Foreign Influence (50 page)

They drank a lot and stayed in bed together for three entire days. When the Old Man called and Harvath told her he had to go, she told him she loved him and that she hoped he would keep in touch with her. She also told him that she understood and that he was doing the right thing.

As Harvath left, he consoled himself with the knowledge that if a great relationship had once been possible with Tracy, it could be possible with somebody else. Maybe even Riley, the doctor Carlton had sent to him in Geneva. For his part, though, the Old Man wasn’t forthcoming with
any further information about her. That was okay. When he was done in Yemen, he was seriously considering going to Paris to see if he could find her on his own.

Taking another sip of chai, he checked his watch and looked across the dusty street at the figure that was approaching.

“You’re late,” he said as the man pulled out one of the rickety chairs and sat down.

“Fuck you.”

Harvath smiled. If he hadn’t met Sean Chase in Chicago, he never would have been able to pick him out here in Yemen, or in any other Muslim country. He blended in perfectly. “You still mad?”

Chase’s eyes widened. “Is that a serious fucking question? Because I spent
three years
of my life infiltrating Aleem’s network only to have you cock it all up.”

“You’re young, there’ll be other assignments.”

“You’re an idiot, you know that? How do you tell somebody to just walk away and forget something like that?”

“I didn’t tell you to walk away and forget it,” said Harvath. “I told you that there’d be other assignments.”

“Spoken like a true old-timer.”

“Forty makes me an old-timer?”

“It certainly doesn’t make you a spring chicken.”

Harvath laughed. This kid was all mouth and balls. He liked him. Probably because that’s exactly the way he had been. “Hot enough for you?” he asked, changing the subject.

“We’re going to talk about the fucking weather now?” Chase asked. “I thought you had something for me. Or did you fly halfway around the world just to pull on my dick?”

Harvath laughed again.

“What’s so goddamn funny?”

“You’ve got an incredible mouth on you. If you don’t get a handle on it, it’s going to hold you back.”

“What the hell would you know about it?”

“I know,” said Harvath. “Trust me.”

“So, are we going to cuddle up and read chapter two from Miss Manners
or are you going to give me the intel you supposedly uncovered on Aleem?”

Harvath motioned for the waiter to bring another chai for his guest. Then, turning to Chase, he said, “I’ve got good news for you, Sean.”

“I bet you do. What is it?”

“Aleem’s close.”

“How close?”

Harvath pulled a set of car keys from his pocket and dropped them on the table. “See that white Corolla over there?”

Chase looked at the car and then back at Harvath. “You’ve got Aleem in there? In the trunk?”

Harvath nodded.

“Holy shit. Where’d you find him?”

“We followed the same leads you did here to Yemen.”

“Let me guess. Age and wisdom over youth and inexperience. Is that what you’re going to tell me?”

“From what I understand,” said Harvath, “you’ve already got more experience than a lot of people twice your age.”

“So what? You’re trying to tell me you’re just that good?”

Harvath smiled. “You’re going to learn, Sean, that it’s often better to be lucky than good.”

Chase rolled his eyes. “What’s the catch? What do you want?”

“Personally, I’d like you to sit and have a glass of tea with me and then you can drive me to the airport.”

“That’s it? That’s all you want?”

“I said that’s what I wanted personally. Professionally, we expect you to share everything with us you can download out of Aleem.”

“But you could do that yourself,” said Chase. “Why give him to me?”

“Because we want to. You worked harder than anyone to get close to this guy and take his network apart. A lot of people have been killed because of him and it’s going to make America look good that we captured him. My group doesn’t want any publicity. The Agency on the other hand needs the good press. Just make sure management doesn’t try to grab all the credit.”

“Thank you,” said Chase as the waiter set down his glass.

Harvath’s phone vibrated. It was an unknown number and he was tempted not to answer it, but for some stupid reason he thought maybe Carlton had given in and passed his number along to Riley in Paris.

The moment he heard the modulated voice on the other end, he knew he had made a mistake. “You owe my boss some money, Nicholas. And he wants it from you in person,” said Harvath.

“I’ve got something else the Old Man’s going to want a lot more,” replied the Troll.

“Then call him and tell him yourself,” he said as he reached for more chai. “I’m going on vacation.”

“I found something on Adda Sterk’s thumb drive.”

“What thumb drive?”

“The one I found in Geneva after you dumped her purse out looking for her inhaler.”

“That’s U.S. government property, Nicholas.”

Wherever in the world he was, the Troll laughed. “I’m doing you a favor. I really think you should see this.”

“Not interested,” said Harvath.

“Aazim Aleem has a nephew who works at Harrods.”

“So what?”

“So, his nephew was a digital courier for him. Real smart when it came to transmitting information without leaving a trail. Except he made one mistake, and I found it.”

“On the thumb drive.”

“Yes.”

Chase was listening intently. Harvath decided the conversation was over. Clinking the tiny spoon he had against his glass he said, “You know what sound that is, Nicholas? That’s the bell signaling the commencement of the local cocktail hour. I’m off the clock. I’m sure you can track down my boss if you try hard enough.”

That’s when the Troll let the other shoe fall. “A piece of data was transmitted to Sterk that never should have been. It was highly encrypted and even if she had noticed it buried in another file, I don’t think she could have decrypted it. I think that’s why it was left on her thumb drive, hidden in plain sight.”

“Okay, I give. What is it?”

The Troll took a deep breath and let it out. “Site 243 wasn’t just about a string of Islamic terrorist attacks. The attacks are a small wave preceding a giant tsunami meant to crush the United States.”

On a rooftop two blocks away, as a man listened to his employer, he could picture him sitting in his club’s library, his liver-spotted hands holding his encrypted cell phone.

“You are positive Aleem is in the trunk of the car?”

“I am,” said the man on the rooftop.

“And nothing will be traced back to us?”

“Nothing at all.”

There was a pause before the man in London finally said, “You have my permission to proceed.” With that, the line went dead.

The man on the rooftop plucked out his earbud, wrapped the cord around his cell phone, and replaced it in his pocket.

Bending over, he flipped open the lid of the hard plastic container at his feet and removed the rocket-propelled grenade.

He flipped up the sights and hoisted the weapon on his shoulder. It was heavier than he remembered. It took him a moment to focus on the white Corolla in the distance.

When he had his target perfectly aligned in his sights, Robert Ashford pulled the trigger.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
 

Acknowledgments

The people who make my job so enjoyable are you, my terrific
readers
. Thank you for all your support and all the wonderful interaction we have on the BradThor.com forum. I also want to thank the best group of
forum moderators
the Internet has ever known.

My thanks go out to the marvelous
booksellers
around the world who have been so instrumental in turning new readers on to the Scot Harvath novels.

The idea for this novel came from time spent with my good friend
Barrett Moore
. He is an amazing warrior, patriot, and one of the wisest men I know. Thank you for all the help.

In addition to Barrett,
Mr. Red, Mr. White
, and
Mr. Blue
provided exceptional background for this story. I very much wanted to name them here, but they asked me not to, content to remain in the shadows where they so professionally ply their trade.

Keeping Scot Harvath on the cutting edge is a 24/7 job and I couldn’t do it without
James Ryan
and
Rodney Cox
. I am much indebted to you for both your help with my novels and the service you have rendered our great nation.

Scott F. Hill, Ph.D.,
and
Ronald Moore
have given much to our
country, and I can always count on them to provide invaluable assistance with my writing. Gentlemen, thank you.

Rob Pincus
and
Carl Hospedales
, as usual, provided exceptional subject-matter expertise. Drinks are on me next time.

My core group of warriors:
Chad Norberg, Chuck Fretwell, Steve Hoffa, Jeff Chudwin, Mitch Shore, Gary Penrith
, and
Steven Bronson
were there for me once again with answers to all my questions. To them (and my other friends who asked to remain nameless) I want to say thank you for all you do for us. Stay safe.

I also want to thank
John Giduck
and
Joe Bail
, who gave me some very special assistance this year, as well as
Stephanie Dickerson
.

In Washington,
David Vennett
and
Patrick Doak
continue to be great resources and even better friends. Thank you.

Father C. John McCloskey, III
, helped as I developed the life and background of Padre Peio. Thank you, Father CJ.

I am blessed to be on one of the best teams in the business and wish to thank everyone at Atria and Pocket Books: my wonderful editor,
Emily Bestler;
my fantastic publishers,
Carolyn Reidy, Judith Curr
, and
Louise Burke
; my remarkable publicist,
David Brown
; the incomparable
Atria/Pocket sales staff, art and production departments
, and
audio division
, as well as the invaluable
Michael Selleck, Laura Stern, Sarah Branham, Irene Lipsky, Esther Bochner
, and
Lisa Keim
.

I also wish to thank my outstanding literary agent,
Heide Lange
, of Sanford J. Greenburger Associates, Inc., as well as the amazing
Jennifer Linnan, Rachael Dillon Fried
, and
Tara Singh
for all that they do for me.

Scott Schwimer
continues to be not only a superb attorney, but also a very good friend. Thanks, Scottie.

Finally, every step of the way and every minute of the day I am able to do what I do because of the support of my beautiful wife,
Trish
. None of this would be possible without her. Thank you, honey. I love you.

About Brad Thor

Photo Credit: Jan Cobb

My Life in 8 Words: The result of hard work and taking chances.

Q.
What is your motto or maxim?
A.
Never give up. Never give in.

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)

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