Foreign Agent: A Thriller

by Brad Thor

  She shook her head. “You’ve always provided me with solid information.”

  “And I am doing so again.”

  “What is it, specifically, that you think the White House is up to? Why are they playing coy with Congress?”

  “Off the record?” the Senator asked.

  “Off the record,” she agreed.

  Wells leaned in even further. “I think President Porter, in conjunction with the CIA Director, is running his own extremely black ops program and intentionally keeping it from Congress.”

  Picking up her pen, the reporter signaled the bartender that she was going to need another drink after all. It was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER 31

  BERCHTESGADEN, GERMANY

  The bald man Harvath had killed at the estate was a guest of Malevsky’s named Valery Kumarin.

  He was a drunk and a womanizer. He was also a very influential figure in organized crime. He and Malevsky were in the same syndicate but different branches, which were often at odds, particularly when it came to territories.

  Kumarin had flown in from Moscow to discuss taking some of the ISIS business. The fact that he had died while visiting Malevsky was going to cause problems. Big ones.

  Worried about a hit, Malevsky might very well go to ground. If he did, he wouldn’t be taking his wife and children with him. He’d find someplace else for them.

  That someplace else would include Alexandra. If there was any way to prevent it, she had to try.

  When Harvath had explained what had happened outside, she was ready to kill him. In a matter of hours, he had ruined more than two years of work by the SVR. She had to come up with a plan, quickly.

  With Kumarin dead, there was only so much she could do. The key was in helping reinforce the narrative that it was an accident.

  All of Malevsky’s men had seen Kumarin eyeballing Alexandra. Even Malevsky’s wife had noticed. The Russian mobster wasn’t exactly subtle. Alexandra decided to use that to her advantage.

  He was drunk. He forced his way into her room. He struck her in the face and tried to have his way with her. She fought back, kneeing him in the groin to get him off of her. Groaning, he had retreated from her room.

  That was the story she told after Malevsky’s men had beaten down her door and found her curled up sobbing on the floor of her bathroom.

  While everyone agreed the situation wasn’t good, it was beyond obvious what had happened. Kumarin was a pig. Trying to force himself on Alexandra was beyond the pale. He had taken the easy way out by falling down the stairs outside and breaking his neck. If he hadn’t, Malevsky would have killed him with his bare hands.

  That left them with one final item to deal with—the body. If they called the police, they would be inviting all sorts of problems. If they didn’t, they’d be inviting an entirely different set of problems. Malevsky was damned regardless. The only way out was to shift the responsibility to someone above him.

  Back in Moscow, the powers that be were not happy. He had taken all the appropriate precautions with making contact, but this was a dead body, on his property, in another country. They might have been criminals, but they hadn’t gotten to where they were by being stupid. Malevsky was putting them in a very difficult position.

  His superiors turned it right back around on him. What if, they suggested, it wasn’t an accident and someone is trying to frame you? That didn’t do much to ease Malevsky’s anxiety. If he hid the body, he could be in trouble. If he didn’t hide the body and he went to the authorities, he might still end up being in trouble, especially if someone was trying to frame him.

  They told him to stay by the phone. They would call him back. Malevsky looked for some vodka but couldn’t find any. They were out. Fucking Kumarin.

  Finally, the phone rang. A decision had been made. Get rid of the body. And as soon as that was done, they wanted Malevsky to return to Moscow so they could question him in person. That could mean several different things—many of them not good. Not good at all. Fucking Kumarin.

  Malevsky saw to the disposal of the body, then he packed a bag. Ever since he had hung up the phone, he had been thinking about running. He had enough money hidden in different banks in different countries. He could live quite well.

  But if he ran, it would be an admission of guilt. He wasn’t guilty. He hadn’t done anything. If he were going to kill Kumarin, he certainly wouldn’t have been stupid enough to do it on his own property. He also wouldn’t have been stupid enough not to have an airtight alibi.

  He would go to Moscow, state his case, and return home. He wasn’t going to run.

  He had half a mind to take the nanny with him, to let her explain what had happened, but he decided against it. It would make him appear weak. His word should be enough.

  If they required any more corroboration than that, two of his security team would be with him. He’d bring one of the men who had found the nanny on the bathroom floor and one of the men who had found Kumarin at the bottom of the stairs. It had been an unfortunate accident, but it was an accident nonetheless.

  If anything, fucking Kumarin had brought it upon himself by getting so blind drunk. There wasn’t a one of them back in Moscow that didn’t know how bad his drinking was. Malevsky doubted this was the first time the old fool had fallen. In fact, he’d probably tripped and fallen too many times to count.

  If they were honest with themselves, many of them back in Moscow would have to admit that it was a wonder Kumarin had survived this long. The problem with Moscow was that they were rarely honest with themselves.

  • • •

  Exiting the house, travel bag in hand, Mikhail Malevsky found his men in the motor court milling around the Rolls-Royce. “Let’s go!” he barked in Russian.

  The five-foot-seven barrel-chested mafioso had been a wrestler in his youth. Now, in his mid-forties, his thinning blond hair was going gray, he was plagued with psoriasis, and he had to pop tons of Viagra just to get an erection.

  Those factors, combined with his already distasteful personality, made him perpetually angry, abusive, and predisposed to acts of extreme violence. Even the four-letter-word descriptions used by his enemies didn’t come close to doing him justice.

  Adding to his foul mood was the fact that it had taken forever to arrange a jet to fly him back to Russia. He hated flying commercial, but he hadn’t been able to justify the cost of owning his own plane. So, he had split the difference and bought into a private jet program.

  As was typical of criminal syndicates, he knew a guy who knew a guy—and that was whose advice he took.

  The company Malevsky had bought into was fine for trips planned weeks in advance. But if you needed to fly right away, they were a disaster. He nearly had an aneurysm yelling into the phone at the client “service” representative trying to find him a plane.

  Eventually, the company found him a Gulfstream G650. And they not only agreed to waive the upgrade fee for such an exclusive aircraft but also to have it pick him up in Salzburg, rather than his having to drive the further distance to Munich.

  Respect, Malevsky had thought as he had hung up the phone. Some people expect it, others demand it.

  He was going to look like a rock star traveling in that aircraft. Not only to the men who were traveling with him but also to anyone meeting him at the airport in Moscow. And he was going to make sure there were people waiting to meet him in Moscow. Only a fool would blow an opportunity to make that kind of an entrance.

  Rolling out of the wrought iron gates of the estate, they made a right turn and headed down into the village.

  Privately, Malevsky had been pleased that the old hunting lodge hadn’t sold yet. His wife and two children enjoyed it here. It was a simpler pace. Cleaner and less hectic than Munich.

  There were also no Muslims. He didn’t mind doing business with them in their part of the wo
rld, but he certainly didn’t want to raise his family around them. They were animals—unclean, uncivilized. At least in Russia, they knew how to deal with them. Russia recognized all too well the threat that they posed.

  Malevsky sank back into the quilted leather seat and tried not to think about Muslims, Kumarin, or having to deal with his superiors back in Moscow. He was in one of the most beautiful places in the world, being driven in a Rolls-Royce, on his way to board a sixty-five-million-dollar aircraft. He had come a long way in life and he still had much further to go.

  If he had time, there was a girl he wanted to see in Moscow—a dancer. She was the complete opposite of his wife. She didn’t complain. She liked to have fun. And she had a tight ass. Oh, that ass. He would have to make the time to see her.

  Malevsky closed his eyes for a moment in order to picture her. As he did, he felt the car slow.

  “Chyort voz’mi,” the driver said. Damn it.

  “What is it?”

  “Politsiya.” Police.

  They were being pulled over.

  The words Chyort voz’mi passed through Malevsky’s mind. But what came out of his mouth was something completely different.

  “Fucking Kumarin,” he said, as he reached for his diplomatic passport.

  CHAPTER 32

  There were two parts of Harvath’s plan that he regretted. If he had been able to find a better way, he would have taken it. But time was against him.

  Alexandra’s texts had been sporadic. Everyone at the estate appeared to believe her story. Kumarin had been drinking and had tried to rape her. They had found his body outside, at the bottom of the stone steps.

  Whether he had hit his head or had broken his neck, it didn’t matter. He was dead. They had decided not to call the police, and had gotten rid of the body themselves. Malevsky’s bosses had called him back to Russia for a full accounting of what had happened.

  There was concern over an internecine conflict in the organization. Malevsky was not well liked. Kumarin’s people were likely going to want revenge. The crime family was trying to stop things before they could get started.

  Had it been anyone other than Alexandra on the inside, Harvath wouldn’t be getting this kind of intel. Even though her assignment was potentially in turmoil, she kept gathering information and feeding it out to him.

  What he had told her about Malevsky, the GRU, and the operative named Sacha Baseyev was very serious. Too often, Russia’s military ambitions extended far beyond what was best for the rest of the country.

  Alexandra was willing to help Harvath, but only to a point. It needed to be a two-way street. As long as he continued to cooperate, so would she.

  With Alexandra having committed to the story of Kumarin attacking her, Harvath couldn’t return to the estate and snatch Malevsky. They would immediately suspect she had played a hand in both situations. It was too dangerous.

  Herman hadn’t seen another option. Harvath, though, had.

  He didn’t have a problem with lightning hitting the same bad guy twice, just not in the same place. They would have to get to Malevsky outside his estate.

  Alexandra had confirmed that Malevsky’s security detail were former Russian Special Forces. Harvath had been right not to underestimate them. These were not guys he wanted to go head-to-head with unless he absolutely had to. It would be better to outmaneuver than to outgun them. Which brought Harvath to the two most regrettable parts of his plan.

  The first involved Anna Strobl. If she had said no, he would have understood. He knew, though, that there was a part of her that wanted to right the wrongs her husband had committed—even if that meant putting herself in further jeopardy. Within twenty minutes of receiving Harvath’s call, she was on the road.

  The next element was the wild card. It was the riskiest step in his plan and the one he disliked most. Unlike Anna, the participants in this phase weren’t being given a choice.

  They found a Bavarian State Police vehicle twenty minutes outside Berchtesgaden. Two young officers were clearing a dead deer from the road.

  Harvath took their duty belts and radios at gunpoint. Then he marched them into the forest and had them handcuff themselves around a large tree.

  He left them with a couple bottles of water and returned to the road. Herman had already departed with their vehicle.

  Removing his balaclava, Harvath hopped in his car, dropped a pin in the GPS app on his phone, and followed. He wanted to make sure they sent the authorities to the right location.

  • • •

  Back at the barn, Anna inspected the vehicle. “I probably shouldn’t ask where this came from.”

  “Probably a good idea,” Harvath replied.

  “I’d also keep your gloves on,” said Herman.

  “You’re aware that the Landespolizei use a tracking system for all of their patrol cars, correct?”

  Harvath held up a pair of wire cutters. “Not this patrol car.”

  “Where’s Eichel?”

  “In my trunk,” Herman replied. “We don’t go anywhere without him.”

  “Is he still alive?” Anna said. “Or is that also something I shouldn’t ask?”

  “He’s still alive,” Harvath stated.

  “What are you going to do with him?”

  “That depends on what happens with Malevsky.”

  “So, in other words, you don’t have a plan at this point.”

  Harvath smiled, then nodded at Anna and Herman. “Everything is going to depend on you two.”

  Taking over, Herman led them through the next steps.

  Harvath felt his phone vibrate and removed it from his pocket. It was a text from Alexandra.

  He read it and then said, “Malevsky is getting ready to move. Let’s get going.”

  Anna got behind the wheel of the State Police car. She was wearing her Bundespolizei uniform, but the name tape had been removed. Herman climbed into the passenger seat next to her. Harvath exited the barn and slid inside Herman’s BMW.

  There was really only one route to the Salzburg airport. And while Malevsky’s team might conduct a surveillance detection route to make sure they weren’t being followed, Harvath wasn’t afraid of losing them. He was more concerned with where they were going to spring their trap.

  They had to do it before the border with Austria, and Harvath wanted it in an area with no witnesses. And on top of those two parameters, the State Police would soon be out looking for their two missing officers and their patrol vehicle. The sooner they could get this over with, the better.

  They picked up Malevsky’s Rolls-Royce halfway through Berchtesgaden and followed it out of the village. There was a stretch of farmland that the road passed through before it came to the next village. That was where they were going to take them.

  Harvath had hung back so as not to arouse suspicion. He was also acting as a screen, blocking any potential view of the police vehicle.

  A few kilometers out from the takedown location, Harvath slowed and Anna passed him. She was now in the lead.

  She trailed the Rolls-Royce for a bit before beginning to close the distance. Then, once she was ready, she activated the light bar on the roof of her vehicle and pulled them over.

  Harvath had hung way back and now pulled over to the side of the road as well. He could see the flashing lights ahead, but that was it.

  They had decided that it wasn’t worth running the risk that one of the men with Malevsky might have been on duty when Harvath toured the estate. If he was recognized, that would ruin everything. They wanted this to go as smoothly as possible.

  Herman had promised to keep his microphone open. Harvath would have to be content to listen in as everything went down.

  Harvath knew enough cops to know that in police work, there was never such a thing as a “routine” traffic stop. And what they were doing right now
was highly dangerous.

  The unknown was whether or not Malevsky’s men were armed. His diplomatic passport all but guaranteed that the transition across the border would be a non-event.

  They had to assume there were guns in the car. Not only that, they had to assume the guns would be close at hand and Malevsky’s men would be ready to use them if they had to.

  But Malevsky’s men were professionals. They were smart enough to know that the officer would call in their license plate before getting out of the patrol vehicle. They were also headed toward Salzburg and the border. If they got in a shootout and killed a police officer, they were going to have a hell of a time getting across.

  They would play it cool—at least, until it was time not to play it cool. Harvath was sure about that. They would figure out why the cop had pulled them over and then make their decision on what to do.

  “We’re making our approach,” said Herman over the radio.

  The plan was for Anna to move up along the driver’s side and for Herman to move up on the passenger’s side.

  Harvath could hear wind and the rustling of clothing over his earpiece as Herman moved forward. Moments later, Anna identified herself as Bundespolizei. Herman, who was in plainclothes was identified as a member of “Kripo,” short for Kriminalpolizei, the detective branch of the Landespolizei.

  There were plenty of joint task force operations in Germany. It would also explain, if necessary, why a uniformed federal police officer was in a State Police vehicle.

  The Rolls-Royce’s driver asked why they had been pulled over. Anna replied by requesting everyone’s documents. Malevsky immediately produced his diplomatic passport and started trying to take control of the situation.

  There was something else Harvath knew from having friends who were cops. The first test in any encounter with law enforcement was the attitude test. If you failed that test, things only got worse for you.

  As Anna collected their documents, she continued to question the driver. Where were they coming from? Where were they going? How long had they been in Germany? What was their business? Who owned the vehicle? What were they transporting?