by Brad Thor
They had enough men to drop ropes and rappel teams down at both Jompá’s and the crash site, while still keeping men in reserve. The helicopter could then fly a safe distance away and await further instructions.
If there was a way to create a diversion, it wasn’t springing to mind. His brain was all but spent. There had to be something else, though. Yet the only thing he could think of was the warning Lara had yelled to him outside the safe house in New Hampshire: “Run!”
But where was he going to run? The border? There might be enough gas in the snowmobile to make it. He still had his GPS. It was only sixty kilometers, give or take based on the terrain. It might be worth a try. If anyone with Wagner figured it out, though, he was as good as dead.
It didn’t matter whether they had a team on board who could rappel down. All they’d need would be a single sniper. They could pinpoint his heat signature with thermal imaging and that would be that.
His thoughts then turned to Christina. She was as good as dead if she stayed behind. He had to take her with him. How he’d get both of them out, though, was unimaginable at the moment. He just knew he had to do it.
Suddenly, something bubbled back up in his mind. When Sini had been taking care of him, he had begun to formulate a possible way to escape—if she and her friends might be willing to help. Now, the plan seemed to take a more definite shape. They would still need some sort of diversion.
Arriving at the snowmobile, Harvath told Christina to sit behind him with the extra weapons. Mokci would sit behind her and wear his rucksack. He had just picked it up and was about to hand it over when he saw the Sámi man already had a bag.
“Where’d that come from?” he asked.
Christina asked and translated his response. “He said it belonged to Teplov. After the crash, he had gone back inside the helicopter to bring it out. It seemed rather important.”
Harvath asked to see the bag and Mokci handed it over.
Inside, wrapped in plastic, were stacks of currency—including U.S. dollars—probably designated as petty cash to be used for bribes, as well as the reward promised at the bar in Nivsky for Harvath’s capture. There had to be at least $100,000 worth.
He continued to dig. In addition to a few chocolate bars and personal items, he found a weatherproof notebook, detailed topographic maps, and a small SERE kit containing a signal mirror, stormproof matches, tinder, chem lights, a handcuff key, razorblade, lock picks, and a small compass like the one he had taken from the plane. The real payoff, though, came next.
Rapidly searching the outer pockets, he found a med kit, Teplov’s GPS device, and in the last pouch, hit the jackpot—a satellite phone.
Closing it all up, he put the backpack on over his chest, fired up the snowmobile, and when they were all on board, hit the gas and raced as fast as the sled would carry them back to the village.
• • •
On the outskirts of Adjágas, Harvath killed the engine. They left the snowmobile in the woods and crept the rest of the way on foot. It was better if no one knew that they were there.
The Wagner thugs were going to turn every house inside out. They were also going to sweat the inhabitants—hard.
With their boss and so many of their comrades dead, anyone holding out on them was going to get a severe beating and possibly worse. The mercenaries could get out of control and end up murdering everyone in the village and burning every house to the ground. Harvath couldn’t let that happen.
As he had warned Sini earlier, you couldn’t lie to these mercenaries. You had to tell them the absolute truth. If they did that, they might be able to escape any brutality. That meant he had to give them a good story—a true story.
He also needed to leave a trail that would take the mercenaries away from the village and, if possible, throw them off his scent. In other words, he needed a distraction. But first, he needed help.
They snuck up behind the cabin of Olá, Jompá’s brother, and stopped. Peering around the corner, he scanned the area with his night vision goggles. There was no one to be seen. The bodies of the dead mercenaries still lay in the snow. No one had touched them and according to Mokci, no one would. The Russians would have to claim their own dead. The Sámis, partly out of superstition and partly out of not wanting anything to do with what had happened, wouldn’t go near them.
That was good news for Harvath. Pulling Christina aside, he told her what he needed her to do and handed her Teplov’s backpack full of cash. Then, as she and Mokci slipped inside, he headed for the Wagner corpses.
Without having to worry that one of the villagers might roll one of the dead mercenaries over, he was able to set additional traps. Using frag grenades, he booby-trapped them all. No matter which body was touched first, it was guaranteed to be a deadly result.
Though he couldn’t see them, he could feel the villagers’ eyes on him. After he was done, he disappeared into the woods and rigged the corpses of the dead snowmobilers, before doubling back to the cabin where he had left Christina and Mokci.
Peering through the rear window, he waited for her signal. When she flashed him the thumbs-up, he pulled out Teplov’s satellite phone, extended the antenna, and powered it up.
“Please work,” he said under his breath, knowing this might be the only chance he got.
As he waited, he pulled out his GPS device courtesy of Christina’s uncle and powered that up as well. The clock was running out. Everything now depended on the groundwork being laid inside the cabin.
CHAPTER 58
* * *
* * *
HOSTAGE RECOVERY FUSION CELL
WASHINGTON, D.C.
“Quiet!” Nicholas yelled to the room, as he stood on top of his desk to get everyone’s attention. Instantly, the dogs were on guard and he had to give them the command to relax.
The room fell silent instantly and when it did, he returned his attention to his phone. “Say again, please?” he asked. It was a terrible connection and kept going in and out.
“Norseman,” Harvath repeated, using his call sign, as was their protocol for this type of emergency transmission.
A series of coded challenge questions and answers then went back and forth, ending with, “Tim has a metal roof. I repeat. Tim has a metal roof.”
“Tim has a metal roof. Good copy,” said Nicholas, acknowledging the final coded response. “Would you like to hear the specials?”
“Negative. My wife and I are ready to place our order.”
Nicholas looked at SPEHA Rogers, who had appeared at his desk, and pantomimed for the man to grab a pen and paper to take down the following information. Harvath had authenticated that it was him, that he was calling on comms he couldn’t trust, and that he was going to need to get pulled out plus one—a woman.
“I’m ready,” said the little man.
Harvath rattled off two strings of letters and numbers, which Nicholas repeated back to him. Rogers wrote them down and was about to race over to the NSA desk, which was coordinating with the National Reconnaissance Office, when Nicholas stopped him.
“Subtract one from the latitude coordinates and add two to the longitude.”
Rogers nodded and headed off.
There was a lot that Nicholas wanted to ask, but for Harvath’s sake, he had to keep things as short and to the point as possible. “Have you eaten with us before?”
“Twice.”
Harvath was being professional, delivering the coded information calmly, but Nicholas could sense a distinct underlying tension in his voice.
“Are you free to take a quick survey about that experience?”
“Negative,” said Harvath. “A lot of people want to use this phone.”
“We’ll get this order placed right away for you.”
Nicholas was about to add, “So good to hear your voice,” when the call went dead.
“Hello?” the little man said. “Hello? Can you hear me?”
Confirming that the call had indeed been terminated, he hopped
down from the desk, just as the SPEHA hurried back over.
“What did he say?”
Nicholas ran through everything Harvath had relayed in their brief conversation.
“Do we know who is chasing him?” Rogers asked. “Russian military? Russian law enforcement? Both?”
“He didn’t say.”
“How about the identity of the woman? Do we know who she is?”
“We don’t know that either, but if I had to guess, it’s the doctor we saw the Instagram post from.”
“What about how he’s traveling? Is he on foot?”
Nicholas shook his head. “No, definitely not on foot.”
“By vehicle then?”
“I think so.”
“Do we know what kind? Is it a car? A truck?”
Once again, Nicholas shook his head. “He could have given me a code, but he didn’t. All we know is that whatever it is, he and the woman are traveling separately.”
“Why? What purpose do you think that would serve?”
“Maybe there are checkpoints and one has to act as a decoy or something. I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
Rogers could tell Nicholas was getting frustrated with him. “I’m just trying to help. Don’t worry. We’ll get to work on what we have. Did he say when he’d be back in touch?”
“No. The call went dead.”
The SPEHA put his hand on the little man’s shoulder. “I’ve never met him, but based on what everyone has told me, he’s going to make it.”
Nicholas agreed. If anyone could beat the odds, it was Harvath. But if there was one thing he had learned in their business, it was that if you weren’t cheating, you weren’t trying.
They needed to make sure that they were doing everything to stack the deck in Harvath’s favor. It was time to go all in.
CHAPTER 59
* * *
* * *
MURMANSK OBLAST
Tell him that I’m freezing my balls off out here and that if he doesn’t open the door and let us in, I’m going to burn his fucking house down,” said Haney. “With him in it.”
The Jaeger soldier, whom the Finns had reluctantly sent along, relayed the message in perfect Russian, though with just a little added tact.
“Fine,” the asset agreed, “but make sure they hide their equipment around back. I don’t want anyone to know they’re here.”
The Finn translated, and while Haney and Staelin stood guard in front, the rest of the team went around back and shrugged off their gear.
Once they had all deposited their equipment, Barton and Gage offered to take first watch.
Haney had been instructed to get right to the point. And once inside, he did just that.
He spoke slowly so the Jaeger soldier could translate and, because the subject matter was somber, he made sure to adopt a respectful tone.
“United States President Paul Porter extends his deepest condolences to you and your family. He hopes you will accept my country’s sympathies for what happened to your brother during the Soviet-Afghan War. We deeply regret that it was an American weapon, provided by the United States to the mujahideen, which caused his death.”
Haney, along with the rest of The Carlton Group team, studied the older man’s visage, searching for any hint of softening, or of forgiveness.
He was a stone-faced, flinty bastard, well into his seventies if he was a day. His hate for the United States oozed from every pore. The only country he hated as much was Russia, which was why he had agreed to work against it, in the service of the Finns.
His codename was Pavel. That was all the Jaeger commander was comfortable sharing. Haney was fine with that. He wasn’t here to make friends. He was here to rescue one.
Both the United States President and the Secretary of State had given Haney permission to make the in-person apology. “Just don’t gild the lily,” the Secretary of State had warned him.
Haney didn’t care. He would have told Pavel that the U.S. had faked the moon landing if it meant securing the Russian’s cooperation. As the team saw it, there really was no way to pull this off without him.
Upon confirmation from Nicholas that Harvath was alive and they had a location for him, the team had been flown to the border on Army Aviation MD500 “Little Bird”–style helicopters.
The Jaegers had sent one of their intelligence specialists, Aleksi, along to help manage the meeting with Pavel and to make sure that the Americans didn’t “screw it up.”
Pavel was one of many cooperators the Finns had within Russia. They functioned not only as human trip wires, alerting Finland to Russian troop movements, but also as guerilla fighters ready to harass the Russian military and provide assistance to Finnish soldiers and intelligence officers should war ever break out.
Pavel, though, was more than just a prized agent-in-place for Finland. He had highly specialized training that made him invaluable in the effort to recover Harvath. It was training the United States was willing to pay top dollar for.
And to that end, Haney opened his backpack and removed multiple bricks of U.S. currency and set them on the table. “In addition to President Porter, we also bring salutations from another notable American, Mr. Benjamin Franklin.”
The Russian and the Jaeger soldier watched as Haney continued pulling money out and stacking it on the table.
“He wants to know how much that is,” said Aleksi.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” Haney replied. “He gets half now and the other half when we get back.”
It was a fortune, especially in this part of Russia, and the old Russian’s face lit up as the Finn translated. He had his hands around the throat of a golden goose that could lay diamond-encrusted eggs. He wasn’t about to let go.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for his help,” the Jaeger soldier translated. “How much in reparations? For the loss of his brother at the hands of an American shoulder-fired missile?”
Haney had known that was coming, and he smiled. “Please explain,” he stated, “that my country doesn’t pay reparations in situations like that.”
As soon as the words had been translated into Russian, Pavel began to put on a show of shock and dismay. His lousy acting was akin to that of a soccer star who had been tapped by another player’s foot and who fell down on the field, writhing in phony agony.
“But,” Haney continued, “because we value his cooperation and want to have a good relationship, we’re willing to negotiate something.”
“How about we don’t kill him?” Staelin asked, so that only Haney could hear. “How about that for a counteroffer?”
Staelin hated dealing with people like this. It was part of the job, but he had never liked it. The moment you opened your wallet, they wanted everything and more from inside. The fact that they were negotiating with the United States only made people greedier. They figured the U.S. could afford to give them whatever they asked for.
Aleksi listened to Pavel and then said, “He wants $10 million for the loss of his brother.”
Haney had been ready for an opener like that and simply replied, “No.” He didn’t offer a counter.
The old Russian sat there trying to figure out what to do. If he wasn’t careful, his golden goose would slip out of his grasp and leave him with nothing.
He dropped quickly down to “$5 million” and passed the request on through Aleksi.
Haney continued smiling and tried to keep his tone respectful. “Mr. Pavel, I am authorized to offer you an additional $250,000. It will be delivered to you once we are safely out of the country. That’s my best offer.”
The Russian listened to the translation and stared at his American counterpart long and hard. Finally, he blinked, and the blink was followed by a smile.
He leaned over and spoke to Aleksi, who replied, “He’ll take it.”
Pavel then got up from the table and walked over to his kitchen. Assembling a tray, he returned with glasses for everyone and a bottle of vodka.
&nb
sp; Haney looked at the Jaeger soldier. “Should we be doing this?”
Aleksi shrugged. “It’s tradition. It’s how they seal the deal. Plus, he’s a pretty serious alcoholic.”
“He’s what?” Haney asked, taken aback. That was a part of Pavel’s history that hadn’t been shared by the Finns.
“Alcoholism is quite common in Russia, especially in Murmansk Oblast. If you attempt to stop him from drinking, it could blow your entire operation.”
“Are you nuts?” he asked, careful not to raise his voice. “The American government can’t agree to pay some drunk $250,000.”
“It just did,” replied Aleksi. “And before you start having second thoughts, let me remind you that not only did you ask for this, but you don’t have any choice. This is the best way to get to Harvath.”
To get to Harvath, though, they were going to have to survive the trip. And as he watched Pavel pour a tall shot of vodka, that was now one of his biggest concerns.
CHAPTER 60
* * *
* * *
Here,” Christina said, as she pointed at a spot on Teplov’s topographic map. “Jompá and his brother Olá were just out there yesterday. They said the wind has been so strong that the surface is completely swept clean. The lake looks like a black mirror.”
Harvath prayed they were right. The only thing that could possibly give them away would be footprints. But as long as there was no snow on top of the ice, they might just make it.
He had to give Christina credit. She had been an exceptional saleswoman. Jompá and Olá had every reason to say no, but using the money from Teplov’s backpack and leveraging her relationship with their village, she had convinced them to say yes.
As instructed, she had left Sini and Mokci out of it. In fact, as the husband and wife had been reunited, a plan was hatched to get them on their way, unseen, back to their own village.