Black Ice

by Brad Thor

  Using her made perfect sense. Both Han and Sarov would have been concerned about being spotted at the hotel. Sending in someone unremarkable, someone no one would have given a second look to, was a smart choice.

  It was also good tradecraft. Harvath and Johnson had been so eager to get into Han’s room that they had walked right past her.

  Harvath was about to ask Sølvi what else she could dig up, when her phone chimed.

  “Interesting,” she said, reading the text she had just received.

  “What is it?”

  “Guess where our baggage handler is employed?”

  There were only two choices. “The Russian Embassy,” he replied.

  “Very good. How’d you guess?”

  “Her shoes.”

  “You noticed her shoes?”

  “I notice everyone’s shoes.”

  “What about them?” Sølvi asked.

  “They were plain, like her. Middle-of-the-road. There was nothing gaudy or over-the-top. Not her hair, not her makeup, not her nails or jewelry. If I had to put a word on it, it would be competent. Professional. Maybe even boring.”

  “Well, you win the prize. She works in the Joint Norwegian-Russian Fisheries Commission as an assistant to the Attaché. I don’t think you can get any more boring than that.”

  “Good department to hide an intelligence officer in.”

  “If she’s an intel officer, she’s amazing. In the seven years she has been in Oslo, there’s been nothing to suggest that she’s anything other than an office worker.”

  “Which makes her a good choice to sanitize Han’s room and check him out of the hotel,” said Harvath. “It doesn’t require any special training. All that’s needed is someone halfway intelligent who can properly follow orders.”

  “Having a diplomatic passport doesn’t hurt, either—just in case you get stopped by the police in the process,” Sølvi added.

  “True.”

  “We need to assume that Sarov knows about the men at the construction site,” said Sølvi. “That’s what the airplane was all about. He and Han are on the run.”

  “I agree,” said Harvath as he hailed Preisler and told him to break off his surveillance of the Mazda. The woman was a small fish. They knew where she lived and worked. Following her any further would only risk tipping their hand. If they wanted to catch Han and Sarov, it was better for the two men to believe that they had gotten away scot-free.

  “I may have some more good news,” she added as she opened her email app and clicked on a message. She then showed her phone to him so he could see it. Four letters were highlighted in bold: ENKR.

  It was an International Civil Aviation Organization airport code. Harvath recognized that much. Which airport it corresponded to, though, escaped him. He was much more fluent in the three-letter International Air Travel Association codes.

  Sølvi could see he didn’t know it. “I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t count.”

  “I’m going to go out on a limb and say it isn’t the code for Beijing or Moscow.”

  “That’s correct. It’s not.”

  “Kirkenes?”

  “Bravo,” she replied.

  “How long until they land?”

  “It’s a two-hour-and-ten-minute flight.”

  Harvath marked the time on his watch. “Do you have any assets up there who can follow them from the airport?”

  “I don’t. But I know someone who does.”

  “Who?”

  “Holidae Hayes.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve met him,” said Sølvi. “American. Ex-CIA. He married a Norwegian woman. Smart guy.”

  “Smart because he married a Norwegian woman? Or smart as in he’s intelligent?”

  “Both.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “What’s his name?”

  “Phillip Mercer.”

  Harvath didn’t know him, but that wasn’t a surprise. There were a lot of former Agency people scattered around the world.

  “How are you coming with the CCTV footage?” he asked. “I’d like to confirm that Han was on that plane before I wake up Holidae and ask her to activate Mercer.”

  “Someone is working on it for me. I don’t have an ETA yet.”

  Call it Harvath’s sixth sense, but the closer they got to Oslo, the more his confidence grew that both Han and Sarov were on the jet. And the farther they got away from him, the more difficult his assignment would become.

  Finally, he decided to phone Hayes. Two hours wasn’t much time to get an operation spun up. Kirkenes was on the doorstep of Russia. When the aircraft touched down, if they didn’t have “eyes on,” they could end up losing Han for good.

  CHAPTER 26

  KIRKENES, NORWAY

  When Sarov and Han arrived, they exited the airport separately. Sarov retrieved his car from the parking lot and headed home, while Han—along with his suitcase—climbed into a waiting taxi and was taken to the Thon Hotel Kirkenes.

  A modern, boxy structure, the Thon was the largest hotel in town and sat right at the water’s edge. Business had been booming—especially with Asian tourists.

  They came to see polar bears and the northern lights. Some even believed that conceiving a child under the lights would bestow prosperity and good luck.

  Others came to board cruise ships at the nearby town quay. The opportunities for sightseeing and arctic adventures were boundless, and they had provided Han with the perfect cover.

  Kirkenes had long been dependent on the mining of iron ore, its sole industry. Then, as the mine shut down due to poor profits, Kirkenes had discovered China.

  Looking to woo Chinese investment and tourism, it exchanged trade delegations with Beijing and launched an all-out charm offensive. The mining town even went so far as to remake itself as the “World’s Northernmost Chinatown” for a recent winter festival.

  Signs around Kirkenes—normally written in Norwegian and Russian—added Chinese characters. A traditional Chinatown-style archway was constructed, the local newspaper took a Chinese name, and a “Polar Silk Route” market was opened.

  While Chinese investment had been mired by Norwegian politics, Chinese tourism had taken off like a rocket. Han fit right in. What’s more, the items he transported in his suitcase fit in as well.

  In addition to a couple of softcover books on polar bears, he was transporting a digital single-lens reflex (DSLR) camera, a spotting scope, a range finder, and a satellite communicator. To any customs inspector going through his carry-on bag, he would look like a wealthy Chinese tourist on his way to track and photograph polar bears.

  The equipment was not what it seemed, though. It was, in fact, a critical part of his assignment. Without it, there would be no proof-of-concept test. That was why he had insisted on returning to the Radisson to retrieve his belongings.

  There was also the issue of his medication. While he carried a few pills on his person, along with a passport and currency—just in case he needed to flee—it wasn’t going to be enough to see him through the end of the operation.

  He had been pleased when Sarov had come up with the idea to send in the woman to retrieve his bags. Now that he had safely arrived in Kirkenes, he could focus on the completion of his assignment.

  He removed the satellite communicator, powered it up, and uncoiled a small, magnetized antenna. This corner of the building provided a clear, unobstructed view of the sky, which was why he had requested it. However, satellite communications didn’t work very well through glass.

  Opening the window, he affixed the magnet to the outside of the frame, plugged the antenna into the communicator, and synced it to his smartphone. The phone’s encryption software would make sure his message could be read only by its intended recipient.

  Once the communicator had locked onto the Chinese satellite system, the first thing he transmitted was a situation report to his headquarters in Beijing.

  The next message was transmitted to a l
ocation much closer. Considering the hour, he didn’t know if his contact would be awake. Moments later, he received a response: Transmission received. Everything is in place. Standing by.

  There was nothing else for Han to do but get some rest. He was going to need it. Things were about to get very complicated.

  CHAPTER 27

  Harvath and Sølvi had stood together under the Radisson’s canopy, waiting for her car to be brought around. Neither of them spoke. Even if she had wanted to, she couldn’t join him. This was his assignment, and she was expected back at NIS. What little time they had left together was slipping away even faster.

  When her car appeared, he wrapped his arms around her and they kissed. Neither had any idea when they would see each other again.

  “Be safe,” she advised, with her arms around his neck so as not to cause his ribs any additional pain.

  “You know me,” he replied.

  “I do know you. That’s why I am telling you to be safe. Head on a swivel. Call me if you need me.”

  “I’m going to be fine,” he said, kissing her again. “I’ll bring back some fresh seafood. What is Kirkenes known for?”

  “King crab. Big ones. They catch them out in the Barents Sea.”

  “I’ll buy as much as I can haul and we’ll throw a huge party.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  After one more kiss, he tipped the valet and helped her into her car. Then he rejoined his teammates in their SUV and they returned to the safe house and packed up their gear.

  Once all of the vehicles had been loaded, they made the drive out to Oslo Airport, transferred everything onto the company jet, and prepared for takeoff.

  They had been lucky enough to get catering aboard, and the team grabbed what they wanted from the galley. Fruit, smoked fish, cured meats, bread, cheese, and pastries. Pretty standard. The only thing hot was the coffee. Harvath passed on all of it.

  They weren’t going to be in the air that long. Their plane was considerably faster and would make much better time than the one Han and Sarov were on. And thanks to a text from Sølvi, he was able to confirm they weren’t on a wild-goose chase.

  She had come through with CCTV footage from the Kjeller airfield. Both men had been picked up on camera. Harvath and his team were on the right track.

  Next, he had called Holidae Hayes. Despite being awakened from a sound sleep, she had jumped right into action. Once she confirmed that she had made contact with Mercer, she began work on the other things that Harvath had requested.

  Knowing there was nothing else he could do at the moment, Harvath parked himself near Nicholas and the dogs and made himself comfortable.

  “You going to get some sleep?” the little man asked, opening up his laptop.

  Harvath nodded. “I’m going to try. What are you up to?”

  “Looking at satellite imagery. There’s some unusual activity at a couple of Russian naval bases on the Kola Peninsula.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Zaozyorsk and Vidyayevo.”

  “What kind of activity?”

  “Lots of men and material moving around. Ships being supplied. That kind of thing.”

  “Are the Russians planning a naval exercise?” asked Harvath.

  “Not that we know of. That’s why we’re paying attention.”

  “What are the odds it’s connected to what we’re working on?”

  “We can’t be certain, which is also why we’re paying attention,” said Nicholas. “It’s a quick flight. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you if anything pops up.”

  * * *

  It was just before eight a.m. when The Carlton Group’s G700 touched down at Kirkenes airport.

  Harvath noticed the temperature difference the moment the forward door was opened. While summer was still hanging on down in Oslo, up in Kirkenes it had completely fled.

  The air was cold and had a nasty bite to it. Winter was not far off. Having almost frozen to death earlier in the year, he couldn’t wait to finish this assignment and get the hell out of here.

  As he descended the stairs and stepped onto the tarmac, he could see the vehicles Holidae had organized, waiting for them.

  It had already been decided that Sloane and Chase would take over surveillance of Han while Harvath met with Mercer and the rest of the team set up the new safe house.

  After transferring the gear to the vehicles, everyone headed out.

  With Chase driving and Sloane in back assembling equipment, Harvath jumped into their SUV and rode shotgun for the ride into town.

  “Feeling any better?” Chase asked him as they exited the airport and merged onto the main road.

  “Headache’s gone at least,” Harvath replied.

  “Is that a good sign?” the younger operative said. “I’ve never had syphilis.”

  Harvath was about to respond, when Chase looked in his rearview mirror and asked, “Sloane, is that a good sign?”

  Harvath didn’t need to look back to know she was giving Chase the finger.

  “Your concern for my well-being notwithstanding,” Harvath remarked, “let’s talk about what we need to focus on. Just over the border, Russia’s Northern Fleet is gearing up for something. We don’t know what it is. We also don’t know if it is connected to the Chinese national we’re here to surveil.

  “The only thing that matters is that you don’t lose sight of him. If he moves, you move—and you move in such a way that he doesn’t know he’s being shadowed. You also have each other’s backs. You don’t split up for any reason. Is that clear?”

  “Roger that,” they responded.

  “Good. Do we need to stop and pick up anything?”

  “Negative,” Sloane replied from the rear seat. “We grabbed some coffee and water, along with a few other things, on our way off the plane. We’re more than fine.”

  Harvath was glad to hear it. He also appreciated her attitude. Sitting in a climate-controlled vehicle was practically a Ritz-Carlton–level experience compared to what all of them had faced at one point or another in their careers. As far as hide sites went, a warm car, replete with coffee, water, and snacks, was hard to beat.

  When they pulled into the far end of the Thon Hotel’s parking lot, Harvath spotted the vehicle they were looking for and directed Chase to drive toward it. Behind him, Harvath heard Sloane charge her weapon.

  “Are you expecting something?” he asked, looking to keep the operational temperature low.

  “Have you ever met this guy?”

  “Not yet.”

  “That makes three of us,” she replied. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s not cool until he’s cool.”

  “Good copy,” said Harvath, acknowledging her concern. “Stay alert.”

  In response, she placed a Glock 19, along with two additional magazines, atop the forward armrest.

  Chase picked up the pistol, racked its slide, and tucked it between his seat and the center console. The magazines went into a pocket.

  Harvath, who was still carrying his H&K VP40, left it where it was in its holster. Just because these two were feeling a little froggy didn’t mean he was ready to jump.

  They pulled up next to Mercer, who was sitting in a gray Mitsubishi Outlander, watching the main entrance.

  After taking another look at the photo Holidae had texted and confirming it was him, Harvath debussed and stepped outside.

  The first thing he noticed was the smell of the ocean. There was something different about it this far north. It was more intense than in Oslo. More briny. He liked it.

  Mercer popped the locks of his SUV and waved for him to come join him. Harvath obliged. He walked over, opened the door, and climbed in.

  The ex–CIA operative was exactly as Holidae had described him. He was a handsome man in his mid-sixties—tall, with a prominent nose and a chin to match. With reddish-brown hair and pale, gray eyes, there was a gritty toughness to him.

  Straight out of central casting, he could have s
trapped on a pair of spurs and walked onto any John Ford or Sergio Leone movie set. Mercer held out his enormous paw and Harvath shook it.

  “Welcome to Paradise,” Mercer said.

  “I wish it was under different circumstances,” Harvath replied. “Thanks for doing this.”

  “Though I earned every penny of my pension—and then some—I still appreciate that Uncle Sugar makes my direct deposits on time each month.”

  “Understood.”

  “More importantly,” the man continued, “I couldn’t pass up the chance to meet Reed Carlton’s protégé.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “Did I know him? Hell yes, I knew him. I used to work for him. In fact, I was there the day he got his nickname.”

  CHAPTER 28

  “Have you never been told the full story?” Mercer asked. “I mean, to be fair, you can’t really appreciate a nickname like that unless you know everything that took place.”

  Harvath had never actually heard the full story before. “I’d love to hear it,” he replied.

  “Perfect. I’ll tell you over breakfast.” Looking over at Chase and Sloane in the car next to them, he added, “Are those two steely-eyed killers my relief?”

  “That’s correct,” Harvath answered. “They’re taking over surveillance. Anything they need to know?”

  “If they leave town, they should make sure they’re armed. The wolves have been bad this year.”

  Harvath, who’d had his own brush with wolves just over the Russian border, reassured him, “Don’t worry about those two. They’re always armed.”

  “Good. Do you need anything out of their vehicle before we take off?”

  “Nope. I’m all set.”

  “Okay, then,” said the ex–CIA man. “Let’s hit the road.”

  The seaside village was small, and it didn’t take long to be given the nickel tour, which Mercer admitted was overpriced.

  They passed the Soviet Liberation Monument, which had been erected by grateful Norwegians after Stalin’s Red Army, in the final months of World War II, liberated Kirkenes and the surrounding area from the Nazis.