Shadow of Doubt, page 17
Even though his head was turned to the side, she could see that look in his eye again. “Forget splitting the difference. Tell me the truth.”
Harvath turned to face her again. “I promise you. I will tell you the full truth, when the time is right.”
“What’s wrong with right now?”
“I’m doing you a favor.”
“By keeping me in the dark? How does that help me?” she asked.
“It’ll help you keep your job.”
“You mean the job that they’ve told me is out the window this time tomorrow?”
Harvath smiled at her. “Plausible deniability is invaluable. You’ve got that right now. Trust me, you don’t want to throw it away.”
“I think I should be the judge of that. Grechko is my defector.”
“Yes, he is. And I want you to be able to focus on him.”
“Please tell me you’re not trying to patronize me.”
“I’m not trying to patronize you,” he responded. “I’m trying to protect you. Believe me.”
“How can I believe you when you don’t trust me?”
“I trust you implicitly. If this all goes according to plan, you can knock me afterward for being overly cautious. But, if anything goes wrong and we can’t contain it, you don’t want Norway needlessly getting dragged into this. I’ll only be gone a few hours. Once I’m back, you can ask me whatever you want.” Winking, he added, “Within reason.”
Though she didn’t want to, Sølvi surrendered. She could have fought a bit harder and maybe have extracted a bit more information from him, but at what cost?
They needed to trust each other—and not just when it was easy. It was when things were difficult that it mattered most.
She took his hand again. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“That you won’t make me a widow before we’re even married.”
Harvath smiled at her as his phone chimed. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Looking down, he saw it was a text from Staelin. He and Haney were about to arrive with the Ukrainian commandos and would meet him at the caretaker’s cottage.
He leaned over and gave Sølvi a kiss. “I’ve got to get going.”
“What’s up?”
“The package I ordered has arrived.”
CHAPTER 29
Stopping to grab Nicholas and the dogs, Harvath drove down to the caretaker’s cottage to greet the new arrivals. He had decided to keep them out of sight from Sølvi and from Grechko. There was nothing to be gained from either of them being read in on this part of the operation.
As he and Nicholas entered the cottage, he could see that the dining table was stacked with the commandos’ equipment.
“Why don’t you just swim into the harbor and stick a mine to the bottom of his boat?” Haney asked, examining the men’s gear.
“Because his hull is a composite of fiberglass and carbon fiber,” the first commando, whose name was Max—short for Maxsym, replied. “Magnetic mines won’t work.”
“Why not use suction cups?”
“Too much drag,” the second commando, named Petro, answered. “Once the boat gets underway, the attachment to the hull begins to fail. Even before the boat pops out of the hole and gets on plane, the mine will be ripped away.”
“Huh,” Haney replied, as he went back to looking at their kit.
“Thank you for coming,” Harvath said, as he and Nicholas introduced themselves and shook hands with the commandos.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” Max responded. “Arkady Tsybulsky has been a priority target for us since the war began.”
“With the support we receive from France,” Petro added, “I always assumed that taking him out here was a nonstarter.”
“It still is,” said Harvath.
Both men looked at him, uncertain as to whether they had heard him correctly.
“Everything’s going to happen next door, in Monaco,” Harvath explained. “And I can’t stress this enough—territorial integrity is key to this operation. Monaco has the world’s shortest coastline, only 2.38 miles, so our timing has to be perfect. If we pull this off, your country is not only going to get massive international headlines, but every single Russian oligarch, no matter where in the world they are, is going to be terrified to even so much as stick a toe outside their front door. Most important, Ukraine won’t risk losing French support for carrying out an unsanctioned operation within their territory. That’s why this has to happen in Monaco.”
Max and Petro nodded. That was all the clarification they needed.
Staelin, however, had a question. “I’ve been wondering something,” he said. “Why not just wait until Tsybulsky comes back to his boat from the casino and take him out, along with his whole detail? We’d have the element of surprise. We could do it right there at the dock, hose down any blood, and then drive the boat and the bodies out into the Med and sink them.”
“We might have the element of surprise,” Harvath replied, “but we’d also have an audience. That boat draws too much attention. We’re going to have to wait until it leaves the harbor in Monaco.”
“And you’re convinced there’s no way we can smuggle some sort of bomb on board?”
“If we’d had more time, maybe. But we don’t. There’s going to be ex-Spetsnaz manning that boat from now until it leaves Monaco for the return trip to Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. Any element of surprise we do have would be blown if we got caught trying to plant a bomb.”
Staelin was a thinker. That was definitely to his credit. One of his repeated truisms was that the mind was like a parachute: it had to be open to work.
His impulse to continually probe and brainstorm for the best ways to accomplish an assignment made him one of the strongest contributors to the team. Harvath always had time for his ideas.
And he was right: Planting a bomb—had they the time to pull it off—would have been an excellent way to take care of Tsybulsky. They could have even thrown the Ukrainians a bone and given them the credit without having even been on scene. Unfortunately, that wasn’t what the universe had handed them. “Easy” didn’t appear anywhere on tonight’s list of mission options. As team leader, Harvath ultimately had final say in how and what would be done.
To that end, there was one element to the assignment that only he knew about. He had not shared it with Sølvi or anyone else. Even Nicholas wasn’t aware of it.
Regardless of what Inessa decided, the CIA had authorized Harvath to assist the Ukrainian commandos in taking out Tsybulsky. Langley wanted the oligarch gone just as much as Kyiv did and this kind of opportunity was too good to pass up. The ultimate call was his, but the Agency had made it crystal clear where they stood on the matter.
There were multiple pieces to synchronize between the Inessa op in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat and Tsybulsky in Monte Carlo—cars, boats, lookouts, et cetera, but so far so good. Things were coming together.
Harvath wanted to give the commandos some time to finish checking their gear and told them he’d be back with the rest of the team in about forty-five minutes for a final mission briefing.
The only person who wouldn’t be at the meeting would be Barton. After picking up their boat in Nice, he would be piloting it to a small harbor just north of Eze and waiting there for the commandos. He already knew his instructions.
After making sure the commandos had everything they needed, Harvath, Nicholas, and the dogs returned to the Range Rover for the short drive back to the villa.
“How are you feeling about everything?” Nicholas asked as Harvath started the engine and put the SUV into gear.
“As good as can be expected,” he replied.
“Good,” the little man said. Then, after a long pause, apropos of nothing, stated, “This is going to be my last assignment.”
Harvath looked at him in surprise. “You’re quitting?”
Nicholas shook his head. “Not quitting. Just not doing fieldwork anymore. Putting aside my physical condition, and the fact that the dogs are getting older, it’s a younger man’s game.”
“Speak for yourself,” Harvath joked.
The little man smiled. “People with PD don’t have the longest of life expectancies. I’ve got Nina and the baby now. I want to make the most of whatever I’ve got left. FaceTimes from hotel rooms and safehouses halfway around the world aren’t real life. They just don’t cut it.”
Harvath understood where he was coming from. In fact, he had a lot of respect for his friend’s decision. “It won’t be the same without you.”
“Yes, it will. You won’t even notice that I’m gone. I’ll still be the voice in your ear.”
“Do the powers that be know about your decision?”
Nicholas shook his head. “Not yet. I plan on letting them know when we get back. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Over the summer, when you had burned through all your vacation and sick days so you could stay in Olso with Sølvi, I thought that might be it. But when they threatened to pink-slip you if you didn’t come back, you actually started packing your bags. I’ve got to tell you, I was surprised.”
“Why?”
“Beside the fact that you outkicked your coverage in landing a woman like her?”
“Yeah,” Harvath replied with a grin, “beside that.”
“You’ve got the two things people would kill for—a mountain of money and excellent health. Yet for some reason, you’d rather keep throwing yourself in front of bullets and oncoming trains than enjoy yourself.”
“Maybe that’s how I enjoy myself.”
“If it is,” Nicholas replied, “it’s because you don’t know any better.”
Harvath pretended to check his watch. “Is this session only fifty minutes, Doctor, or do I get the whole hour?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy the summer. You and Sølvi even got to have Marco come visit. That must have been terrific.”
Having his deceased wife’s son—the little boy that he loved like his own—stay with them had been beyond terrific. What’s more, Sølvi had been wonderful about it, including having the grandparents along. She was a natural with Marco. There were times when it was just the three of them at the cottage on the fjord that he felt life couldn’t serve up anything more perfect.
“It was a good summer,” Harvath admitted.
“Bullshit,” Nicholas replied, a smile on his face. “It was a great summer. Every time I spoke with you, I could hear it in your voice.”
“That’s because you always called after five o’clock.”
“I always know I’m over the right target with you when the jokes start flying. Your sense of humor is your escape hatch.”
“Damn it,” said Harvath, as they pulled up to the villa. “We’re back already. Well, good talk. Let’s not do this again soon.”
“Everybody’s replaceable, Scot. Keep that in mind. Even you. You don’t have to stop what you’re doing, but you can change how you do it. They can’t force you to be in D.C. If you want to be with Sølvi, go be with Sølvi. You’ve earned the right to dictate your own terms.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
Nicholas shook his head as he opened his door. Harvath was never going to change. “Just think about what I said. Okay?”
CHAPTER 30
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Maggie Thomas held the White House in high esteem. To her it not only represented the pinnacle of political power but was also a shining symbol of what America stood for.
The character of the person who sat in the Oval Office was exceedingly important. They set the tone for the nation and were a projection to the rest of the world of how the United States saw itself. In her estimation, Paul Porter was an excellent president.
She had come to that decision based on who the man was, not on his party affiliation. Maggie prided herself on her lack of political bias. It was something else she had inherited from her grandmother, and it had served her well in D.C.
The only lens through which she viewed politics was “will the issue in question serve the interests of the American people and make the country better?” That was it. Plain and simple.
Over the course of his presidency, Porter had been faced with difficult foreign policy challenges. Each time, he had stepped up, done the right thing, and told the American people the truth—regardless of the consequences to his career. His courage, humility, and steadfast dedication to integrity were not only refreshing, but they also inspired fierce loyalty in the people who worked for him.
“Nervous?” Conroy asked as they entered the West Wing and headed toward the Cabinet Room.
“No,” Maggie replied. “I’ve briefed the president before.”
Steady as a fucking rock, Conroy thought to himself. Good. Competence and sobriety were exactly what they needed right now.
“POTUS likes you,” the DDO stated. “So, there’s nothing to be nervous about.”
“Andy, I’m not nervous. And whether he likes me or not is inconsequential. That’s not what I’m paid for.”
“You’re right,” Conroy conceded. “I apologize. I guess I may be the one who’s a little bit nervous.”
In the middle of the hallway, Maggie stopped and looked at him. “You? Why?”
“I hear the president’s team is extremely unhappy with the lack of visibility on Belarus. They’ve sharpened one of the fence posts along the South Lawn and are shopping for the right head to put on it.”
“Who told you that?”
“I’ve got a source inside the administration.”
“Of course you do,” Maggie replied. “Whoever it is, they’re lying to you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If we’re correct, the world is a hair’s breadth away from Russia detonating a nuclear weapon. As unhappy as some on President Porter’s team may be with our penetration of Minsk, he’s not going to begin swapping out horses in the middle of the river.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too dangerous. We’re one intelligence report away from the DEFCON status being raised. Playing musical chairs at the Agency isn’t going to fix things. Not right now. Trust me, Porter’s a pragmatist. If we continue to provide him with the best available information, he’ll make the right decisions. He’s not going to allow himself to be distracted with personnel issues.”
“I hope you’re right. It would be a shame to let you have all the fun.”
“Right,” Maggie said dryly, as she started walking again. “Especially when there’s more than enough ‘fun’ to go around.”
Upon entering the Cabinet Room, they saw that the members of the National Security Council were already seated at the large mahogany table. As Conroy knew several of them, he walked over to shake hands and say hello.
While Maggie had briefed the president before, it had always been in the Oval Office. This was her first meeting in the Cabinet Room. A bit of a history buff, she had read up on it during the ride over from Langley.
Each of the cabinet member’s chairs has a brass plaque on the back of it with the name of their position. The president’s, which is dead center on the east side of the table and is two inches taller than the others, has a plaque that reads, THE PRESIDENT.
The table had been a gift in 1970 from President Richard Nixon. All things considered, it seemed an odd item to have retained, but considering what it would have cost to replace, it was probably better for the taxpayers to leave it where it was. It also admittedly intrigued Maggie to wonder if any of the recording devices Nixon used to secretly tape conversations in the Cabinet Room involved this very same table.
Glancing around the room, she could identify dozens of places where current technology could be incorporated to covertly capture both audio and video. There was no doubt that even Nixon would be shocked by how far things had come.
The room was formal, but comfortable. A rich carpet woven with oversize stars and olive leaves covered the floor. On the walls were portraits of past presidents, each painting personally selected by President Porter himself.
A row of windows, with views out onto the Rose Garden, bathed the room in midmorning light and added a touch of momentary tranquility to the space.
Then, without any fanfare, the door to the adjoining Oval Office opened and the president stepped inside, followed by his national security advisor. Everyone in the Cabinet Room rose to attention.
“Good morning,” Porter said, bidding the attendees to be seated. “We’ve got a lot to go over, so let’s get started.”
They all took their seats and shifted their attention to the national security advisor as Porter handed him the reins.
After a couple of quick housekeeping issues, the NSA transitioned to the reason the meeting had been called. The United States and its allies were growing increasingly concerned, not only about the apparent presence of nuclear weapons in Belarus, but also Russia’s intent to use them.
He then invited the Director of National Intelligence to speak.
The DNI ran down the recent intelligence discoveries by the CIA, including Harvath’s revelation that at least two oligarchs close to Peshkov—Nekrasov and Tsybulsky, along with their families, had been summoned back to Russia and his Black Sea complex immediately.
Then he let the other shoe drop, updating everyone on that morning’s satellite imagery and the findings from the Belarus desk. The impact of the discovery rippled around the table. It was the most disturbing piece of intelligence yet to come to light.
Once the NSC members had enough time to digest the images, the DNI introduced Maggie and asked her to give a quick analysis of the situation. Clearing her throat, Maggie thanked the DNI and launched into her assessment.
“Since its invasion, Russia has used a myriad of nuclear threats, both implicit and explicit, in an effort to influence foreign decision-making and erode Western support for Ukraine. We believe that these threats, along with Russia’s possible nuclear force deployment to Belarus, raise the risk of an actual nuclear weapon being used to the highest level in decades.
