by Brad Thor
Though he wasn’t officially asked to keep quiet about Harvath’s involvement, he knew it was the right thing to do. Thanks to him, everyone was clamoring to see Well Endowed. Several prestigious film festivals even offered to host, sight unseen, the premiere.
Salomon, though, had a different idea. If the communities would have him, he wanted to screen the film in the cities and towns whose movie theaters had been attacked. His plan was to show the film in outdoor venues. It seemed only right that those who had been attacked get the first look at the documentary.
All the cities and towns had to say was yes. Salomon didn’t want anything else from them. He would cover all the screening costs. He wanted to be part of helping people to heal.
And in a way, maybe it would help him heal. After the screening tour, Salomon planned to travel to Israel. He needed to make peace. He needed to make peace with himself and with what had happened to Rachael. He no longer wanted to be the man he was. He wanted to go back to being the man he had been before Rachael’s death. To do that, he needed to let go of a lot of things. He hoped the screenings and time away would allow him to do that.
Under Martin Sevan’s counsel, they went through the formality of answering a final round of questions for the authorities and were then allowed to leave.
When Luke Ralston stepped outside, he saw Ali Sevan waiting for him. He exchanged a few words with Larry and Martin, who walked off to their cars as he walked over to talk with Ali.
“Case closed?” she asked.
“Case closed,” he replied. He was surprised to see her and also surprised that her father hadn’t even batted an eye when he saw her outside waiting for all of them. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought maybe we could have lunch.”
“Lunch?”
“There are some things we should talk about.”
Ralston was unsure what to make of her offer. “Does Brent know you’re here?” he asked, referring to her husband.
“That’s one of the things I want to talk about,” she replied, holding up her left hand.
He must have missed it on the beach, but she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
Reading the look on his face, she said, “We’ve been divorced for about six months.”
“When I asked you about him, you said he was fine.”
Ali smiled. “I was telling you the truth. As a lawyer, I’m professionally forbidden to lie.”
Ralston smiled back. “We’ll have to take your car,” he said. “Mine’s going to be in the shop for a long time.”
While the rest of the loose ends were being tied up, the Old Man had sent Harvath to Paris for a meeting. Reed Carlton had always had a good relationship with Israeli intelligence. Harvath’s assignment was to see that it continued.
He carried with him a file that detailed how James Standing had intended to turn his sights on bringing down Israel, one of the world’s few other true democracies, once the United States had been collapsed.
The billionaire had planned to draw Israel into a war with its neighbors. But on top of that, he had developed a means to ensure that America would not come to her aid.
When Israel most needed America, Standing planned to release documents that would make it appear that Israel had created the Aleem terror network, a ruse to make Americans believe that the Israelis had ordered the terrorist attacks on the United States in order to manipulate public opinion and national policy. The documents would allege that Israel had dreamed up the elaborate plot in order to con America into rushing to Israel’s aid because the same common enemy was attacking both nations.
The Israeli intelligence officer Harvath met with was grateful for the information.
As their meeting ended at the La Closerie des Lilas bar in Montparnasse, the Israeli slid an envelope across the small table.
Harvath was confused. “What’s this?” he asked as the man stood up to leave.
“I was told to give it to you when we were finished.”
As the man walked out of the bar, Harvath opened the small envelope. Inside was a piece of paper with an address in the Sixth Arrondissement. It was written in the Old Man’s hand.
Carlton had told him there was something else he wanted him to do in Paris, but he hadn’t elaborated. Most likely, the address was for the Carlton Group’s new Parisian safe house and there’d be further instructions waiting for him there.
Carlton could often be cryptic like that. He compartmentalized everything, revealing only as much as he felt you needed to know. Robert Ashford could have had no clue about the nature of the new life and identity the Old Man had promised him in exchange for his cooperation. The Brit had made the mistake of referring to James Standing as the “world’s deadliest catch,” and that cemented his fate.
Ashford was quite distraught once he learned that he was being relocated to Alaska. Harvath could only imagine the look on the MI5 man’s face once he discovered that his new career was nowhere near as pedestrian as recycling boxes at the Fairbanks Wal-Mart.
Rawhide was a ninety-two-foot crab-fishing boat out of the Aleutian Islands port of Dutch Harbor in Unalaska. Robert Ashford was her newest deckhand.
The Old Man had kept his word, but he had simultaneously sentenced Ashford to a life of hard labor. Carlton had made it very clear that, if Ashford tried to run, there was an open kill order for him and Harvath would fill it personally.
The Old Man then turned Yaroslav Yatsko over to the CIA. Though they might very well kick him out of the country and turn him loose, the Carlton Group needed to purchase a modicum of goodwill with the Agency. Harvath wanted to see the man tried for setting up the murders of the filmmakers and the attempted murder of Larry Salomon, but the Old Man had his mind made up. He did, though, make sure the CIA intervened with the L.A. County authorities on behalf of Ralston and Salomon, and for that, Harvath was grateful.
Stepping out of the bar, he turned up the collar of his coat. It was a chilly night, but Harvath decided to walk anyway and headed north.
Unlike Venice, Paris was a city that could be romantic and still not make you feel self-conscious about walking its streets alone.
As he walked, he remembered the last time he had been in Paris. He had been sitting in a café, ready to propose to a woman with whom he thought he could spend the rest of his life and leave his career behind, when his career had reappeared and sucked him back in.
It hadn’t been that long ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. So much had happened since. So much had changed.
Couples passed by on the sidewalk. They seemed oblivious to his presence, too wrapped up in each other to even notice him. Harvath shook his head and moved on.
He wondered where he was going and why the Old Man had transmitted the address through the Israeli.
Entering the Sixth Arrondissement, he conducted another round of SDRs. Finally, he arrived at the address.
He stood outside looking up at the limestone façade of the building with its black, wrought-iron balconettes. The ground floor consisted of a patisserie and a wine shop separated by a security door that likely provided entrance to the dwellings above.
Harvath studied the note again. There wasn’t any name, just the address.
As he removed his cell phone to call the Old Man, it vibrated with a text message. Harvath clicked on it. It was from Carlton. All it said was Ring #7.
Harvath approached the buzzers. Number 7 was listed under the name Bonduelle. He pressed the button.
Moments later the door clicked open.
Harvath stepped into the eighteenth-century lobby. A gilded, cage-style elevator was surrounded by a stained marble staircase.
Not a fan of tiny elevators, Harvath opted for the stairs and began climbing.
Stepping onto the landing, he found the light switch timer and depressed it to give him enough light to navigate the hallway.
As he walked past the old, scarred doors, he wondered what his next assignment would be.
The sounds
of French programming could be heard from each apartment he passed until he reached number 7. From behind the large, wooden door, he could hear music playing. It sounded like Pavarotti.
Reaching out, he twisted the brass handle, which rang the bell inside, and then he waited.
The music turned down. There was the sound of footfalls approaching the door and then a pause as someone gazed out the peephole.
The metal clacking of an old lock sounded and the old door creaked as it was slowly pulled open.
Inside stood a woman in jeans and a white button-down shirt. Her reddish-brown hair fell past her shoulders. Even in the half-light of the hall, her blue eyes shone. Harvath was taken completely by surprise.
Her lips spread into a smile. “Hello, Scot,” she said softly.
He was about to lean forward and kiss her, when he noticed movement at the stairs.
“Gun!” he yelled, and knocked Riley Turner back into the apartment just as a hail of bullets splintered the door frame.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing the acknowledgments is always enjoyable, as it means the book is finished and I get to thank all the people who made it possible. For me, the most important people to thank are you, the readers. Whether you have been with me from The Lions of Lucerne, are brand-new to my novels, or fall somewhere in between, I thank you for your support.
If you haven’t been to the reader forum at BradThor.com, I strongly encourage you to come by and visit. We have a lot of fun, and to that end, I want to thank all of the forum members, as well as the best forum moderators the Internet has ever known.
My thanks also go out to all of the fantastic booksellers around the world who continue to turn so many people on to my work.
The idea for this novel was a continuation of an idea developed during time spent with my good friend Barrett Moore. Semper paratus, and thank you for all the continued help.
James Ryan, Ronald Moore, Sean Fischer, and Rodney Cox—all great friends—were once again indispensable to my writing. Been-there-done-that-and-have-got-the-empty-shell-casings-to-prove-it doesn’t even begin to sum up the knowledge I am able to tap with these gentlemen. Thank you.
I also want to thank my good friends Scott F. Hill, PhD, and Steve Tuttle for all of their help with the novel as well.
There were several additional people who also contributed, but asked that their names not be used. Each of you knows how much I appreciate not only what you have done for me, but what you continue to do for our country. Thank you.
A novel’s success is directly proportional to the quality of the people on its team, and I am lucky enough to be working with some of the absolute best. My thanks to everyone at Atria and Pocket Books, including: my exceptional editor, Emily Bestler; my wonderful publishers, Carolyn Reidy, Judith Curr, and Louise Burke; my fantastic publicist, David Brown; the terrific Atria/Pocket sales staff, art, and production departments, and audio division, as well as the incomparable Michael Selleck, Kate Cetrulo, Sarah Branham, Irene Lipsky, Ariele Fredman, and Lisa Keim.
I also wish to thank my remarkable literary agent, Heide Lange, of Sanford J. Greenburger Associates, Inc., as well as the unparalleled Jennifer Linnan and Rachael Dillon Fried for all that they do for me.
In Hollywood, my outstanding entertainment attorney, Scott Schwimer, continues not only to be my guide, but also my very good friend. Thanks, Scottie.
I always save the best thank-you for last. The most critical members of my team are my wonderful family. Without them, there would be no book. They are my inspiration. I love you all and am particularly indebted to my beautiful wife, Trish, who keeps the world at bay so I can write. Thank you, honey. I love you.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Acknowledgments