Backlash: A Thriller

by Brad Thor

  Botnik’s eyes scanned the rest of the letter. It ended with a final warning from Harvath. The only reason he had spared the Russian President was so that he would spend the rest of his life grieving his son—just as Harvath would grieve his wife and two dear friends. If Peshkov took any steps to retaliate, Harvath promised to find him and kill him in the most horrific way imaginable.

  As the Chief of Staff finished reading, he heard the President cry out in anguish.

  “Misha,” Peshkov wailed. “No!”

  CHAPTER 83

  * * *

  * * *

  LITTLE TORCH KEY

  FLORIDA

  Harvath had been tempted to park himself near the Moscow post office to watch the fireworks, but Alexandra had warned him about pushing their luck. She had been right, of course.

  She had also been right about getting the PO box key to Botnik at the Ritz. It had worked perfectly. As soon as he had left the envelope with the waiter in the O2 Lounge, he had exited the hotel, and met back up with her a couple of blocks away for the six-hour drive back to the border with Belarus. Though he would have liked to have gotten some sleep, he kept his eyes open and his head on a swivel the entire way.

  When they met up with the Old Man’s smugglers and said their good-byes, he thanked her. She had taken a lot of risks on his behalf and he wanted her to know how much he appreciated it. Without her, this could have very well turned into a suicide operation.

  Climbing into the smuggler’s truck, he made himself comfortable for his next six hours of driving to the border with Poland. There, he’d at least be back in NATO territory, though he couldn’t let his guard down. At least not fully.

  It wasn’t until he was back on The Carlton Group jet and in the air that the weight of everything he had been under started to lift. Once he was in international airspace, he got up and poured himself a drink.

  Returning to his seat, he raised the glass and toasted the Old Man. He hoped that somewhere, up there, Reed was proud of him.

  As he sat there, sipping his bourbon, Harvath conducted a mental after-action report. He went over every single detail, contemplating what he could have done differently, and where appropriate, what he could have done better.

  Once his review was complete, he went through all of it again, looking for anything that might identify Alexandra, or tie her directly to him. Fortunately, there was nothing he could come up with to be worried about.

  From Josef’s hospital where she had avoided the cameras and had stayed bundled up, to the interaction with Minayev’s mistress where she had worn the balaclava, and finally to the security guards at Misha’s loft where she had been wearing a dark wig and heavy makeup while making sure to never face the cameras, she had been the perfect partner. Even outside on Moscow’s streets, she had made sure they stayed in the shadows.

  Alexandra, thinking of everything, had taken down the telephone number of the management company for the building where they had left the hospital worker tied up. She had promised to phone in either a noise complaint or some sort of anonymous tip, so that the man would be found and cut loose.

  He didn’t know how she planned to get the envelopes full of cash up to Sini and everyone else, but he assumed that would be done anonymously as well. The less she showed her face, the better. There was no reason, especially after the fact, for her to be tied to any of that. Peshkov, eventually, was going to sift through everything that had happened, looking for someone to punish.

  Harvath, though, would be far outside his grasp, and he’d be insane to come after him again. The Russian President had gotten what was coming to him.

  That left Harvath with only one loose end: Artur Kopec, whom Nicholas had gone to bat for.

  While Kopec had admitted sharing information about his pending visit at the New Hampshire safe house, he claimed to have had no idea that an assault had been planned. Nicholas, who was famous for his shockproof bullshit detector, had believed him. It was why he had gone to bat for him and had asked Harvath to spare his life. He was also still an incredibly valuable asset and had played a minor role in getting Harvath out of Russia.

  Harvath would need to speak with the Polish Intelligence officer himself before he would be satisfied. For the moment, he was content, albeit grudgingly, to let him live.

  After a second drink and some hot food, Harvath had stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes.

  He had felt sure that he’d fall asleep instantly. Sleep, though, didn’t come. Instead, his thoughts had turned to Lara.

  He went through all the recriminations—all the things he could have and should have done differently, all the things he wanted to tell her but never did, all of the time he had wasted taking extra assignments downrange because the jobs had sounded exciting, he went through all of it.

  And then once he had steeped in it good and long, when the plane was getting ready to land, he put it all away. He packed it up in that iron box inside his mind and forced himself to look forward.

  What was he going to do next? That was the question he needed most to answer, and the answer wasn’t going to be easy. He hoped that taking some time off would help focus his mind.

  When the jet touched down at Naval Air Station Key West, he was beyond ready to be done traveling. All he wanted to do was sit in one warm place and not move.

  As the plane came to a stop and the pilot shut down the engines, the copilot opened the forward door and dropped the air stairs. Harvath thanked them for the ride and stepped outside.

  He saw rustling palm trees and could smell the salt of the ocean. The balmy, humid air was nothing like what he had experienced in Russia. Closing his eyes, he stood there for a moment, feeling the sun on his skin and soaking it all in.

  Soon enough, the roar from a pair of F/A-18 Hornets shook him from his reverie. There’d be plenty of time for kicking back once he got to the resort.

  Nicholas had arranged for a car, which was parked just outside the base commander’s office. The keys had been left inside the gas cap as promised. It had that new car smell, overheated by being left in the sun, that reminded him of vacations he had taken as a kid.

  Driving out through the main gate, he headed north twenty-five miles up US-1 to Little Torch Key. At Pirates Road, he pulled into the parking lot for Little Palm Island Resort. He checked in at the thatch-roofed welcome station and was put on the next motor launch for the island. He was the only guest aboard.

  He had always loved Little Palm Island, because the only way to get there was by boat or seaplane. Sitting on the rear deck of the launch, he once again closed his eyes.

  Suddenly, he felt a lot more charitable toward those SEALs who had foresworn cold winters for more tropical climes. Cutting through the open water, sea spray on his face, this was something he could see himself getting used to.

  A pretty young crew member, tan, blonde, and in her twenties, appeared from the wheelhouse and brought him a freshly made rum concoction on a silver tray.

  Thanking her and settling back with his cocktail, he looked out at the setting sun as it began its slow descent toward the horizon. This was definitely something he could get used to.

  When the boat pulled up to the dock at Little Palm Island, he was met by one of the staff, who welcomed him back and led him to his West Indies–style bungalow, all of its doors and windows open wide to the breeze. Harvath recognized it immediately. It was the same room he had stayed in last time.

  An ice bucket with a bottle of champagne had been placed on the coffee table. And even though his reservation had been for one, there were two glasses.

  It seemed sad being in such a beautiful spot all alone. That must have been what the waiter had thought as he or she was setting everything up. One glass was sad, final. A second glass offered promise, possibility.

  Removing the foil and unwinding the cage, he opened the champagne and poured himself a glass.

  Sitting upon the luggage rack at the foot of the bed was the suitcase Sloane had been k
ind enough to pack for him and ship down. He opened it, interested to see what she had packed, but it was empty. The staff had already hung his clothes and put everything away.

  Crossing to the closet, he opened the doors and looked inside. As with his clothes for the funeral, she had been kind, packing good, conservative staples. She had also packed his running shoes, and in the dresser, he saw that she had included his workout clothes.

  He was about to take his champagne out to the terrace when he noticed a large padded envelope sitting on the desk. There was nothing written on it, but he assumed that it had been among the items the staff had unpacked for him from his suitcase. Setting his glass down, he opened it.

  For a moment, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Inside was the framed, silver picture of Lara from his bedroom back in Virginia.

  There she stood, on his dock, in her sundress, with a glass of white wine in her hand.

  It was the same image of her that had come to him after he had fallen through the ice in Russia. Lara, in that same sundress, with that same glass of wine, had beckoned him to the safety and life-saving warmth of the trapper’s cabin.

  Looking at it now, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was once again trying to save his life.

  Whatever it was that she was trying to tell him, he now had plenty of time to listen.

  Picking up the picture, and his glass, he headed outside. The sun was almost low enough to touch the water. He wanted to watch it disappear. Then he wanted to start thinking about what he was going to do next.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  * * *

  * * *

  I want to start out by thanking the most wonderful people in the writing process—you, the readers. You make all of the hard work worth it. Thank you for reading my books and for telling people about them.

  Next, I want to thank the exceptional booksellers, who not only ignite passion for reading, but also fan the flames. You are gateways to incredible adventures, and I thank you for bringing my books and readers together.

  As with every novel, I save this space to thank the courageous men and women who protect and defend our way of life. They work in intelligence, in the military, and in law enforcement. Several assisted with Backlash, and while I cannot openly name them, I want them to know how deeply grateful I am. Any and all mistakes herein are mine and mine alone.

  Robert C. O’Brien (to whom this book is dedicated) is an exceedingly good man who has given much to the country. You couldn’t ask for a better neighbor or friend. I am honored to know him and deeply appreciate all that he has done for me and our nation.

  James Ryan, Sean Fontaine, and Chad Norberg are three of my dearest friends. They are always there for me, especially when I need to kick ideas around. I thank them not only for their help with the book, but also for their continued dedication to doing what is right, no matter how hard, nor how dangerous.

  Rob Saale, FBI (ret.) provided some incredibly helpful background for the book. Thank you for everything, but especially for your service to our great nation.

  Michael Maness, CIA (ret.) was very generous with his time as I assembled the research for the book. Hopefully, by the time this goes to print, I will have taken him for a proper steak dinner and thanked him face-to-face.

  Kristian J. Kelley, Deputy Chief, Gilford Police Department, could not have been kinder or more professional. As he is a graduate of the FBI’s National Academy, I was impressed both with his experience and his commitment to his community. Thank you for your help.

  U.S. Navy SEAL Jack Carr (ret.) was once again incredibly helpful with details for this book. He also continues to be one hell of a thriller author. If you haven’t checked out his books yet, do it. You’ll love his writing. Thank you, Jack.

  U.S. Navy SEALs Pete Scobell (ret.), Marcus Luttrell (ret.), and Paul Craig (ret.) were also very kind with their time. Getting the details right is important to me, and I appreciate their help. Thank you, gentlemen.

  John Barklow, U.S. Navy (ret.) has trained some of the most elite warriors on the planet in cold-weather survival. His discussions with me early on helped frame what Harvath would be facing and what he’d need to do to get out alive. I really appreciate all of his insight and exceptional expertise. Thanks, John.

  Carey Lohrenz, U.S. Navy (ret.) and Kenneth Johnson are two impressive aviators who were incredibly helpful with all things airplane-related. Thank you.

  My thanks as well go to my longtime friend Patrick Ahern for his digging into foreign snowmobiles for me. Hopefully, sometime soon, we’ll get the chance to retrace some of our favorite routes via sled.

  I have been with the outstanding people at Simon & Schuster since my very first thriller and want each and every one of them to know how much I value what they do for me, and how much I enjoy working with them.

  Captaining the ship is the incomparable Carolyn Reidy. An author couldn’t ask to work with a more respected, talented, and committed pro. Thank you for everything.

  My magnificent publisher and editor, Emily Bestler, is what an author dreams about when they imagine a career as a writer. She is not only an incredible editor, but also an unfailing champion of her authors and a stellar publisher. She and her team at Emily Bestler Books blow me away with each book we do together. Thank you, all!

  Atria publisher Libby McGuire and Associate publisher Suzanne Donahue, thank you for all of your incredible support!

  Kristin Fassler and Dana Trocker in marketing, your enthusiasm, hard work, and fresh ideas are so appreciated.

  Tons of work goes on behind the scenes in order to bring a book to market. To that end, I want to also call out and thank the amazing Gary Urda, the remarkable Jonathan Karp, and the unparalleled John Hardy. I couldn’t do it without you.

  Jen Long and the entire crew at Pocket Books are nothing short of fantastic. Thank you for your continued commitment to excellence and going the extra mile. I deeply appreciate all of you.

  The Simon & Schuster audio division is composed of some of the coolest, most creative people you will ever meet. I extend my deepest thanks for another record-setting year to the phenomenal Chris Lynch, Tom Spain, Sarah Lieberman, Desiree Vecchio, Karen Pearlman, and Armand Schultz. You all are the best.

  Speaking of the best, I want to give a BIG thank-you to the outstanding Atria, Emily Bestler Books, and Pocket Books sales teams. They knock it out of the park every single day. Without you, nothing else would be possible. Thank you a million times over.

  David Brown, my sensational publicist, continues to crush it. From planning my elaborate tours, to handling all the wonderful media requests that come in, he tackles everything with exuberance and style. It is a pleasure to work with someone who is so good at what he does and takes such joy in doing it. Thank you, David.

  Cindi Berger and the team at PMK-BNC are absolutely stupendous. The added PR wizardry they bring each year is simply incredible. Thank you for continuing to knock it out of the park.

  One of my greatest joys of being at Simon & Schuster is being able to work with some amazingly talented people. These astonishing folks work tirelessly, and I want to express to them how grateful I am for everything they do for me. My thanks to the remarkable Colin Shields, Paula Amendolara, Janice Fryer, Adene Corns, Liz Perl, and Lisa Keim. In addition, I have to thank the exceptional Gregory Hruska, Mark Speer, and Stuart Smith. Thank you, all.

  While I’m calling out stellar members of the Simon & Schuster family, I also want to recognize the fantastic Lara Jones at Emily Bestler Books. You do tons for me all year through. Thank you. I really appreciate you.

  One of my favorite people at Simon & Schuster is also one of its hardest working, the unparalleled Al Madocs of the Atria/Emily Bestler Books Production Department. Al, I value your eagle eye more than you will ever know. Thank you for everything.

  Thank you to the out-of-this-world talents, especially Jimmy Iacobelli, at the Atria/Emily Bestler Books and Pocket Books Art Departments. The stunning visuals you help to creat
e truly set us apart.

  Once again, I’d like to thank the fabulous Saimah Haque, Sienna Farris, Whitney McNamara, and David Krivda for another amazing year. Thank you for all that you do for me.

  My beloved agent Heide Lange of Sanford J. Greenburger Associates is simply spectacular. Our partnership, as well as our friendship, continue to be two of my proudest accomplishments. My gratitude for everything that she has done for me knows no bounds. Thank you, Heide, from the bottom of my heart.

  Heide is assisted by her world-class team, including Samantha Isman and Iwalani Kim. All of you at Sanford J. Greenburger Associates are like family to me, and I cannot thank you enough for another fantastic year!

  Yvonne Ralsky—you are nothing short of superb. Every year, we set the bar higher and you keep coming up with new ways to leap over it. You know how much I value you, but I always enjoy putting it down in writing for everyone else to see. Thank you for everything.

  They don’t get any better than my marvelous entertainment attorney, Scott Schwimer. Handsome, humble, and wicked smart, I could neither have written a truer a friend, nor a fiercer advocate into my life. Thank you, Scottie, for being you.

  Finally, I get to say my biggest thanks of all. To my absolutely fantastic family—thank you. Thank you for all of your love, your support, and the never-ending joy you bring me. Writing novels is a deeply satisfying career, but it would mean nothing without all of you. I love you more than I can ever put into words.

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