Black Ice

by Brad Thor

  Finally, Nicholas came back online. “They want you to take Han, Sarov, and the equipment intact right now.”

  “Roger that,” replied Harvath. “What about the wet-work team?”

  “Expendable.”

  “Good copy.”

  They had their orders. Harvath stowed the camera and transitioned to his rifle. As he did, he relayed to the rest of the team what he wanted them to do. He had no idea how many civilians were in the harbor complex, but if they heard gunshots, they were going to call the police. And if they called the police, Harvath wanted to be long gone before they arrived.

  Once Haney had successfully moved to his new location and had his weapon dialed in, Harvath gave him permission to fire.

  From his elevated position on the berm, his first shot took the wet-work team completely by surprise. The 140-grain Berger Hybrid Precision Match round tore right through the first man’s head, killing him instantly.

  As the remaining members of the wet-work team scrambled to close ranks and protect Han, pull their weapons, and locate the shooter, Haney fired again and took out another. But in doing so, he revealed his position and drew their fire. He was left with no other option but to take cover. That was when Harvath and Staelin entered the fight. With the sound of gunfire having erupted, they needed to move fast.

  Han, his tripod and equipment clutched to his chest, was being rushed to the wet-work team’s car. Sarov, out of shape, out of breath, and heaving for air, was already ahead of them. Harvath raised his rifle and took aim at him first.

  The round struck the Russian intelligence operative in the back of his left thigh and sent him tumbling to the ground.

  As Sarov fell, one of the wet-work team members spun and began firing. Staelin, though, didn’t even flinch. He drilled the man with three controlled pairs—all six rounds finding their target.

  There was only one wet-work team member left—its leader, the man responsible for the killing of CIA assets in China. He was rushing to get Han to the car.

  Harvath lined up his shot, took a deep breath, and exhaled as he applied pressure to his trigger. But before he could let his round fly, there was a suppressed crack as Haney, back up on the berm, beat him to it.

  To his credit, Haney hadn’t gone for a head shot—much too risky on a rapidly receding target, not to mention the chances that he could have missed and hit Han.

  The shot was lower than what’s thought of as “center mass” in the shooting arts. Haney hit the guy right in his pelvic girdle, shattering bone and making it impossible for him to stand up, much less keep running. He dropped on the spot.

  Han, tossing his equipment aside, went for his own gun, but Harvath was ready for him. He shot him in the shoulder of the arm he was reaching with.

  “Let me see your hands!” Harvath yelled as he advanced on him, but Han refused to obey, reaching for his weapon with his opposite hand. So Harvath shot him through his left knee.

  Reeling in pain and realizing he was beaten, Han held out his hands where they could both be seen.

  Harvath had Staelin go secure Sarov and assigned Haney to watch Han while he bent down to interrogate the wet-work team leader. The man was in a lot of pain.

  He had no idea if the man spoke English or not, but if he worked internationally, he had to know at least a little.

  “Who do you work for?” Harvath asked.

  “Fuck you,” the man spat at him.

  Having passed his English test, Harvath upped the difficulty level. “Tell me the name of the person you work for, the one who sent you after the CIA’s assets, and I’ll let you live. I’ll even get you to a hospital.”

  “Fuck you,” the man repeated.

  Harvath bent down even lower to get right in the guy’s face, and that’s when the man went for Harvath’s throat.

  It was a dumb move. Harvath headbutted him, breaking his nose and causing a spray of blood to erupt. He then clenched his fist and hit the guy under his right ear, just behind his jaw.

  The pain from both strikes was off the charts, but none of this was getting them anywhere. They had to assume that the police had already been called. It was time to get moving.

  Calling in the rest of the team from where they had been blocking the road to prevent an escape, he quickly assigned responsibilities. He wanted to be rolling in three minutes.

  As Haney took off to retrieve his vehicle and Staelin’s medical bag, they collected weapons and loaded the bodies of the three deceased wet-work members into the trunk of their car.

  After patting down the survivors, Harvath took everything they had been carrying, including Han’s spotting scope and other related equipment, and placed it all in the back of Sloane’s SUV.

  Once the scene was clean and Han, Sarov, and the wet-work leader had been bound, gagged, hooded, and loaded into the back of the camper van, Harvath assigned driving duties, and they all got rolling back to Kirkenes.

  CHAPTER 39

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  Spencer Baldwin liked people who moved quickly—people who seized opportunity. Ethan Russ was one of those people.

  They had just had lunch the day before. Later that night, Russ had reached out and asked for a breakfast meeting. They were making headway. That was superb. Lindsey Chang would be happy. The sooner he could get this deal cleared for her, the sooner he could get her into bed. Having her underneath him would be almost as pleasurable as all of the money she and her clients were going to be putting into his bank account. The sex was going to be the best bonus he had ever been paid.

  Russ had suggested Bistro Bis, which was at the George Hotel and renowned as a D.C. power breakfast spot. Baldwin had thought it a terrific idea. Being seen eating with a senior senator’s chief of staff could only further serve to burnish his brand as a plugged-in, mega–power broker. He had said yes instantly.

  The young man was already at the table when he arrived.

  “I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” said Baldwin as he sat down, squeezing his girth into the chair.

  “Not long,” Russ replied, shaking hands. “Besides, I have been putting the time to good use.” Closing the folder he had been studying, he slid it across the table.

  “What’s this?”

  “Take a look.”

  Baldwin opened it and took a few moments flipping through the pages. “You’ve been doing your homework.”

  “It’s what I get paid to do.”

  “So why are you sharing this with me?”

  “I’m sharing it with you,” said Russ as he signaled to the waiter to bring more coffee, “because this Alaska LNG project is worth a lot more than I think you realize.”

  Baldwin wasn’t sure he was following. “A lot more to Alaska?”

  “Screw Alaska. To us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think you were lowballing me.”

  “Come again?” said Baldwin, his blood pressure beginning to rise.

  “Do you think I’m stupid? What was the offer you made me?”

  “I told you that if you got Senator Dwyer to remove her objection and to support my clients for the North Slope LNG project, I’d make sure you had all the campaign cash you needed to run for office.”

  “The money these contracts are going to throw off,” said Russ after the waiter had filled their cups and stepped away, “is massive. That’s where the real opportunity here lies.”

  Baldwin smiled. “You want a piece of the ongoing action.”

  The young man smiled and turned up his palms as if to say Isn’t it obvious?

  “How much are we talking?” Baldwin continued.

  “What’s it worth to you?” Russ asked.

  “You know as well as I do that the senator’s backing is invaluable. It doesn’t make this a slam dunk, though. My clients still have to win the contract.”

  “What if they could see the other bids? Before they submit theirs.”

  Baldwin couldn’t believe his ears. “You can make that happen?�
��

  “For the right price.”

  Lindsey Chang held sway over a lot of discretionary cash and had made it clear her clients were willing to spend money to make money. Even if Baldwin had to kick in a little of his own fee to buy Russ’s participation, it would be worth it.

  “How about five million dollars placed in an offshore account? Completely untraceable.”

  “For the billions of dollars this is going to bring in?” the young man said. “You really do think I’m stupid.”

  “Trust me, I don’t think you’re stupid. Anything but, actually. How about we double it? Ten million, offshore account, untraceable.”

  “Fifteen million and I want stock in whatever company they create to house the LNG venture. You can decide what’s fair.”

  “You really have been doing your homework,” said Baldwin. “How would the shares be delivered?”

  “I know someone outside of politics who can set up a holding company in Panama.”

  “You may be better at this than I am.”

  Russ shook his head and smiled. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “Well, if you ever decide you want to change gears and come over to my world, the perks are pretty damn good.”

  “Are you hiring?”

  “If you pull this off and want to come aboard, I’ll make you a partner.”

  “That’s tempting, and I’ll definitely think about it,” the young man said, “but first things first. Fifteen million. Do we have a deal?”

  Spencer Baldwin smiled once more and stuck out his hand. “You, my friend, have got a deal.”

  CHAPTER 40

  KIRKENES

  Harvath and the team had been on their guard the entire drive back. They were worried that the police would drive up on them at any moment and hit the light bars, and things would go from bad to worse. That would have been the “Murphy” moment. Luckily, it didn’t happen.

  En route, Nicholas provided Harvath with an update. Apparently, as soon as Han picked up his equipment and started running, the GLOBUS system began to come back online.

  The events on the beach had been connected, but to what extent, no one knew. Not yet, at least. Washington wanted to examine the equipment as soon as possible.

  Washington also wanted Harvath to begin squeezing whatever information he could out of both Han and Sarov. The U.S. government wanted to know what the Russian Navy was up to and what China’s role in all of this was. Harvath had been empowered to employ any means necessary.

  Because the prisoners were within earshot, it had been a one-way conversation and he listened in silence. He didn’t want to reveal what he did and didn’t know. That would be a very bad way to begin their inter-rogation.

  In the back of the camper van, Staelin guarded the prisoners and monitored their injuries. Judging from the amount of noise the wet-work team leader was making from behind his gag, he continued to be in bad shape, especially when they encountered pieces of bad road. Harvath made it his mission to hit every bump and pothole he could find. He was softening the man up. As his injuries were the worst, he planned to interrogate him first.

  When they arrived back at the safe house property, Han and Sarov were taken into the main house while the wet-work leader was transferred into the barn. Harvath had the vehicles placed out of sight and then gathered the items he would need to conduct his interrogation.

  But when he arrived at the barn, Staelin was waiting for him.

  “What are you doing?” Harvath asked. “Why aren’t you in there watching him?”

  “He has a traumatic pelvic fracture.”

  “No shit. Courtesy of Mike Haney, USMC.”

  “I just reexamined him. Based upon his heart rate and systolic blood pressure, his shock index is off the charts.”

  “Then he better be cooperative.”

  “His abdomen is distended,” said Staelin, “which means he probably has internal bleeding and likely needs surgery and a transfusion. He should have been at a trauma center an hour ago.”

  Harvath wasn’t moved. “Even if there were a hospital across the street, this guy wouldn’t be getting any medical attention unless and until he cooperated.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “Can I go talk to him now?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Harvath brushed past Staelin and entered the barn. It smelled like kerosene and dried animal dung.

  Unable to sit the prisoner in a chair, they had rigged a makeshift cot with a few boards and a couple of old cinder blocks. His plastic restraints had been swapped out in favor of ropes tethered around his wrists and anchored to two different posts. It looked uncomfortable as hell.

  Based on the man’s earlier antics, Harvath decided to leave the hood over his head. He had no desire to find out if the guy was a biter or a spitter.

  He circled the man slowly, like a shark, his boots announcing his presence. Then he spoke, giving the prisoner his standard, pre-interrogation preamble.

  “Right now, things can move in one of two directions. They can get better, or they can get worse. You can experience more pain, or we can take your existing pain away. Everything is up to you. Is that clear?”

  Harvath waited for an answer, and when one didn’t materialize, he said, “When I ask you a question, I expect an answer. If you don’t answer me, there will be consequences. Is that clear?”

  Yet again there was no answer, so Harvath backhanded the man in the side of his head. He didn’t move.

  Carefully, Harvath reached down and drew back the hood. The prisoner’s eyes were shut. Harvath tapped his face to see if he was conscious. There was no reaction. The man’s pulse was thready. He called Staelin back in.

  “Like I said,” replied Staelin after examining the prisoner again. “He should have been at a trauma center an hour ago. He’s not going to make it.”

  “Can we make him more comfortable?”

  Staelin nodded. “I can give him something for the pain.”

  “Do it,” said Harvath. The man was dying. Even though he had been an enemy, there was no reason they couldn’t show him a modicum of compassion.

  He then called to have Han brought in.

  Johnson and Preisler helped walk him into the barn. Sitting him in a chair, they secured him to it and then removed his hood and gag. The first thing he saw was the man lying unconscious on the makeshift cot. Harvath intended to use the situation to his maximum benefit.

  “Your colleague isn’t doing well,” he remarked. “Unless you cooperate, he isn’t going to make it.”

  Han took a breath before responding. “He failed his mission. As far as China is concerned, he’s already dead. So am I.”

  “Then make a deal with me. We can protect you.”

  “There is no honor in making a deal with you.”

  “That’s okay. We don’t have to make a deal. We can just talk,” said Harvath. “What were you doing on the beach?”

  Han’s face was pained but he managed a smile. “I won’t be talking. I won’t be making any deals. Do what you have to do.”

  Harvath hated that the man was going to make it difficult. That said, he not only understood but respected his position. That didn’t mean he was going to accept it.

  “One way or another, you are going to tell me everything I want to know. I take no pleasure in forcing it from you.”

  With the same pained smile, Han looked at him and said, “We each do what we must do. I’m ready. Let’s begin.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Nearly every interrogation subject Harvath had ever been forced to get rough with had asked for it. They had been belligerent, fanatical, or downright evil. Han, however, was none of those. He was merely a professional, like Harvath, doing his job.

  Like Harvath, he also adhered to a code—a code that forbade him from willingly handing over what his opponent wanted. For him to save face, it was imperative that he resist.

  He had to have known what was in store for him. He also would hav
e known that everyone eventually broke. It was impossible to withstand torture indefinitely. Every human being had his or her limit. It was simply a matter of discovering what that limit was.

  Harvath was not going to enjoy discovering Han’s. He had a feeling that it was going to be a long and exhausting road.

  The Carlton Group had a specialist who was quite adept at chemical interrogation. But he was based in Malta, and there was no telling how long it would take before they could get him on-site. Nevertheless, he had Nicholas send out the request. In the meantime, he began to soften Han up.

  Keeping subjects psychologically off balance was key to breaking through their resistance. Instead of proceeding right to some of his preferred enhanced interrogation methods, Harvath had Johnson and Preisler remove Han to a dilapidated outdoor shed.

  Leaving his gag and hood in place, they stripped him naked and suspended him from a rafter with his hands over his head. It would be murder on his shoulder wound.

  Preisler pulled the rope taut enough so that Han had to stand on the balls of his feet, putting all of the weight on his right because of his wounded left knee.

  With the temperature dropping, Johnson purposefully left the shed doors open as he and Preisler returned to the main house to drink coffee and monitor the prisoner via a wireless camera they had left behind.

  Sloane and Chase had taken Han’s key card as well as the key cards of the wet-work team and gone to the Thon Hotel to search their rooms. Nicholas was conducting a cursory investigation of the equipment Han had been using at the beach and sharing the results with specialized tech departments back at DARPA and the NSA.

  With everyone actively engaged, Harvath had Staelin and Haney bring Sarov out to the barn. Once he was there, Harvath had Staelin remove the man’s hood and his gag.

  The Russian Intelligence officer looked down at the body of the now-deceased wet-work team leader and had only two words to say: “Hermosa Beach.”

  “Excuse me?” Harvath replied.

  “It’s a beach community in Southern California.”

  “I know what Hermosa Beach is,” Harvath said, motioning for Haney to sit the Russian down. “Why are you telling me about it?”