by Brad Thor
“Has anybody discussed a plan?” asked Harvath, as she pinned the accelerator to the floor.
“The plan is that we get the hell out of here.”
Across the river, Harvath could see the flashing lights from approaching police cars. “Good plan,” he said.
Sloane blasted past the cathedral, where Staelin and Palmer peeled out in another GRU sedan right behind them.
“Any other sights you wanted to see before we left town?” she asked.
“Nope,” replied Harvath. “All good.”
“Okay. Buckle up.”
Harvath fastened his seat belt as she sped across the bridge, pulled up her emergency brake, and drifted into a hard left turn.
The maneuver spat them out onto a wide boulevard and she dropped the hammer.
Weaving in and out of early morning rush-hour traffic, she traded paint with buses and all sorts of other vehicles. No matter how dangerous each prior move that she made was, she found a way to top it.
Glancing out the rear window, Harvath saw that, amazingly, Chase was right behind.
“Do you two have some sort of ESP?” he asked.
“Google maps,” she said, nodding at her phone, which she had jammed into the dashboard in front of the speedometer.
“Where the hell’s our destination?” he asked, as she barely threaded the needle between two semi trucks.
“We’re going to the pickup point.”
“Negative,” said Harvath, from the backseat. “Not until we have swept the cars.”
In the rearview mirror, he could see her roll her eyes. “The Russians can’t even afford new combat boots for all their troops,” she said. “You think they’d waste money on tracking GRU vehicles? In Kaliningrad?”
She made a good point. Nevertheless, Harvath wanted to be sure. “Once we’re outside of town, pull over. I’m going to check.”
“I’ll see if we can find a roadside shrine where we can light some candles, too,” she replied, downshifting and swerving around a tour bus.
Harvath looked at Tretyakov, who had wisely kept his mouth shut—but perhaps not because he had any choice. His face was badly battered from the fall he had taken, and based on the swelling that was setting up, Harvath wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he had broken his jaw.
“Tight squeeze!” Sloane yelled from the front seat as she maneuvered between a tram and a delivery truck, knocking the mirrors off on both sides.
Two blocks later they reached the on-ramp for the main route that led west out of the city. Sloane hit it hard, but immediately slowed down as she merged with the traffic.
“Everyone, keep your eyes open,” she said, partly to Harvath and partly to Staelin and Palmer, whom she had on speakerphone in front of her.
The cops Harvath had seen approaching back by the river had probably gone right to the island and were trying to figure out what had happened. The rest of the police force, though, was likely hearing from angry drivers who had called in about two black sedans that had caused damage to multiple vehicles.
The good news for Harvath and his team, though, was when the police ran the license plates, they would come back as GRU and nothing further would be done, no officers would be dispatched to investigate. Only later would they realize that the vehicles had been stolen. And by then, it would be too late for the Russians to do anything at all.
CHAPTER 69
* * *
They kept pushing west until Harvath, who had been glued to the rear window, watching to make sure they weren’t being followed, felt comfortable enough to give the okay to pull off the road.
Up ahead was a small, run-down truck stop and Sloane suggested they stop there. Harvath concurred.
Around the back was a pair of beat-up old Dumpsters and a crappy, out-of-service car wash. That was where they parked.
Getting out of the cars, they kept their eyes peeled for trouble as they stretched their legs.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Chase demanded, as he approached Harvath.
“I had a bird in the hand,” he replied. “I wasn’t going to let him go.”
“A bird whose nest we had under observation,” stated Sloane.
“Sometimes birds don’t come back to their nests.”
Chase shook his head. So did Sloane. Staelin was unavailable for head shaking as he had walked over behind the car wash to take a leak.
“We’ve got Tretyakov,” Harvath declared. “That’s what matters.”
“The ends justify the means,” said Chase. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
“In this case? Absolutely. When you get a shot, you take a shot. It’s that simple.”
“You’re lucky we were there.”
“I am lucky,” Harvath admitted, not afraid to say it. “Very lucky. But what the hell were you doing there in the first place?”
Chase was neither ashamed, nor embarrassed. “I thought you made a really bad call. So when you left the roof, I decided to follow you.”
“Bullshit. I would have known you were behind me.”
“Not if I was using the Force.”
Again with the Force, thought Harvath. But there was no arguing with the fact that Chase had indeed followed him, and that Harvath hadn’t even realized it. Perhaps his skills were much farther along than Harvath had been giving him credit for.
Even so, he wasn’t thrilled with Chase’s decision to abandon his post on the rooftop. Harvath had been the ultimate rule breaker, it was the foundation of who he was, but now that he had one foot in management and was responsible for people beneath him, he needed his orders to be followed without exception. Hypocrisy at its best, he realized.
“Next time I do something you think is dumb,” said Harvath, “don’t you do something dumber. Okay? In the meantime, thank you.”
Chase hadn’t been expecting a thank-you. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Harvath answered. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, and then added, “You also need to thank Ashby and Staelin. They hauled ass to get there. We had no idea what you were up to, but we wanted to have your back in case something went down.”
Harvath thanked Ashby, and when Staelin reappeared, zipping his fly, he thanked him as well.
“You bet,” the Delta Force operative responded. “ ‘Gunfight in Kaliningrad’ is going to make a killer band name.”
Harvath smiled. “Make sure to save me a T-shirt.”
Staelin nodded and, remembering he had something for him, reached into his vehicle and pulled out Harvath’s backpack. “Your phone and the other things they took from you are in there, too.”
He was doling out a lot of thank-yous, but he had a top-notch team and they deserved every one of them. The presence of mind to clean the scene like that was a testament to their professionalism. “Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” replied Staelin. Looking at the damage on both cars, he added, “We need to get rid of these vehicles.”
Harvath agreed, but first he wanted to confirm they weren’t already being tracked.
They swept each of the GRU sedans and didn’t find any tracking devices. That was the good news.
The bad news was that their pickup point was at least forty-five minutes away. And that was if they took the most direct route. The direct route, though, wasn’t an option. Not for them.
If it hadn’t happened already, police and military throughout the exclave would soon be alerted. Patrols at the border would be stepped up, as well as along all the roads.
The longer they were out in the open, especially during the daytime, the greater the likelihood was that they were going to get caught. They had to go into hiding—now.
Glancing over at the defunct car wash, Harvath got an idea.
• • •
There had been just enough room to get both cars inside and still close the metal roll-down door. Harvath used the derma-bond from his med kit to make the broken lock look as if it had never
been touched.
They each still had water and protein bars, and there were drains in the floor should anyone need to relieve themselves.
Though no one felt like sleeping, Harvath still posted a guard rotation. It was important that they be prepared for anything.
The next thing he needed to do was burst an update and request a change in the pickup point and the time.
He didn’t like risking the exposure, but inside the windowless car wash, without an unobstructed view of the sky, he wouldn’t be able to get a signal.
He had Sloane, with her suppressed H&K VP9 pistol, cover him as he placed a small, vehicle-mounted satellite antenna outside and then surreptitiously ran the cord back inside.
It was a calling card that, if discovered, would announce their presence, but he didn’t have a choice. Without comms, they were dead in the water.
Retreating inside, he attached the antenna, burst the message to Ryan, and then shut everything off.
Under the guise of combating terrorism, Moscow monitored satellite communications throughout Russia and its territories. While terrorism was a legitimate concern, the effort was more about controlling free speech and blunting espionage. Whatever was being said, at any time, anywhere, the Kremlin wanted to know it.
The position was so draconian that even foreign visitors were mandated to purchase Russian SIM cards for their satellite phones or face fines and potential imprisonment.
Compressing his message and sending it in a short, fast burst was designed to avoid detection and have the lowest probability of intercept. Even if the Russians noticed, there’d be no way for them to trace it.
With the message sent, all they could do was wait. They were used to it. Being good at waiting made you good at the game. And they needed to be good at the game if they were going to get out of Kaliningrad alive.
In fact, they were going to need to be great.
CHAPTER 70
* * *
LAKE GOLDAP, POLAND
Mike Haney sat down on the outdoor terrace of the Hotel Mazurach, ordered a beer from the waitress, and once she was gone, filled Barton and Jasinski in on his brief reconnaissance operation.
“I’m actually more worried about the Polish side of the border than the Russian side,” he said. “Based on what I could see, they’re using a lot of high-tech equipment to detect illegal crossings—lasers, infrared, that kind of thing. There are also foot and vehicle patrols, including four-by-fours.”
“That’s because Poland acts as a border for the EU,” said Jasinski. “They’ve put a lot of money into security here.”
“You can say that again. All the buildings are brand-new. The difference between the Polish side and the Russian side is pretty stark.”
“How about the lake itself?” asked Barton.
“That’s the good part. All they have is a line of buoys marking the border. And a bunch of signs that say Do Not Cross.”
“Yeah, I’m not a very good reader.”
“Me neither,” said Haney. “Especially at night.”
“How about patrol boats?” said Barton. “Did you see any? Either Russian or Polish?”
“There’s no visible presence from either out on the lake, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. The Polish Border Patrol has a lot of cameras, though, so I imagine they’re keeping an eye on the water. But the Russians? Everything I could see looked pretty low-tech.”
“Did you get pictures?”
Haney smiled and patted his camera. “Tons. We’ll put them on my laptop and I can show you up in the room.”
“Great,” Barton replied, as the waitress set down Haney’s beer and went to take another table’s order. Once she was out of earshot, he continued. “As soon as it gets dark, we can start moving the equipment into place. Monika, you’ll come with me.”
“As a linguist only,” Jasinski replied. “I don’t have any jurisdiction over the border.”
“I’m sure if you had to, you could be pretty persuasive,” said Barton.
Haney shook his head. Barton would never need Viagra because his erection was permanent. The guy was a walking hard-on, and he’d been eyeing her since they first met.
“What about my idea for a distraction?” Haney asked, bringing the conversation back to the operation.
“For the record,” she stated, “I’m against any destruction of Polish equipment or property.”
“Duly noted. How about off the record?”
“Off the record, you’d have to be sure to take out any of their backups, or else what’s the point?”
Haney nodded and raised his glass. “So, it’s settled, then. You and Barton handle the equipment. I’ll be the official pain in everyone’s ass and handle the sabotage.”
Raising their drinks, Jasinski and Barton clinked glasses with Haney. If everything went well, they’d be back in twelve hours with the rest of the team, doing the exact same thing.
But when it came to complicated assignments, especially one this complicated, things rarely went according to plan.
CHAPTER 71
* * *
KALININGRAD
When his next communications window opened, Harvath downloaded Lydia Ryan’s message. To her credit, she had kept it short, sweet, and to the point.
Per his request, the pickup location and the time had been changed. All they needed to do was to stay out of sight until then.
That was going to be no problem. With Sloane covering him once more, he took down the antenna and brought everything back inside the car wash.
Staelin, who served as the team’s de facto medic, had been examining Tretyakov. “I think you’re right,” he said when Harvath came back in. “I think his jaw is broken. He’s not going to be able to exfil with a broken jaw.”
“Don’t worry about the exfil,” said Harvath. “I’ve got it all taken care of. Everything’s going to be fine.”
As team leader, it was his job to reassure and to instill confidence in his troops. Privately, though, his concern was growing. Twice in the last two hours, a police vehicle had done a sweep through the truck stop.
The first time it was just a slow roll. The second time, they stopped, got out and looked in the Dumpsters.
For their protection, Tretyakov had been carefully duct-taped at the mouth and bound even tighter. They couldn’t risk his giving them away.
Harvath decided to double the guard, posting someone at each end of the car wash, even though only one of the roll-up doors had a gap big enough to see through. They might be blind at one of their entry points, but they didn’t have to be deaf.
As he had expected, the alert appeared to have gone out. Since their vehicles had been spotted barreling west out of the city, it wasn’t a surprise that the authorities were checking this truck stop. They were likely checking all truck stops, as well as rest stops, bus depots, and train stations, in addition to countless other locations.
All Harvath and his team could do right now was to sit tight. Though it felt like an eternity, very soon they’d be on their way and one step closer to home.
• • •
When the appointed time neared, Harvath went back and forth about whom to put outside. Sloane was the obvious choice, as a good-looking woman was probably not what the cops were looking for. But a good-looking woman loitering at a truck stop created a whole different sort of potential trouble for the team.
That wasn’t to say she couldn’t handle herself—she absolutely could—but it might very quickly turn into a problem. Instead, Harvath decided to send out Chase.
He didn’t need to be told to make himself scarce. He was functioning as a lookout. If he could do so from a concealed position, all the better.
He found an excellent position behind a stack of discarded pallets. From there, he could see most of the eastern side of the truck stop. That was where the pickup was supposed to occur.
The only problem with his position, besides its limited field of sight, was that it afforded no avenues of esca
pe.
When the police came back through a third time and decided to do an even more aggressive search, Chase realized it wasn’t just him who was in trouble, but his whole team.
It didn’t take the cops long to find him. Yelling in Russian, they told him to step out from behind the pallets.
He obliged them, but just partly, stepping out from behind the stack of pallets only enough to reveal the left side of his body.
When the first cop moved to call it in over his radio, the second cop, standing next to him, went for his gun. That was when Chase fired.
His suppressed Glock had been in his right hand the entire time. Firing through the open space in the pallets, he killed both of the Russians instantly.
Harvath was the first one out of the car wash to help him scrub the scene.
“I’ll handle the bodies,” he said. “You figure out how we get one more vehicle inside.”
It was the kind of puzzle the Army gave to its Green Beret recruits—like Jeeps with only three wheels that need to be moved right away to a life-or-death location.
Rushing back inside the car wash, Chase surveyed the scene and quickly realized that if they slanted the vehicles, they could squeeze one more in, which is exactly what they did.
By the time Harvath had put the bodies in the back of the police car and had driven it up to the car wash, a space was ready and waiting for him. Once again, Chase was proving how capable he was.
The vehicle secure and no one the wiser, Harvath sent Chase back out to resume his post.
Inserting a fresh magazine into his weapon, he did as he was told and headed back outside.
Twenty minutes later, their ride arrived. He had backed in, along the east side, so as to make it as easy as possible for Harvath and his team to climb up into his trailer without being seen.
“You, too,” the Lithuanian truck driver from earlier that morning said.
Harvath shook his head. “Nope. I’m riding with you. Let’s go.”
It wasn’t a request. The driver shook his head and, after closing the trailer doors, came back around front and hopped up into the cab. Harvath joined him on the passenger side.
