by Brad Thor
At the end of the evening, Harvath faked needing to go to the men’s room, found the waiter, and gave him his credit card.
When he came back to the table and was provided the receipt to sign, Mercer wasn’t pleased. “What the hell is this?”
Harvath smiled. “I never would have thought of burning my maybe future mother-in-law’s house to the ground with her in it, but that’s a million-dollar idea. The least I can do is pay for dinner.”
“That’s terrible,” Mercer replied, feigning shock.
“So it really is serious between you and Sølvi,” Hilde exclaimed, smiling.
* * *
As they left the restaurant, Mercer put his arm around Harvath. “You’re a sneaky bastard,” he said. “Dinner was supposed to be on me.”
“There were a few deutsche marks left in the going-away fund. I think the Old Man would have appreciated them being spent like this.”
“I’d like to think so too. He was the greatest of all time, even if he was a bit mercurial. Nevertheless, Hilde and I had a wonderful evening. Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” said Harvath as Mrs. Mercer walked ahead, giving them a chance to converse privately.
“Huracan is a part of my life that she doesn’t know much about. Worse, there’s only so much I can say. It’s almost completely classified. Having her meet you and like you adds a little nobility to a shadowed part of my past. So thank you for that too.”
“You’re welcome,” Harvath replied, understanding where the man was coming from.
“Before we say good night,” Mercer said, changing gears, “let’s talk real quick about your trip to Svalbard.”
“It doesn’t have to be quick. Take as much time as you want. You head the Svalbard chamber of commerce, after all.”
The ex–CIA man chuckled. “The next time I see you, you also won’t be a fan, believe me. Until then, I told you that I had something that might help you with the Russian Consul General’s security detail. Take this.”
Mercer handed Harvath a folded piece of paper and Harvath opened it.
“What is it?”
“A building in Barentsburg, just off the port,” the man replied. “Everything is built on stilts there because of the permafrost, so it’s easy to crawl underneath. In the southwest corner, if you follow my directions, you’ll find a fake beam with a railroad spike. Inside, there’s a capabilities kit with a firearm and a few other items—things that were a pain in the ass to smuggle onto Svalbard but that may prove helpful.”
“I don’t know what to say,” said Harvath, “except that I’m very glad I paid for dinner.”
“Let’s be clear,” Mercer clarified. “If you get caught with anything from that kit, you don’t know me. And if you don’t return everything, we’re going to have words.”
Harvath smiled, folded the paper back up, and tucked it into his pocket. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot,” said Mercer, watching the lights of Hilde’s car pulse as she engaged her key fob.
“At the sporting goods store, you had me pick up a lot of maintenance items—a cleaning kit, lube, batteries, et cetera. How old is this capabilities kit? When was the last time you operated on Svalbard?”
“Three years ago.”
“Okay,” said Harvath, thinking it through. “Batteries, especially in cold conditions, degrade over time, but they’re easy enough to swap out. What about the weapon? Did you winterize it?”
“No. I didn’t have time.”
“What else is in the kit?”
Mercer tried to recall everything he had put in there. “Suppressor, knife, handheld GPS unit, a trauma kit, two clean thumb drives, additional magazines and ammo for the pistol, and a bottle of premium Russian vodka.”
“That’s quite the stash,” said Harvath. “Hopefully, I won’t need much of it.”
“Barentsburg is like fucking Tombstone. My advice to you is to get in, get the gun, and get your business done as quickly as possible. And once it is, get the hell out of there.”
“I’m starting to really think you don’t like that place. There has to be something good about it.”
“The only thing good about that whole godforsaken archipelago is putting it in your rearview mirror.”
“So you’re a maybe for the Svalbard chili cook-off next month?”
Mercer smiled and offered his hand. “Stay safe. If there’s anything else you need, you know how to get ahold of me.”
“I will,” Harvath replied, shaking the man’s hand. “Thanks again—for everything.”
At Hilde’s car he stopped to say goodbye.
“Determination beats distance every time. Don’t forget it,” she said, giving him a hug.
“I won’t,” he said, hugging her back, even though it hurt like hell.
Then he watched as they got in their cars, backed out of their parking spaces, and drove down the road.
He stood there until they disappeared from view. They were good people, solid people, and they made an excellent couple. It had been a pleasure spending time with them.
Climbing into his own vehicle, many things were playing out across his mind. Not only what tomorrow was going to bring but also what was on the other side of that tomorrow. What was his future really going to look like? And was determination actually stronger than distance?
As if on cue, his phone chimed. Glancing down, he saw a message from Sølvi. She was sorry to have missed his call earlier, was on her way home, and wanted to know if he would like to chat.
Smiling, he activated her number. It would be good to hear her voice. Once he got on that plane the next day, there was no telling when he’d be able to speak with her again.
CHAPTER 48
BEIJING
Xing Fen arrived at her office, breakfast in hand, earlier than usual. Her assistant apologized for not having her tea ready and rushed to prepare it.
Sitting down at her desk, the Vice Premier powered up her computer and logged on to the Ministry for State Security’s encrypted system. She was eager for news of the Black Ice test.
Opening the file, she went to the most recent entry. Han had not reported in yet. That wasn’t unusual with field operations. There were many reasons why an intelligence officer might miss a communications window. It was only when they missed two in a row that you began to get nervous.
The good news was that their operative on Svalbard had filed his report. According to him, he had been in touch with Han and everything had gone off as planned. Whether or not they had successfully incapacitated the GLOBUS system, though, was still unknown.
The Svalbard operative was waiting to hear from his Russian counterpart, as it was the Russians who had a source in Vardø. Only the source could confirm whether the test had worked. As planned, they had everything ready to go once the Russians secured confirmation.
While not an emotional person by nature, Xing was experiencing a surge of exhilaration. So many big things were about to happen for China—and, by extension, for her as well.
She had an exquisite bottle of Armagnac at home. It would be the perfect liquor to celebrate with. Maybe she would even treat herself to some caviar.
Clicking out of the file, she surfed over to a new report from their operative in America, Ms. Chang.
She was continuing to have good luck with Dennis Wo’s American fixer, Spencer Baldwin. There was a request for a large payment to the chief of staff for Alaska’s senior senator.
According to what he had told Chang, Baldwin felt the financial arrangement was more than fair and would help secure the Alaska LNG Project.
There was also a request to allocate funds to send Mr. Baldwin a bottle of his favorite bourbon.
Xing scrawled a note for her second-in-command authorizing all of it and had her assistant place it on the man’s desk.
Finally, speaking of Dennis Wo, the young Singaporean had renewed his request to be allowed to travel to Hong Kong.
In her buoyant mood, Xing was
tempted to grant the request—even though she knew it would mean him sneaking off to gamble and chase expensive whores in Macau.
There was also still the chance of his government launching a snatch operation to bring him back home to face the consequences of his actions.
The risk simply wasn’t worth it. She had too many good things going. Nothing was going to mar her good fortune.
Scribbling another note to her second-in-command, Xing told him to deny the request. With that work done, she set her sights on the rest of the day.
But as she tried to focus on reading her newspapers, she found her mind drifting to Norway. Something was bothering her.
Returning to the file, she searched for the latest report from the protective team sent to watch over Han. They hadn’t posted an update, either.
Anxiety began to push away her feelings of exhilaration. What if someone had gotten to Han and to the protective team?
She started to write another note but then set down her pen, choosing instead to use her mobile device. Quickly, she typed a message to her second-in-command. She wanted him in her office ASAP.
Something wasn’t right with the operation. She was sure of it.
CHAPTER 49
TROMSØ AIRPORT
LANGNES, NORWAY
FRIDAY MORNING
When Harvath landed from Kirkenes and turned on his phone, there was a text waiting from Holidae Hayes. All it said was SAS Lounge.
Stepping off the plane, he found a map of the terminal and located the lounge, which was near the security checkpoint.
It was fronted by a long glass wall, allowing Harvath to do a walk-by and assess the situation before entering. He had no problem spotting her.
He was traveling on an SAS Plus ticket, which he scanned at the entrance, and was granted access.
The space was what Scandinavian Airlines referred to as a “café” lounge, smaller than a true airport lounge but better than nothing for a regional airport. It was German minimalism meets Nordic design—hard stools, hard benches, and tiny round tabletops.
They offered snacks, coffee, and Wi-Fi. Nothing to cartwheel over, but it got you out of the public area and afforded a little more privacy.
“What’s up?” he asked as he removed his coat and sat down next to her, placing his backpack on the floor between his feet. “Everything okay?”
“Everything is fine,” Hayes assured him.
“What are you doing here? Are you coming to Svalbard with me?”
She shook her head. “I had a talk with Mercer last night. After you had dinner. He mentioned the Chinese research station at Ny-Ålesund. The Agency thinks he might be right.”
“What about it?”
Hayes unlocked her phone and handed it to Harvath so he could scroll through the pictures. “We were able to pull some satellite imagery. It’s not great, but there definitely was some interesting activity leading up to what happened yesterday.”
“All I see is a bunch of people coming and going. How do we know this is anything other than a normal day for them?”
“That’s the problem. We don’t.”
“You flew all the way up here from Oslo to tell me that?”
“Not just that. Barentsburg used to be famous for offering cell service only via a Russian carrier. Then, several years ago, the Norwegians came in and customers were able to select which service they wanted. We’ve developed new intelligence that, regardless of which carrier you choose, the Russians are still hoovering up your data. So, when you get to Barentsburg, make sure your phone is turned off.”
“Okay,” said Harvath. “But also something you didn’t need to fly up here to tell me. Why are we having a face-to-face?”
“Because I have something to give you,” she replied, removing an envelope from her briefcase and setting it between them. “Don’t open it now.”
“What is it?”
“Two decades ago, when the Chinese were building their Arctic Yellow River Station, we were able to get to one of the contractors. He wouldn’t risk planting any surveillance equipment for us, but he did get us a key.”
Harvath looked again at the envelope. “Whatever’s in there looks a lot bigger than a key.”
“They don’t use regular keys. It gets too cold. They snap right off in the locks. What’s more, drop a regular key in the snow and good luck finding it until next summer. These special keys are also easier to manipulate with the heavy Arctic gloves the teams use.”
“This you did need to see me in person for,” he admitted. “Although you could have sent a courier.”
She shook her head. “Something this sensitive, it needed to be me.”
“Understood. If Barentsburg turns out to be a dry hole, I now know what my next stop will be. Anything else?”
“Yes. The Russian Consul General you’ll be seeing, Anatoly Nemstov. You should know that he was in Afghanistan for a while.”
“Their war or ours?”
“Both. But it’s ours that we’re most interested in.”
Harvath looked at her. “What did Nemstov do?”
“He ran a program that brought Chechens into Afghanistan to train the Taliban in guerrilla warfare tactics. The emphasis was on vehicular ambush and roadside bombs. Though he didn’t plant any devices or pull any triggers himself, he’s got a lot of blood on his hands. He’s dangerous. So be very careful with him. His security as well. He will have picked the best people he could get his hands on.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied. “That’s it from me. My flight back to Oslo doesn’t leave for an hour, but you don’t have to babysit me. If there’s something else in the airport you want to do before your flight, feel free.”
“Actually, I have a couple of questions,” he said.
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that Mercer worked for the Old Man?”
“When I put people together for a job, all that matters is that I was the one who put them together. I don’t pass résumés around getting everyone up to speed. What you all decide to discuss in the field is your business.”
“Fair enough,” said Harvath. And he meant it. It was a good, professional answer.
“I heard you got along great, though.”
“We did. I like both of them.”
“For what it’s worth, they liked you too. You’ve got friends for life in Kirkenes. Any time you come visit, I’m guessing the spare bedroom is all yours.”
“Which brings me to my next question,” he replied. “How are you doing getting Astrid Jensen off my case?”
“I’m working a couple of different avenues. Don’t worry.”
“No offense, Holidae, but when people tell me not to worry, that’s precisely the moment where I start worrying.”
She smiled and gave him a wink. “Those people, though, aren’t me. I’ve got this. I’m serious. You get done what needs doing on Svalbard and leave everything else up to me. Okay?”
“Okay. I’m trusting you.”
“Good. Because not only am I going to get rid of her, I may have a little cherry on top at the end for you.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like never you mind. I’m working on something.”
As career CIA, and a station chief no less, the woman knew how to lie. Harvath, however, was an expert at spotting lies. It looked and sounded to him as though she was telling the truth. What she was up to, though, he hadn’t a clue.
“How are you set for cash?” she asked, changing the subject. “Walking-around money.”
“I’m good. The team flew in with funds, so I’m all set.”
“As long as you’re sure, because I got authorized to supplement you if you need it.”
Harvath smiled. “Langley’s not worried I’ll blow it all on my assignment?”
“It’s Svalbard. They’re not worried.”
“Out of curiosity, how much did they sign off on?”
> She patted her briefcase and said, “Ten thousand. Half in U.S. dollars. Half in Norwegian kroner. A veritable king’s ransom up there. How much are you carrying?”
“Enough for one of the queen’s ugly stepsisters. I’ll take whatever you’ve got. Just in case.”
Removing a folded newspaper with an envelope in the middle, she set it upon the table and stood up. “I’m going to get a coffee. Can I bring you one?”
“Yes, please,” he replied. “Black.”
Once she had walked away and he had scanned the room to make sure no one was watching them, he placed the newspaper in his backpack and tucked the envelope with the key into one of the pockets of his mountaineering jacket.
When she returned, they made small talk. Much of it about how the summer had been for them and what life would be like for Harvath back in D.C.
At the appointed time for boarding, Holidae stood and went to give Harvath a hug.
“Gentle,” he said, warning her about his ribs.
“One word I never thought was in your vocabulary,” she laughed, being careful.
“Very funny. I’ll see you back in Oslo.”
“I’ll hold you to that. We need one more great party at your place.”
“Tell Sølvi to start putting together the guest list.”
“Will do.”
Harvath watched as she left the lounge and then got himself another coffee, this time an espresso. Letting the envelope full of cash slide farther into his pack, he removed the newspaper, settled back in his seat, and made himself comfortable.
Before an operation, he had learned to appreciate slowing down. Reading the paper, which was thankfully in English, was the perfect way to just take a breath and relax. He had no idea how fast he’d be moving once he touched down in Svalbard.
For a moment, drinking his espresso and digesting the articles, his life felt sane, almost normal.
Then they called his flight and the beast inside him opened one of its deep, black eyes. It was time to reenter the game. Time to go to work. Time to hunt.
