by Brad Thor
Reclaiming her own glass, she leaned back against the loveseat and that’s when she saw him.
He was standing in the entrance, glaring at her, his mind moving from passion to rage.
Finally, he spoke. “What the fuck did you just do?”
CHAPTER 78
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* * *
Vottari advanced into the cabana. “What did you just put in my drink?”
Lovett’s immediate instinct was to convince him that he had not seen what he had just seen. “What are you talking about? I didn’t put anything in your drink.”
“You lying bitch.”
“You know what?” she said, starting to stand up. “We’re done here.”
“No we’re not,” the man replied, removing something from his pocket. “We’re just starting.”
As soon as she heard the distinctive click of a blade locking into place, she knew he had pulled a knife. In a flash, all of her training came flooding back.
Kicking the table over, she sent the candles and glass hurricane lamps hurtling at him.
It wasn’t much, but it gave her enough time to get on her feet.
Snatching a cushion off the loveseat, she used it to blunt his attack. He came in fast, though, driving her backward.
She was so focused on the knife that she didn’t see the chair, and went tumbling over it.
The moment she hit the ground, he was on top of her, the blade pressed tightly against her throat. She didn’t dare move.
Putting his lips against her ear, he whispered, “Like I said, we’re only getting started.”
She could feel his other hand under her skirt. He was rough and pushed it up the inside of her thigh. When he got to her panties, he stopped. Then, with a snap, he ripped them off.
His hand was suddenly out from under her skirt and was unzipping his fly. She tensed. He was going to rape her.
Sensing she was about to do something stupid, he applied even more pressure to the knife.
Lovett felt the edge of the blade biting into her skin. When his free hand came up to his mouth and she saw him wet it with saliva, she knew she had to do something—even if that something was just to scream—in the hopes that someone would hear her.
She opened her mouth to yell, but as soon as she did, he punched her in the side of her face.
She saw stars. She had to fight with everything she had not to black out. She knew if she didn’t, it would be all over.
He had remoistened his hand and was trying to force it between her legs. Summoning all of her strength, she fought to deny him.
Angered, he withdrew his hand and pulled it back to punch her again. That was when it happened.
Like a pair of pythons, two strong arms snaked around Vottari’s throat and behind his neck.
Squeezing his shoulders back, her savior cut off the blood supply to the man’s brain and within seconds, he passed out.
“Are you okay?” Harvath asked as he dropped Vottari to the ground and kicked his knife out of the way.
Lovett couldn’t speak, she could only nod.
“Toss me your underwear,” he said as he fished a set of flex-cuffs out of his pocket. “It’s right there to your left.”
It was a strange request, but she did as he asked.
Someone who has been choked out doesn’t stay out for long. It was only a matter of seconds.
Securing Vottari’s wrists behind his back, Harvath shoved Lovett’s underwear in his mouth and covered it with a piece of duct tape he had wrapped around the flashlight in his other pocket.
He then gestured toward the overturned furniture. “Unzip one of those throw pillows, pull out the stuffing, and bring me the cover.”
As she did that, Harvath removed his cell phone and sent another group text.
When she brought him the cover, he dialed a number and handed her his phone. “Tell Naldo where we are and that he needs to come get us right now.”
Lovett took the phone and relayed the instruction in Italian as Harvath put the cover over Vottari’s head as a makeshift hood.
Ninety seconds later, with all of his lights out, Naldo pulled up on the beach outside.
“Move, asshole,” Harvath ordered, yanking the hooded Vottari to his feet.
When the man tried to break free of his grasp and run, Harvath hit him in the kidney so hard, he was sure to be pissing blood for a week.
Dragging him to the back of the SUV, Naldo helped toss him into the cargo area. Harvath leapt in behind him, forced him to lie down, and then kept him pinned to the floor.
As soon as Naldo and Lovett were in, he said, “Okay, let’s go.”
The ROS operative put the vehicle in gear, stepped on the gas, and raced down the beach.
Pulling his phone back out, Harvath sent his final group text.
Within seconds of its being received, Harvath’s team began slipping out of the club.
Argento and his men stayed only long enough to make sure their American counterparts had gotten out without incident. Once that was confirmed, they too made their exit.
By the time any of La Formícula’s bodyguards were concerned enough to go looking for him, the teams that had snatched him were long gone.
CHAPTER 79
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WASHINGTON, D.C.
Andrew Jordan pulled the MacBook Air out of his briefcase and pushed it across Paul Page’s dining room table.
“Ever heard of a thumb drive?” Page asked, accepting it.
“That’s what I said, but Susan Viscovich is spooked.”
“You used Viscovich to hack Carlton and Ryan?”
Jordan nodded. “She’s the best and I know you didn’t want to waste any time.”
“What did it cost us?”
“Don’t ask.”
Part of Page really didn’t want to know. A job like this must have been exorbitantly expensive. “Why the laptop, though?”
“She said it was for our safety,” Jordan replied. “She had to put out a contract for the hack. They scanned the files up and down for malware and didn’t find anything, but she’s paid to be suspicious. She wanted to make sure we were able to review all of the material on a computer stripped of any ability to connect with the Internet.”
“How’d she get the information onto the laptop?”
Jordan shook his head. “No clue. And to tell you the truth, I don’t really care.”
“So what did she come up with?”
“The personal email accounts for Reed Carlton and Lydia Ryan.”
Page was impressed. “That was quick.”
“Like I said, she’s the best. The emails go back quite a way, and there’s lots of them.”
“Did you also hire her for the rest of the surveillance?”
Jordan nodded. “That, though, didn’t go as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ryan wasn’t scheduled to have her place swept for another two weeks. The plan was to get in and get out before the CIA came through, but for some reason, she had them come in early. They found everything.”
Page was not happy. He was even less happy when Jordan added, “They found all the surveillance at Carlton’s too.”
“Son of a bitch,” he cursed. “Now they know we’re on to them.”
“They know someone is on to them. They don’t necessarily know who.”
Page looked at his partner. “The Deputy Director of the CIA and Reed fucking Carlton found out their homes were wired. You don’t think they’re going to move heaven and earth to get to the bottom of it?”
“Viscovich has assured me that absolutely none of the equipment she used can be traced back.”
“Well she wouldn’t be the best,” he replied, making air quotes with his fingers, “if it could. But I’m not worried about the equipment giving her away. I’m worried about whoever installed it. She does tons of fucking contract work for the Agency. If word gets out about this, her installers may start spilling what they know.�
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“She has assured me that won’t happen.”
“Well that’s fucking great, Andrew. I’m glad you’re willing to gamble everything on a promise from Susan Viscovich.” Page paused and then added, “Are you fucking her?”
Jordan laughed, “Now that would be worth risking everything over.”
Page was pissed off and didn’t like his cavalier attitude. “She’s a weak link. You need to fix this.”
“Fix this?” Jordan said, with another laugh. “Fix it how?”
“Kill her.”
“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”
“Kill her,” Page instructed, “and kill the installers.”
“Is that all?”
“You don’t seem to understand how serious this is.”
Jordan looked at him. “And you don’t seem to understand how insane you sound.”
“What exactly do you think is going to happen when Reed Carlton comes after us for this? Have you thought about that?”
“Frankly, Paul, he’s your obsession. Not mine. I was just trying to do you a favor. And apparently, no good deed goes unpunished.”
“We’re both going to get punished if we don’t get out in front of this.”
“I’m not killing anybody,” Jordan stated. “Full stop. Not going to happen.”
“That’s too bad,” said Page, as he removed the suppressed .22 Walther pistol mounted under his dining room table and fired into his partner’s left temple, killing him. “Now, I’m going to have to do all the work.”
CHAPTER 80
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CALABRIA
When the teams arrived back at the safe house, Harvath’s VIP was already set up and waiting for him.
As the vehicles pulled into the courtyard, Dr. Vella stood in the doorway. In his hand was a very special black hood. He wanted to get it on their subject as quickly as possible.
Once Naldo had backed their SUV in, Harvath opened the hatch and waved Vella over. No one said a word. They operated in total silence.
Using his flashlight to blind Vottari so he couldn’t see where he was or what was going on, Harvath yanked the pillow covering off Vottari’s head and Vella replaced it with the hood he had brought from the Solarium in Malta.
Morrison and Staelin then dragged the Mafioso into the house.
In the room that had been outfitted for his interrogation, they patted Vottari down, relieved him of all his personal effects, and secured him to a chair. All of the other furniture had been removed.
Heavy black moving blankets had been affixed over the windows, halogen lights rested on adjustable stands, and three video cameras sat atop tripods at different angles. The room looked like it had been set up for a terrorist video.
There was also a large medical bag and five plastic Storm cases of varying sizes that contained the rest of Vella’s equipment.
It was now time for the doctor to take over.
After making sure Vella had everything he needed, Harvath stepped into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
Because of the nature of the operation, Harvath and Argento had agreed to a very specific division of labor. Argento and his men would be responsible for the security of the safe house and Harvath and his men would be responsible for securing Vottari. This way, the Italians could ostensibly deny knowledge of what had taken place. Technically, none of them had even seen La Formícula’s face outside the nightclub.
While Barton pulled security outside the interrogation room, Staelin and Morrison had already turned in. Most of Argento’s men had too.
Filling a mug, Harvath grabbed his backpack and headed upstairs to the roof. He wanted to get some work done. Back at Langley, McGee would be expecting an update.
Stepping outside, he saw Argento sitting at a table. He had lit a few of the Citronella candles to keep the mosquitos away, had his feet up, and was smoking a cigarette. When he saw Harvath, he motioned for him to join him.
Setting his backpack on the table, he pulled out a chair and sat down. The view of the town, all lit up at night, reminded him of a lot of the time he’d spent in Greece.
The Italian offered Harvath a cigarette. Harvath declined.
“So, how long will the interrogation take?” Argento asked as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.
“Hard to say.”
“Does he always travel with a hood?”
Harvath nodded. “It’s a designer hood.”
“What’s so special about it?”
“There’s a pocket in the front that holds strips of cloth soaked in a unique chemical. It’s supposed to make subjects more cooperative.”
“Does it work?”
“Vella thinks so.”
“Have you ever tried it?” Argento asked.
“I watched him do one interrogation with it and it worked. The one time I tried to do it in the field, it didn’t work.”
“What happened?”
“The subject had a heart attack. I haven’t tried it again since then,” said Harvath. “That’s why I wanted to bring Vella in to do this.”
The Italian nodded and took another drag on his cigarette. When he exhaled, he asked, “Your tech people blocked La Formícula’s phone, correct? None of his people can trace it here?”
“Correct. I texted my guy as soon as we grabbed him. There’s no trail. It’s as if Vottari’s phone never left The Beach Club,” replied Harvath.
“And there will be no marks on him, correct? No needle punctures. No bruising.”
“Just as we agreed.”
Argento seemed content and had no further questions. He went back to smoking his cigarette and looking up at the stars. Harvath took out his laptop and began typing up an update for McGee.
After it was complete, he powered up his encrypted satellite phone, attached it to the computer, and sent the update back to the United States.
With that task checked off his list, he put his feet up as well and relaxed as he sipped his coffee.
Though Lovett might not agree, nor would he blame her, they had gotten off easy tonight. He had planned for a much more difficult extraction of Vottari. Argento’s men had been armed with Tasers to take out the bodyguards and Harvath and his team had smuggled in flashbangs and smoke grenades to create a diversion in order to smuggle out the Mafioso during the chaos.
Looking at his watch, he saw that it was well after midnight, which meant that locally, it was Saturday. He couldn’t believe that it had been only a week ago that he met with McGee and Ryan at the blue lockhouse.
Eight days ago, the attack at Burning Man had happened. Since then, the Spain and Paris attacks had happened. So many people were dead and so many more were wounded.
Quietly, he hoped that the attack at the Tuileries was the big one that the CIA had been worried about. He hoped that whatever ISIS had been planning that required a chemist, had been stopped dead in its tracks when Mustapha Marzouk had drowned.
He knew better than that, though. He knew that ISIS hadn’t gone to this much trouble over a chemist for nothing. Whatever they had planned, they were going to keep pursuing it, no matter what the cost.
Harvath also knew that if he didn’t figure out what it was, and find a way to stop it, many more people were going to die.
• • •
For the next two hours, Harvath sat on the roof, not thinking about anything. He spent most of that time with his eyes closed, giving his mind a rest and trying to recharge his batteries.
When he suddenly heard footsteps on the roof, his eyes snapped open and he was wide awake.
Turning in his chair, he saw Vella with a tablet in his hand. “What’s going on?”
“Vottari broke,” the doctor replied. “You need to see this.”
“What is it?” Argento asked.
Vella set the tablet on the table in front of them. The portion of the interrogation he wanted them to view was already cued up. Tapping the Play icon, he the
n took a step back.
Harvath and Argento watched. The horror of what Vottari had done built with each passing second of his confession.
Before La Formícula was even finished speaking, Harvath was already scrambling for his satellite phone.
CHAPTER 81
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The Grande Senegal was a Grimaldi Lines container ship that had left Rome’s Civitavecchia Port en route to Baltimore, Maryland.
The ship was almost two and a half football fields long and, according to Vottari, was carrying crates containing two cases of fragmentation grenades, six Russian mortars, and twelve binary chemical weapon shells designed for mixing highly deadly sarin gas in flight.
Ever suspicious of his ISIS clients, Vottari admitted to having hidden RFID tags in the weapons’ crates to make sure the contraband material did in fact leave Italy. There was an app on his cell phone actively tracking the tags.
“But your ISIS contact told you that the final destination for Mustapha Marzouk, and the weapons, was outside Italy, somewhere in Europe,” Vella had pressed during the interrogation.
“They lie,” Vottari had responded. “It’s what they do.”
The fact that ISIS had intended to smuggle the weapons out via the Port of Rome was also reinforced in the interrogation when Vottari admitted that his ISIS contact wanted the weapons delivered to a warehouse in Civitavecchia.
So thorough was the security at the Port of Rome that after an initial investigation, Vottari’s people had told him it was too dangerous. So Vottari had negotiated a different, safer location for the weapons to be delivered to.
For Harvath, everything was coming together. Via the Italian Mafia, ISIS had purchased Russian weapons, capable of delivering sarin gas. Those weapons were to be smuggled to Rome, along with an ISIS chemist.
ISIS had then lied about the final target, evidently intending to put the weapons and the chemist on a cargo container bound for the United States. According to the app on Vottari’s phone tracking the RFID tags he had hidden in the crates, the weapons were on their way. If Lovett’s assumption back in Palermo had been right, then so too was a new ISIS chemist.
