Foreign Influence_A Thriller

by Brad Thor

  Josh Levy, the owner of Surety Private Investigations, had been discharged from the hospital after being held overnight for observation and was expected to make a full recovery. Based on a couple of calls from Washington, John Vaughan and Paul Davidson both received commendations and promotions. While Davidson was happy where he was, Vaughan gladly accepted a newly created position with the Chicago Police Department’s Intelligence unit. Davidson recruited the Pakistani mechanic, Javed Miraj, into his network and was using him to help build a case against the three stooges at the Crescent Garage.

  Alison Taylor had begun making progress, and her family couldn’t have been happier. Mr. Taylor had paid Vaughan the balance of his monies owed and realized that with all of the federal charges against Mohammed Nasiri, Alison would probably never get her day in court. Even so, knowing that she was getting better and that Nasiri would never walk free was justice enough for him.

  In Switzerland, Adda Sterk had been remanded to a DOD black site for further interrogation, and Michael Lee was given immunity from prosecution, along with a small payment from the Carlton Group to guarantee his silence. He was reunited with his dog and also tracked down Sterk’s contact, who had accepted the two decoy dogs that supposedly belonged to Nicholas. The Old Man had made it known to Harvath that he wanted the settlement money to Michael Lee to be reimbursed to the Carlton Group by the Troll, in person. Harvath had no idea where he was, but he assumed that he and Padre Peio had returned to the Basque country.

  After Chicago, Harvath had intended to return to Virginia, but instead he had gone to Maine. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy telling Tracy things were over. She was a beautiful woman and he loved her very much, more than he had ever loved anyone else. He wanted a family, though. He had come to the conclusion that he wanted that more than anything else, even more than his career. He had thought he could have both with her. He believed that at one point it had been possible, but not the way things were now.

  They drank a lot and stayed in bed together for three entire days. When the Old Man called and Harvath told her he had to go, she told him she loved him and that she hoped he would keep in touch with her. She also told him that she understood and that he was doing the right thing.

  As Harvath left, he consoled himself with the knowledge that if a great relationship had once been possible with Tracy, it could be possible with somebody else. Maybe even Riley, the doctor Carlton had sent to him in Geneva. For his part, though, the Old Man wasn’t forthcoming with any further information about her. That was okay. When he was done in Yemen, he was seriously considering going to Paris to see if he could find her on his own.

  Taking another sip of chai, he checked his watch and looked across the dusty street at the figure that was approaching.

  “You’re late,” he said as the man pulled out one of the rickety chairs and sat down.

  “Fuck you.”

  Harvath smiled. If he hadn’t met Sean Chase in Chicago, he never would have been able to pick him out here in Yemen, or in any other Muslim country. He blended in perfectly. “You still mad?”

  Chase’s eyes widened. “Is that a serious fucking question? Because I spent three years of my life infiltrating Aleem’s network only to have you cock it all up.”

  “You’re young, there’ll be other assignments.”

  “You’re an idiot, you know that? How do you tell somebody to just walk away and forget something like that?”

  “I didn’t tell you to walk away and forget it,” said Harvath. “I told you that there’d be other assignments.”

  “Spoken like a true old-timer.”

  “Forty makes me an old-timer?”

  “It certainly doesn’t make you a spring chicken.”

  Harvath laughed. This kid was all mouth and balls. He liked him. Probably because that’s exactly the way he had been. “Hot enough for you?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “We’re going to talk about the fucking weather now?” Chase asked. “I thought you had something for me. Or did you fly halfway around the world just to pull on my dick?”

  Harvath laughed again.

  “What’s so goddamn funny?”

  “You’ve got an incredible mouth on you. If you don’t get a handle on it, it’s going to hold you back.”

  “What the hell would you know about it?”

  “I know,” said Harvath. “Trust me.”

  “So, are we going to cuddle up and read chapter two from Miss Manners or are you going to give me the intel you supposedly uncovered on Aleem?”

  Harvath motioned for the waiter to bring another chai for his guest. Then, turning to Chase, he said, “I’ve got good news for you, Sean.”

  “I bet you do. What is it?”

  “Aleem’s close.”

  “How close?”

  Harvath pulled a set of car keys from his pocket and dropped them on the table. “See that white Corolla over there?”

  Chase looked at the car and then back at Harvath. “You’ve got Aleem in there? In the trunk?”

  Harvath nodded.

  “Holy shit. Where’d you find him?”

  “We followed the same leads you did here to Yemen.”

  “Let me guess. Age and wisdom over youth and inexperience. Is that what you’re going to tell me?”

  “From what I understand,” said Harvath, “you’ve already got more experience than a lot of people twice your age.”

  “So what? You’re trying to tell me you’re just that good?”

  Harvath smiled. “You’re going to learn, Sean, that it’s often better to be lucky than good.”

  Chase rolled his eyes. “What’s the catch? What do you want?”

  “Personally, I’d like you to sit and have a glass of tea with me and then you can drive me to the airport.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you want?”

  “I said that’s what I wanted personally. Professionally, we expect you to share everything with us you can download out of Aleem.”

  “But you could do that yourself,” said Chase. “Why give him to me?”

  “Because we want to. You worked harder than anyone to get close to this guy and take his network apart. A lot of people have been killed because of him and it’s going to make America look good that we captured him. My group doesn’t want any publicity. The Agency on the other hand needs the good press. Just make sure management doesn’t try to grab all the credit.”

  “Thank you,” said Chase as the waiter set down his glass.

  Harvath’s phone vibrated. It was an unknown number and he was tempted not to answer it, but for some stupid reason he thought maybe Carlton had given in and passed his number along to Riley in Paris.

  The moment he heard the modulated voice on the other end, he knew he had made a mistake. “You owe my boss some money, Nicholas. And he wants it from you in person,” said Harvath.

  “I’ve got something else the Old Man’s going to want a lot more,” replied the Troll.

  “Then call him and tell him yourself,” he said as he reached for more chai. “I’m going on vacation.”

  “I found something on Adda Sterk’s thumb drive.”

  “What thumb drive?”

  “The one I found in Geneva after you dumped her purse out looking for her inhaler.”

  “That’s U.S. government property, Nicholas.”

  Wherever in the world he was, the Troll laughed. “I’m doing you a favor. I really think you should see this.”

  “Not interested,” said Harvath.

  “Aazim Aleem has a nephew who works at Harrods.”

  “So what?”

  “So, his nephew was a digital courier for him. Real smart when it came to transmitting information without leaving a trail. Except he made one mistake, and I found it.”

  “On the thumb drive.”

  “Yes.”

  Chase was listening intently. Harvath decided the conversation was over. Clinking the tiny spoon he had against his glass he said, “You know what sou
nd that is, Nicholas? That’s the bell signaling the commencement of the local cocktail hour. I’m off the clock. I’m sure you can track down my boss if you try hard enough.”

  That’s when the Troll let the other shoe fall. “A piece of data was transmitted to Sterk that never should have been. It was highly encrypted and even if she had noticed it buried in another file, I don’t think she could have decrypted it. I think that’s why it was left on her thumb drive, hidden in plain sight.”

  “Okay, I give. What is it?”

  The Troll took a deep breath and let it out. “Site 243 wasn’t just about a string of Islamic terrorist attacks. The attacks are a small wave preceding a giant tsunami meant to crush the United States.”

  * * *

  On a rooftop two blocks away, as a man listened to his employer, he could picture him sitting in his club’s library, his liver-spotted hands holding his encrypted cell phone.

  “You are positive Aleem is in the trunk of the car?”

  “I am,” said the man on the rooftop.

  “And nothing will be traced back to us?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  There was a pause before the man in London finally said, “You have my permission to proceed.” With that, the line went dead.

  The man on the rooftop plucked out his earbud, wrapped the cord around his cell phone, and replaced it in his pocket.

  Bending over, he flipped open the lid of the hard plastic container at his feet and removed the rocket-propelled grenade.

  He flipped up the sights and hoisted the weapon on his shoulder. It was heavier than he remembered. It took him a moment to focus on the white Corolla in the distance.

  When he had his target perfectly aligned in his sights, Robert Ashford pulled the trigger.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The people who make my job so enjoyable are you, my terrific readers. Thank you for all your support and all the wonderful interaction we have on the BradThor.com forum. I also want to thank the best group of forum moderators the Internet has ever known.

  My thanks go out to the marvelous booksellers around the world who have been so instrumental in turning new readers on to the Scot Harvath novels.

  The idea for this novel came from time spent with my good friend Barrett Moore. He is an amazing warrior, patriot, and one of the wisest men I know. Thank you for all the help.

  In addition to Barrett, Mr. Red, Mr. White, and Mr. Blue provided exceptional background for this story. I very much wanted to name them here, but they asked me not to, content to remain in the shadows where they so professionally ply their trade.

  Keeping Scot Harvath on the cutting edge is a 24/7 job and I couldn’t do it without James Ryan and Rodney Cox. I am much indebted to you for both your help with my novels and the service you have rendered our great nation.

  Scott F. Hill, Ph.D., and Ronald Moore have given much to our country, and I can always count on them to provide invaluable assistance with my writing. Gentlemen, thank you.

  Rob Pincus and Carl Hospedales, as usual, provided exceptional subject-matter expertise. Drinks are on me next time.

  My core group of warriors: Chad Norberg, Chuck Fretwell, Steve Hoffa, Jeff Chudwin, Mitch Shore, Gary Penrith, and Steven Bronson were there for me once again with answers to all my questions. To them (and my other friends who asked to remain nameless) I want to say thank you for all you do for us. Stay safe.

  I also want to thank John Giduck and Joe Bail, who gave me some very special assistance this year, as well as Stephanie Dickerson.

  In Washington, David Vennett and Patrick Doak continue to be great resources and even better friends. Thank you.

  Father C. John McCloskey, III, helped as I developed the life and background of Padre Peio. Thank you, Father CJ.

  I am blessed to be on one of the best teams in the business and wish to thank everyone at Atria and Pocket Books: my wonderful editor, Emily Bestler; my fantastic publishers, Carolyn Reidy, Judith Curr, and Louise Burke; my remarkable publicist, David Brown; the incomparable Atria/Pocket sales staff, art and production departments, and audio division, as well as the invaluable Michael Selleck, Laura Stern, Sarah Branham, Irene Lipsky, Esther Bochner, and Lisa Keim.

  I also wish to thank my outstanding literary agent, Heide Lange, of Sanford J. Greenburger Associates, Inc., as well as the amazing Jennifer Linnan, Rachael Dillon Fried, and Tara Singh for all that they do for me.

  Scott Schwimer continues to be not only a superb attorney, but also a very good friend. Thanks, Scottie.

  Finally, every step of the way and every minute of the day I am able to do what I do because of the support of my beautiful wife, Trish. None of this would be possible without her. Thank you, honey. I love you.

  Reader’s Companion

  Please enjoy this Reader’s Companion of additional content, including a sample chapter from Brad Thor’s Black List.

  Emily Bestler Books/Atria

  Proudly Presents

  BLACK LIST

  BY

  BRAD THOR

  Turn the page for a preview of Black List …

  PROLOGUE

  PENTAGON CITY

  PRESENT DAY

  There were a lot of places in which Caroline Romero could envision being murdered—a dark alley, a parking lot, even a nature preserve—but a shopping mall in broad daylight wasn’t one of them. Especially not one just steps away from the Pentagon. Nevertheless, here she was.

  The team following her appeared to be made up of three men, one of whom she recognized, a tall man with almost translucent white skin and a head of thick, white hair. The trio took turns rotating in and out of view. There was no misconstruing their intention. The speed with which they had uncovered what she was up to and had locked onto her was astounding. As good as she was, they were better.

  It wasn’t a matter of simply being careful or of properly covering her tracks either. She had done all of that. The organization was just too big, too omnipresent to escape. Now it was coming after her.

  She needed to work fast. When the team moved in, there’d be nothing anyone could, or would, do to stop them. First they would interrogate her and then they would kill her. She couldn’t let them take her or what she was carrying.

  The mall was large, with lots of upscale shops and closed-circuit cameras. They would be tapped into that system, watching her. She knew it because she had done it herself countless times. Knowing how they worked was the only thing that gave her an advantage.

  She walked with a moderate pace, purposeful, but not frightened. If they sensed any panic in her, they’d know she was on to them—they would close ranks immediately and snatch her. She couldn’t allow that to happen, not until she finished one last thing.

  All around her, shoppers ambled in and out of stores, woefully unaware of what was taking place in the world just outside. It was their world too, after all, and she wanted to shake them. She wanted to wake them up. She knew, though, that they’d only look at her like she was crazy. In fact, until very recently, she probably would have agreed with them. What she had discovered, though, was beyond crazy. It was insane; frighteningly insane.

  Her job had been pretty simple, with one primary directive: to tie up loose ends by clipping the loose threads. But along the way, she had committed a cardinal sin. Instead of clipping threads, she had begun to pull on one, and now she was about to pay the ultimate price.

  In the first store she entered, she paid cash and bought multiple items in order to hide what she was doing. She politely told the clerk that she didn’t need a receipt.

  Back out in the mall, she merged with the stream of people and tried to keep her anxiety under control. She took a deep breath through her nose and shoved the fear as far down as it would go. Only one more step, she told herself.

  Before that step, though, she needed to lay a little more cover. Paying cash again at two additional stores, she emerged toting two bags filled with nonessentials that would hopefully further mislead her pursuers. Her
plan was to fill the figurative theater with so much smoke that no one would know where the fire was until it was too late.

  The last store was the most important. It was also the biggest roll of the dice. Everything depended on it, and if it didn’t go perfectly, her entire operation and everything she had risked would be for naught.

  Entering the lingerie store, Caroline scanned for cameras. There were three—two covered the store itself, a third was trained on the sales desk where the registers were.

  She moved casually from rack to rack examining items. As she moved, she looked to see if any of the men had followed her inside. She doubted it. While male customers might come in to buy items for their wives or girlfriends, they wouldn’t loiter. Nothing would grab unwanted attention faster than a man aimlessly hanging around a women’s lingerie store.

  The team following her seemed to have realized that and had stayed outside, exactly what she had prayed they would do. It was time to make her final move.

  With several items in hand, Caroline asked for access to a dressing room. As a clerk showed her into the dressing area, Caroline was relieved to see there were no cameras overhead.

  The clerk unlocked one of the rooms and Caroline entered. Setting her bags down as the door clicked shut behind her, she removed several items and quickly got to work. Time was of the essence. The organization following her didn’t like it when people fell into “shadows” and couldn’t be monitored.

  Cracking the dressing room door, Caroline extended a camisole and asked the clerk if she could bring her a larger size. When the clerk had walked back out onto the floor, Caroline closed the door and, keeping her voice as quiet as possible, recorded her transmission.