Sparrman hiring from Eastern Europe. While the Swedes were excellent in English, he doubted they could tell a Russian from a Romanian or a Moldovan. If the GRU had a willing local, a farm would be a perfect place to hide a team of Special Forces soldiers.

  Harvath told him to keep an eye on everything and that he’d be sending in Ashby and Barton soon to relieve them.

  Signing off, he began formulating a plan. Eight potential Spetsnaz troops was not a fight he wanted to have. If they came out of the GRU’s unit, they were battle-tested and had seen plenty of action—most recently in places like Syria and Ukraine, if not as far back as Chechnya and Georgia.

  Taking Sparrman at the farm might be too dangerous. Harvath and his team might have to snatch him on the fly, while he was in transit. That posed a whole other set of problems.

  If Sparrman had been involved in Lars Lund’s accident, which Harvath had a pretty good feeling he was, then the man might be a lot more switched on than usual, paying close attention to whether he was under surveillance.

  Harvath would need to identify the best possible location, as well as the best possible circumstances under which to grab him—all with having little to no surveillance on him.

  This, of course, presupposed that Sparrman even left the farm at all. If he didn’t, if he was under the weather or was just some sort of recluse, Harvath was going to need to come up with a plan to go in and yank him out.

  And no matter which route he took, Harvath would have to make his move before the window closed and Nyström set up his own surveillance and actively took over the case. He had only thirty-six hours left.

  But the more Harvath studied the situation, the more problems he saw staring back at him. He wasn’t exactly being pummeled by the good idea fairy. It was going to be a long day.

  • • •

  Surveillance, like a lot of the work performed in the intelligence game, involved long periods of extreme boredom. The Sparrman farm assignment was a textbook case.

  With the sunrise, Ashby and Barton had been able to provide Harvath with the makes, models, and colors of the vehicles parked at the entrance of the property. None were any shade of olive.

  Other than that, no useful intelligence was produced. Nobody visited the farm. Nobody left the farm.

  By late afternoon, Harvath and Haney were debating the risks of doing another, more aggressive drone flight. Harvath had already begun fleshing out an assault on the farm and needed more information to help plan their approach. They decided to wait until dark and then go out to check on the surveillance team.

  When the time came, they filled a thermos they had found in the kitchen with hot coffee and headed out to the minivan. The Camry was with the surveillance team in case Sparrman left the property and offered an opportunity to be followed.

  They all knew what Sparrman looked like. A Gotland newspaper had done an article about the farm two years ago and had run his picture with it. Harvath had made sure that everyone downloaded a copy to their phone.

  There had been sporadic sightings of him throughout the day. His shock of almost orange hair was unmistakable. Sloane had started calling him the “Ginja Ninja.”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday,” mused Haney, as he turned left onto the main road. “What are the chances the guy hops in his car to go meet up with his mom for church?”

  “Church. Brunch. Paddle boarding. All we would need is an opening,” answered Harvath. “But our forty-eight hours expires tomorrow night.”

  “Do you think that Nyström guy is going to start right up? Maybe he’ll wait until Monday.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Good point,” replied Haney. He, like Harvath, knew that as soon as the police took over, it would be extremely difficult to grab Sparrman.

  Tonight was going to have to be the night. Harvath had already resigned himself to it. He had also, along with the rest of the team, resigned himself to the fact that the men who had been seen that morning going on their group run were indeed Spetsnaz operatives.

  The thorniest issue for Harvath was how to get everyone in and out without raising the alarm.

  Sparrman occupied the main house by himself, but had two very large dogs. From what Ashby and Barton had seen, they looked like Great Pyrenees. As soon as anyone got near the house, they were going to start barking. If that happened, the element of surprise would be lost.

  Back when Harvath and Nicholas had been on opposites sides, Harvath had figured out how to get around the two guard dogs. He didn’t like punishing animals. They were only doing their job. Still, they had to be dealt with. As soon as he and Haney had checked in with the surveillance team and had completed their drone flight, they’d drive into town to get what he needed.

  CHAPTER 36

  * * *

  Harvath and Haney dropped off the thermos of coffee and took over surveillance so Ashby and Barton could have a ten-minute break. Harvath also wanted a better look at the front of the farm.

  As the two men held down the hide site, Harvath rattled off a specific list of things Haney should make sure to capture when he flew the drone overhead. He was trying to cover every possible eventuality, and this was likely going to be one of their last looks before they breached the property on foot.

  When Ashby and Barton returned, they all traded places and Harvath and Haney returned to the minivan. Five minutes later, the drone was airborne and Harvath was watching a live feed via the tablet again.

  In addition to primary and contingent means of entering and leaving the farm, Harvath was interested in several possible areas in which to create a diversion.

  From takeoff to touchdown, the drone had been up for a little over twenty minutes. Satisfied that he had seen what he needed to, they packed up and headed for town.

  First on his list was the pharmacy. Having checked it out online, he knew they would only be open for another hour. The grocery store would be open much later, and even if they somehow missed it, there was always the gas station minimart.

  He had just entered the store and had been directed by a clerk to what he needed when his phone rang. It was Jasinski. She had agreed to monitor the radio while he and Haney were out of range.

  “Sparrman is on the move,” she said when Harvath accepted the call.

  “Alone?” he asked, taking his items to the front of the store so he could pay for them.

  “No. There are at least two other people in the car with him. Ashby is going to stay and watch the property. Barton will follow and see where they’re going.”

  “Negative. I want it to be Sloane. A woman will draw less attention if they park and she has to get out and follow on foot. Have her call me as soon as she’s on the road.”

  “Understood. I’ll
relay your instructions.”

  Disconnecting the call, Harvath paid for his items and quickly exited the store. Haney was outside with the minivan.

  “Sparrman’s on the move,” Harvath informed him.

  “Who’s in the follow car?”

  “Sloane.”

  Both men hopped back in the minivan and Haney asked, “Where to?”

  “Start heading toward the farm. As soon as Sloane calls, we’ll have more information and can adjust our course.”

  “Roger that.”

  Pulling out into traffic, Haney headed back the way they had come. Moments later, Harvath’s cell phone rang. It was Sloane. He put her on speaker so that Haney could hear her, too.

  “Okay, Sloane,” said Harvath. “What do you have?”

  “He’s driving the red, late model Volkswagen Golf headed north-northwest on Route 143. Two passengers are with him. I’m guessing Spetsnaz.”

  “Stay on him, but don’t get too close.”

  “So getting right up on his ass is a bad idea?” she snarked. “If only I knew what I was doing.”

  “You know what I mean,” Harvath replied. “I want everybody to stay cool. This may be the opportunity we’ve been looking for.”

  “Roger that.”

  “What should we do about the rest of the team?” Haney asked.

  “Let’s spin them up,” said Harvath, gesturing for Haney’s cell phone. “Once we know what the destination is, we can decide who goes back to pick everyone else up.”

  Haney handed over his phone and Harvath used it to call Jasinski. He told her what they knew so far and asked her to relay everything to Palmer and Staelin.

  “What about Barton?” she asked.

  “Same thing,” he replied.

  Disconnecting the call, he asked Sloane for an update.

  “No change. Still headed toward Visby on 143. Looks like we’re about twenty klicks out.”

  Harvath decided to disengage. Looking at Haney, he said, “Pull over.”

  Haney did as instructed.

  Then, addressing Sloane, he said, “Sloane, we’ve pulled over. It’s Saturday night and I think—”

  He was interrupted by Jasinski calling back on Haney’s phone. “Hold on,” he said to Sloane as he activated the other call. “What’s up?”

  “According to Barton, two additional vehicles just left the farm. The first, a blue Jeep Wrangler, is carrying four of our Spetsnaz friends. The other vehicle is a silver Fiat Bravo carrying the remaining two.”

  “Good copy,” said Harvath, as he disconnected the call and turned his attention back to Sloane. “As I was saying, it’s Saturday night and it looks like the farmhands are all riding into town. Watch your six. Two more vehicles just left. Blue Jeep Wrangler and a silver Fiat Bravo.”

  “Blue Jeep Wrangler. Silver Fiat Bravo,” Sloane repeated. “Good copy.”

  Looking at Haney, Harvath said, “If they remain on course, they’ll drive right past us. Let’s get on the other side of the street so we can pull out behind them once the last of the vehicles drives past.”

  “Roger that,” Haney said, pulling back out into the street and looking for a place to turn around.

  Once he had, Harvath saw a parking spot up ahead and told him to grab it. It was right in front of a trendy women’s clothing boutique.

  Pulling a pen from his jacket pocket, he asked Sloane what her sizes were.

  “What for?” she asked.

  “Because you’re going to need to look the part.”

  “What part?”

  “Don’t worry, just give me your sizes,” he said, getting out of the minivan.

  As he did, he handed Haney his phone back, instructed him to put the same question to Jasinski, and have her text back the information.

  He needed to move fast. At best, the vehicles were fifteen minutes outside of town.

  CHAPTER 37

  * * *

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Sloane, who had parked and was now in back of the minivan. “What did you do? Pop into a Whores-R-Us and ask for the sluttiest stuff they had in my size?”

  “It’s a little black dress,” Harvath replied. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

  “You got the little part right. But this isn’t a dress. It’s a cocktail napkin with straps.”

  “You’re going to look great.”

  Sloane gave him the finger and then, turning it upside down, signaled him to face the other direction. Politely, he obliged her.

  He had made it out of the boutique with only moments to spare. After he had tossed the bags in the minivan, it was less than a minute before Sparrman drove past, with Sloane several car lengths behind. Behind her were the other two vehicles filled with Spetsnaz operatives. As they passed, Harvath could see that’s what they were. They were hard, switched-on fighters.

  Harvath had consumed enough alcohol with enough operators to know that they didn’t become any less aggressive when they were out drinking. Some became even more so. He hoped, though, that after a few rounds, they’d loosen up; relax a little. All he needed was a sliver of daylight, for the figurative door to be opened just a crack, and he would exploit the hell out of it.

  “Okay. You can turn back around,” Sloane said.

  The dress looked amazing—as if it had been designed just for her. “Not bad.”

  “Fuck you, not bad. I’m sure I look fantastic,” she replied from the backseat of the minivan.

  They had driven into Visby’s walled Old Town and watched as Sparrman and his crew parked their vehicles and entered an Irish-themed sports bar and restaurant called O’Learys. It was a chain, with outlets all across Sweden.

  The entrance was via a large patio, which had a retractable roof and was dotted with seating areas and portable gas heaters. Inside was a long bar with additional chairs and tables. Televisions were mounted everywhere. Even on the patio, customers could catch a range of matches happening around the world—all of which appeared to be either rugby or soccer.

  Haney had taken up a position across the street to keep an eye on O’Learys, while Harvath had parked the minivan around the corner and linked up with Sloane.

  “I bet at least half the women in there are going to be wearing jeans,” she complained.

  “Then that’s just going to make your job all the easier,” he replied.

  “Next time you tell me to pack a bag, I’m going to make sure I pack my own dress. And shoes.”

  Pulling out a shoebox from the shopping bag he had handed her, she removed the lid and looked inside. “Hooker heels?” she asked, holding up one of the shoes so he could see its tall, Lucite heel. “You really did go to Whores-R-Us. You couldn’t have bought me a nice pair of thigh-high boots?”

  “They didn’t have any in your size.”

  “How am I supposed to operate in these?”

  “You’ll figure it out,” he said. “Besides, the only operating you’re supposed to be doing is capturing Sparrman’s attention.”

  “How about you come in with me, and I give you a full-on ass-kicking for this costume? Think that might get his attention?”

  Harvath grinned. “Probably, but not in the way we’d like.”

  “Consider yourself lucky then, because it wouldn’t have been pretty. I mean, I would have been pretty, but you would have ended up curled in a ball and crying on the floor of the ladies’ room.”

  Drawing an oval around his face with his index finger, he encouraged her to put her makeup on.

  Turning the bag upside down and dumping the remaining items on the seat, she looked at everything and said, “Don’t ever go clothes or makeup shopping for Lara. Stick to jewelry, okay? Because you are beyond hopeless.”

  He shook his head.

  Opening a metal tube, she extended a bright lipstick called Dynamite Red. “Subtle. Can’t wait to see the eye shadow.”

  The eye shadow, as it turned out, was not half bad. The lipstick, too, looked great on her.

  Finishing up h
er makeup, she did her hair, and then asked Harvath, “How do I look?”

  “Terrific,” he replied, and he meant it. As a rule, he ignored her looks and focused on her brains and her skills—which were also formidable. The truth was, though, that she was hot. And the way she was put together now, she was super hot. “Dressed to kill.”

  “Or at least capture, right?”

  Harvath laughed. “Correct. Let’s roll.”

  Opening the door, he waited for her to slip her heels on and then helped her out. “Don’t rush anything, okay? Take your time. Play hard to get. The more he drinks, the better off we’ll be.”

  “Trust me,” she replied. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Of course she did, but Harvath was a detail guy. He needed to make sure she understood how he wanted the operation to unfold. That said, he knew that the minute she walked into that bar, anything could happen.

  “Just be careful,” he said. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks. I’ll be close by if you need me.”

  Holding out her hand, she waited for him to count off a stack of currency. Once he had, she grabbed her cell phone and headed for O’Learys. She really did look fantastic.

  “You’d better not be looking at my ass,” she warned, without turning around.

  Harvath laughed and watched until she disappeared around the corner. Moments later, Haney came and joined him.

  “She’s inside,” he stated. “Am I good to go?”

  Harvath nodded and handed him the keys to the minivan. “Get back here as soon as you can. Jasinski’s bag is on the backseat.”

  “Got it,” said Haney. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he fired up the minivan, put it in gear, and headed back to the rental house.

  Harvath decided to go check out the three vehicles Sparrman and his crew had driven into town from the farm. They were parked about a half block up and he began walking.