by Brad Thor
He made the drive in under two hours and took a room at the Sofitel near the Vieux Port. The valets seemed distracted as did the front desk staff when he checked in.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“There has been a series of suicide bombings in Paris,” the clerk replied.
The minute he got into his room, he turned on the TV. There had been bombings at major tourist attractions across the city. Footage was being played of the devastation at the Eiffel Tower, along the Champs Élysées, at Montmartre, and near Notre Dame. The facts were still sketchy, but there was talk of primary and secondary detonations. It was a favorite tactic of Islamic terrorists to detonate a primary device in order to draw in further victims and first responders, and to then detonate a second, more powerful blast.
French news services were speculating whether the attacks were related to the bus bombing in Rome and placed the death toll in the hundreds. Though many of the victims were tourists, locals had also been killed. It was being described as the French 9/11.
Harvath stood at the foot of his bed still holding his backpack. He had no doubt this attack was tied to the Rome bombing. He also felt responsible. He knew he shouldn’t, but he did. The Old Man was going to be very angry. Harvath owed him a phone call, but before he spoke with his boss, he wanted to speak with Nicholas.
Setting his pack on the desk, he opened up the minibar. He grabbed a small bottle of whiskey, twisted off the metal cap, and poured it into a glass. Removing one of his clean cell phones, he powered it up and dialed the number for the Troll’s satellite phone.
“You heard about Paris?” Nicholas asked. Ever fearful of the NSA’s voice-printing capabilities, he was running the call through a special program on his laptop. The voice sounded robotic. There was a slight delay, along with an echo as it went up to the satellite and bounced back down.
“We were too late,” said Harvath.
“We couldn’t have stopped it.”
“We could have and we should have.”
“There are going to be more,” replied Nicholas. “Trust me. Let’s focus on stopping those. We cannot bring these people back.”
Harvath took a sip of his drink. “Tell me about Tony Tsui.”
“That’s who hired Leveque?”
“Yes. Who is he?”
“He is a second-rate, digital pimp. That’s who he is.”
“So you know him.”
“Unfortunately, I do,” answered the little man. “But this is all starting to fit. When the assassin he hired failed to report back in, he proceeded right to the next step in his plan.”
“Which was implicating you in the Rome bombing.”
“Exactly.”
“Why would he want you killed?”
“I’m his leading source of competition.”
“Tsui is in the intelligence business?” asked Harvath.
“Tsui is barely a step above a peeping Tom, and not a very high step either. He’s pure scum. He’d sell out his own mother if it meant a couple of bucks in his pocket. He has been trying to fish from my pond for years.”
“But why attempt to kill you now?”
The Troll was silent as he tried to fit the pieces together. “I sold him a piece of information recently.”
“How recently?”
“In the last year.”
“And that was the last time you communicated with him?”
“It’s not like the man is on my Christmas card list.”
Harvath took another sip of his drink. “What was the information you sold him?”
“Normally,” replied the Troll, “I don’t kiss and tell, but in this case I have no problem filling you in. It was the location of a secret military base in Mongolia run by the PLA.”
“What did he want with a secret base run by the Chinese military?”
“It was for a client.”
“Did he say who the client was?”
“As unprofessional as Tsui is, he knows how to keep his mouth shut.”
Harvath was having trouble connecting the dots. “What’s the base used for?”
Nicholas exhaled loudly. “I’ve got no idea.”
“How about Tsui? Does he know?”
“Maybe. Maybe his client knows. All I brought to the party was the location.”
“And Tsui paid you for that information?” asked Harvath.
“Yes he did.”
“Any chance the information didn’t pan out and so he wanted to whack you out of revenge?”
Nicholas laughed. “That’s not how our business works. If the information had been bad, he would have demanded his money back. And I would have paid him. But he never asked. Which tells me that the information was solid.”
“So he tried to kill you to get you out of his way.”
“Or to keep me quiet.”
Harvath needed to fill in the blanks. “How many transactions have you done with Tsui over the years?”
“A lot.”
“And you never had any animosity? No problems at all?”
“There was plenty of animosity, but nothing that would rise to either one of us wanting the other killed. I told you, he’s a despicable character. But from time to time he proved a useful and lucrative source. We flowed information both ways if the price was right. And we never let price prevent us from making money.”
It sounded to Harvath as if Tsui and Nicholas deserved each other. They were a couple of gossiping old ladies who talked trash behind each other’s backs but would sit down and have coffee to trade gossip about everybody else if they got the chance. The only difference was that the “gossip” they traded in was the stuff of state secrets and the kind of dirty laundry that brought politicians, business titans, and even countries to their knees.
Harvath swirled the liquid in his glass. All signs pointed to Tsui, but he wanted to be sure. “Who else could have framed you with the Italians?”
“The pope himself could have done it.”
“I’m going to assume that you’re exaggerating. You haven’t actually crossed the pope, have you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Nicholas. “Leveque gave you Tsui’s name and I’m going to bet he didn’t do so willingly.”
“No, it was under significant duress,” replied Harvath.
“Then you need to ask yourself how confident you are in what Leveque told you. Personally, Tsui makes perfect sense. He knows enough about me and what he doesn’t know, he most likely has the means to find out.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Enough to make him very uncomfortable,” said Nicholas.
“I want to pay him a visit. How soon can you get me an address?”
“It’ll probably take me a few hours.”
“Get started and call me back when you have something.”
After hanging up, Harvath downed the remainder of his drink and opened the minibar for a second. Though his ego was more bruised than his body, he was still sore from the beating he had taken from Dominique Fournier. But it was nothing compared to the beating he knew he was going to take from Reed Carlton.
After a couple of sips of his second whiskey, he picked up the phone and dialed.
CHAPTER 27
Harvath had had only intermittent e-mail contact with his boss since leaving for Europe three days ago. It was time to provide Carlton with a full debriefing, which was exactly what he did. When it was complete, he sat back and readied himself for the recriminations he was sure would follow.
“So let me get this straight,” said the Old Man. “You trunked two Basque separatists, Tasered a madam and her bodyguard—after she kicked your tail—then bagged and dragged her to some French farmhouse where you threatened to disfigure her, then iceboarded a concierge, shot three hotel security guards, kidnapped the wife of one of Russia’s wealthiest mobsters, and are now sitting in a hotel in Marseille waiting for a callback from the man I sent you over there to apprehend. Is that about right?”
“Pretty much. All except the part of me she kicked. It definitely wasn’t my tail.”
“Very funny, smartass. Have you seen what happened in Paris?”
Harvath changed his tone. “Yes.”
“What am I supposed to tell DOD?”
“Tell them I haven’t located the Troll yet.”
“You want me to lie to them?”
“Then don’t tell them anything.”
“Which is it?” asked the Old Man.
“Are you pulling my chain? Because I can’t tell.”
“I could say the same thing to you. I sent you over there to pick up your little buddy and bring him back, not to be his designated hitter.”
“He didn’t have anything to do with Rome, Reed.”
“It doesn’t matter. DOD wants him.”
Harvath tried to keep himself in check. His guilt over the second bombing had made him defensive. “I thought DOD wanted whoever was behind the attack.”
“And the first rung on that ladder is your pal.”
“I agree. But the second rung is Fournier, the third Leveque, and the fourth is Tony Tsui. We’re making progress.”
“Tell that to the people in Paris.”
Though Carlton probably didn’t mean it that way, the rebuke stung. “The Troll is a dead end. He had nothing to do with Rome. He was framed and the person who framed him is Tony Tsui. Tsui had prior knowledge of the attack.”
“Do you think Rome and Paris are connected?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Harvath.
“I didn’t ask you what you know, I asked you what you think.”
“I think they’re connected.”
“Me too.”
There was silence between them. Harvath was the one to finally break it. “Would you have connected these dots any differently than I have?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell me my methods are too harsh?”
“No.”
“Do you think that I’m being too much of a cowboy?”
“You’re doing exactly what I expected you’d do when I selected you.”
Harvath laughed. “Are you telling me I’m predictable?”
“I’m telling you that you’re a professional and you’re reliable. I trust your judgment. You’re the man in the field. If you have a choice between a flyswatter and a sledgehammer, would I rather you use the flyswatter? Of course. But that’s for you to decide. That’s your job. My job is to give you whatever you need to get things done.”
“Well, what I need right now is more time.”
“How much more?” asked the Old Man.
“I’ll know better once I have a location for Tsui. In the meantime, tell DOD that we’re making progress.”
“Body bags aren’t progress, Scot.”
“I promise you,” said Harvath. “I’m going to find who did this and I’m going to make sure they never do it again.”
“I agree with you. But first, give me something I can give DOD. If you can prove the Troll had nothing to do with this then bring me Tsui—alive. Do that and then we’ll be able to take the next step.”
It was Sunday and the sun was just beginning to rise when Harvath’s phone rang. “I’ve got a location,” said the computer-modulated voice on the other end.
“Where?”
“Geneva.”
“That’s terrific. How’d you find him?” asked Harvath.
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I pick you up. Be at the General Aviation terminal at the Marseille airport in two hours.”
“What about customs in Switzerland?”
“Already taken care of,” replied Nicholas.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
The white Learjet 45 touched down in Marseille and taxied to a revetment area near the General Aviation building. An attractive aviation services hostess walked Harvath to the plane. He was met at a set of air-stairs by the copilot, who offered to take his bag. Harvath politely declined and stepped aboard.
Argos and Draco were the first to say hello. The dogs weren’t the only company Nicholas had brought with him. Surprisingly, Padre Peio had come along as well. He was dressed in a pair of tan trousers and a blue button-down shirt.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning, Father,” replied Harvath, dropping his pack on one of the forward seats. The Troll was lying on a leather couch toward the rear of the cabin. “You should have stayed in Spain. You’re not up for this.”
“That’s exactly what I told him,” said Peio.
“And yet here I am,” replied Nicholas as he reached for the intercom. “I want to get this over with.”
Harvath looked at Peio. “You’ll forgive me, Father, but I would think that this is something you wouldn’t want to be mixed up in.”
The priest smiled wistfully. “There is great evil in the world. I know that. Hundreds of people were killed yesterday. But I don’t believe that the answer is more killing.”
“I wish it was that simple, Father.”
“For God’s sake, Peio. Lighten up,” added the Troll. “You of all people should know what’s at stake here. When it comes to Muslim fundamentalists the only thing they respect is force. Imagine if Christian Europe had simply turned the other cheek at the Battle of Lepanto or the gates of Vienna. We’d be living in a much different world than we are now.”
“But we’ve come a long way since the Battle of Lepanto.”
“We may have come a long way, but they haven’t. To paraphrase Churchill, individual Muslims may show splendid qualities, but Islam’s fanatical frenzy is as dangerous in a man as hydrophobia is in a dog. It’s been over a hundred years since he spoke those words and yet there is still no more dangerous retrograde force in the world.
“And before you give me that tired argument that the fundamentalists have perverted the faith, let me be perfectly clear on something. A religion must stand or fall on its own writings and holy books. The fundamentalists haven’t perverted anything. In fact, Osama bin Laden is the best practicing Muslim out there. He is practicing Islam exactly the way that violent nutcase Mohammed wanted it practiced.
“It’s the world’s peaceful Muslims, the majority of the followers of Islam, who have perverted the faith. They have strayed. If Mohammed came back today you can bet there’d be hell to pay. He’d be lopping off heads left and right. And he’d have a lot of help too because in case you haven’t noticed, the largest killer of Muslims in the world isn’t us filthy infidels, it’s other Muslims. Fundamentalist Islam is booming, if you’ll pardon the pun.”
Peio turned to Harvath. “I’m here because I was concerned about Nicholas making this journey alone.”
The Troll laughed as he activated the intercom and relayed instructions to the pilot. “Don’t believe him. He misses the intrigue. Don’t you, Father?”
Harvath couldn’t help wondering if maybe that was true.
CHAPTER 28
Once the plane had reached its cruising altitude, Peio unbuckled his seatbelt and walked back to the galley. As he removed the trays of food that had been stocked for their flight, Nicholas explained to Harvath how he had tracked Tsui.
“So in other words, you planted a Trojan horse in his computer system.”
“A very expensive, extremely difficult to trace Trojan horse,” clarified the Troll. “He’s one of my key competitors, so I viewed it as an insurance policy. You can’t trust anybody these days.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” replied Harvath. “Have you put one of these on my computer?”
Nicholas looked sheepish. “When this is over, I’ll show you how to deactivate it.”
Peio emerged from the galley and could tell from looking at Harvath that he wasn’t happy.
“Everything okay here?” he asked.
“Fine,” said Harvath as the priest set the food down. “Nicholas is going to buy me a new computer when I get home. A very ex
pensive and extremely difficult to trace computer.”
When the Learjet landed in Geneva, it taxied to a small hangar where it was met by two Swiss customs officers in suits.
Harvath watched through his window as the copilot deplaned and handed over their passports. The officials stamped each one, handed them back, and then disappeared.
Once their passports had been returned, the three men deplaned and crossed the hangar to two waiting vehicles: a windowless panel van and a dark blue Range Rover. It had been decided that Peio would use the van to drive Nicholas and the dogs to the warehouse the Troll had rented, while Harvath would drive the Range Rover to the five-star Beau Rivage hotel they had traced Tsui to.
With the airport only six kilometers away from the city, Harvath arrived at the hotel within fifteen minutes of leaving the hangar.
It was an elegant, white stone structure in the tradition of the grand hotels of Europe. It sat on the Quai du Mont Blanc, facing the lake within sight of Geneva’s famous Jet d’Eau; a magnificent fountain which shoots an enormous plume of water over 450 feet in the air.
Harvath valeted his car and checked into his room. He pulled out a Diet Coke and a jar of almonds from the minibar, then opened the laptop Nicholas had given him on the plane.
According to the Troll, Tsui had used the hotel’s Wi-Fi service to plant viruses on the computers of multiple guests. Once the computers were infected, he could control them remotely, even after they had left the hotel. Without their owners being any the wiser, he used his network of zombie machines to covertly send and receive data without revealing his involvement.
Tsui, though, had made one mistake. All of his cleverly hidden, sophisticatedly encrypted data came and went via the hotel’s Wi-Fi system. By accessing it and pushing small packets of data toward him, Nicholas believed his Trojan Horse would help them pinpoint the exact location Tsui was operating from. Or so he had hoped.
Harvath opened the French windows that looked out across the lake, settled in at the desk, and dialed his cell phone.
Nicholas answered on the second ring, his voice disguised as usual. “I didn’t get a chance to power the battery all the way up. This could take a while so make sure you plug the power cord in.”
