Path of the Assassin (3 page)

“Whatever you’re going to do, I hope it works.”

Harvath pulled a pair of Cyclone glasses from the pocket of his cargo pants. The wraparound glasses had padded eyecups, which like goggles, protected eyes from wind, debris, and even water at full throttle.

“We’re coming up to the straightaway now,” said Cheng.

Harvath downshifted and redlined the tachometer once again. He set the cruise control and hit the automatic window button as he popped on the Cyclone glasses and tightened the foam safety band around his head. He let go of the wheel and crawled out the window until he was sitting on the sill.

He kept his face turned into the wind, which helped keep the glasses plastered to his face and the rain out of his eyes. The Glock pistol felt as light as a feather as the wind threatened to tear it from his hands. Summoning all of his strength, he managed to rest it on the roadster’s canvas top and point it at the speeding Mercedes. He took aim and let loose a thunderous volley of fire. The Mercedes’s rear window shattered, and the left rear tire exploded in a maelstrom of screaming black rubber. For a moment, Harvath thought he could make out the driver’s silver-black eyes in the rearview mirror before the Mercedes swerved out of control.

Totally drenched, Harvath quickly slid back inside the Audi.

The driver of the Mercedes had regained some control and was now speeding ahead of them on only three tires and a rim. When they neared the Mandarin Oriental hotel, the Mercedes fishtailed wildly in a hard right, and Scot realized he had come full circle.

“We’ve got him now,” said Harvath as he pressed down on the accelerator.

At that exact moment, the driver of the Mercedes began firing through the open space where the rear window of the Mercedes used to be. Harvath jerked the wheel of the Audi hard to the left as enormous bullets tore holes straight up its hood. The car spun through a slick puddle and Scot saw everything happen in slow motion. Neither vehicle could escape its fate. As the Audi swerved in its inescapable trajectory toward a pile of scaffolding and construction equipment, the Mercedes barreled down on a row of parked cars.

The Audi hit hard on Cheng’s side and all the air bags deployed.

Upon slamming into the row of parked cars, the Mercedes was thrust high into the air and came down with a loud crash.

Once he had shaken off the shock of the impact, Harvath’s eye caught the bullet hole in the Audi’s windshield. Even before he turned to look at Sammy Cheng, he knew his friend had been hit. Harvath could hear the sound of gurgling blood coming from the hole the bullet had carved through Cheng’s throat. He tried to stanch the flow, but it was no use. Within seconds, Cheng stopped breathing and was dead.

Enraged, Harvath climbed from the Audi and stumbled down the block to where the Mercedes lay upturned and burning. He approached the car from the rear, trying to steady his Glock. He began applying pressure to the trigger as he neared the driver’s side door. In one fluid motion that belied the battered state of his body, he swung the pistol through the window, searching for the car’s driver. The Mercedes was empty. Harvath searched the street, thinking that maybe the driver had been thrown clear. There was nothing. Absolutely no sign. The deadly, silver-eyed assassin had vanished into the storm.

It was a week since the debacle in Macau and Harvath still couldn’t shake his feelings of failure. He had come to Switzerland after Cheng’s death to lick his wounds and be with Claudia, but things weren’t turning out as he had hoped.

Harvath rolled over and felt the empty space next to him. It was cold. Claudia had long since left for her office. Although he wasn’t the sentimental type, it bothered him that she had stopped doing so many things lately. She had stopped kissing him good-bye in the morning, had stopped leaving a coffee cup out for him, had stopped leaving notes in her bathroom, and worst of all, she had stopped trusting him.

When Harvath returned from Hong Kong and Macau, he had expected to be spending a few days with Claudia at her parents’ farm in Grindelwald before Gerhard Miner’s trial started. Instead, Claudia had “decided” that she needed to spend more time preparing the case and Scot was left in Bern to his own devices.

He knew why she was doing this. No matter how many times he answered her questions, which began the minute she picked him up at the airport in Zurich, she just refused to believe him. Claudia didn’t like being stonewalled, nor did Harvath for that matter, but matters of national security couldn’t be shared, even if two people were sharing other things, like the same bed.

Though Harvath couldn’t say where he had been and refused to let Claudia look at his passport, she knew he had been in Asia. She also knew that he was somehow involved in the killing of Philip Jamek. Jamek would have been useful in her pending prosecution of Miner, but now he was of no use to anyone.

It pained Harvath to see a rift developing between him and Claudia, but he couldn’t tell her the truth, not the full truth. He had tried to assure her that he’d had nothing to do with the killing of Jamek. That much was true. Someone else had wanted Jamek dead, but why? The Chinese wouldn’t have put a hit out on him. That wouldn’t have made any sense. Maybe Jamek had double-crossed somebody in one of his arms deals and the hit was payback. Or maybe it was something else entirely. All Harvath really knew was that the eyes of the assassin still haunted him.

Whether he had been in Asia, Macau specifically, during Jamek’s killing was classified and something he couldn’t discuss. Claudia would just have to deal with that. And she did.

She dealt with it by burying herself in her work. After helping Scot rescue the president and arrest Gerhard Miner, she had been promoted. She was now a full-fledged prosecutor, her dream come true, and was part of the team that was going to make sure Gerhard Miner never again walked the streets as a free man.

In a move that stunned the rest of the world, Switzerland had steadfastly refused to extradite Miner to stand trial in the United States. The Swiss assured the Americans that they would see to it that justice was done, but that Miner would not be put to death for his crimes. If found guilty, which the Swiss government assured the United States was going to happen, he would spend the rest of his life behind bars.

With the increased demands placed upon Claudia by her promotion, it had become obvious to Scot that their hopes for a workable relationship were fading. Harvath was on a special leave of absence granted by the president, but at some point he would be expected to return home and take up his new position as director of Secret Service Operations for the White House. Once that happened, it would be next to impossible for them to see each other. In both of their occupations, the demands of career came first and personal lives second. Each had worked too hard to get where they were to give it all up and move to another country simply for love.

Though Harvath refused to answer many of Claudia’s questions, not a day went by that he didn’t ask for access to Gerhard Miner. The Swiss felt they had cooperated fully and had provided unprecedented access to Miner already. Teams of interrogators from both the FBI and CIA, as well as a host of American diplomats had already paraded through the high security facility fifteen kilometers northeast of Bern where Miner was kept. One Secret Service agent, even one as bright as the Swiss realized Scot Harvath to be, was not going to make any difference, in their opinion. Miner had said everything to the Americans he was going to say. What’s more, Miner had told the Swiss that he would become extremely uncooperative if his government let Agent Harvath anywhere near him. He even threatened a lawsuit of his own. During the rescue of the president, Harvath had beaten Miner almost to death. Miner still bore much of the trauma, including not only one of the most severe cases of arthritis the Swiss prison doctors had ever seen, but also extensive nerve damage throughout his face from Harvath’s having shattered his jaw in seven places. No, the Swiss were not going to let Scot Harvath anywhere near Gerhard Miner. Even a direct appeal from the U.S. president, Jack Rutledge himself, had failed to move the Swiss.

Had Claudia wanted, she could have gotten Scot access, but since he wasn’t cooperating with her, she wasn’t going to cooperate with him. Plain and simple.

The thought was still lingering in his mind when the phone rang.

“Mueller residence,” he said as he answered Claudia’s cordless.

“Scot, it’s me,” replied Claudia.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

An awkward silence followed.

“Listen, I want to tell you I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” he asked.

“Things haven’t been good for us.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“You know I care for you very much.”

“I know.”

“It’s just…I don’t know that this is going to work out.”

Even though he knew what she was talking about, he still had to ask, “You don’t know that
what
is going to work out?”

“Us. A relationship. We went through something very difficult and very dangerous. It brought us together very fast, probably too fast, but our lives are very different. You have yours back in Washington, and I have mine here in Bern.” Then came the dreaded, “We can still be friends, though, right?”

Scot ignored the question and said, “Claudia, why are you telling me this now, over the phone?”

She was silent.

“Claudia? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, I was distracted. Things are very busy here now.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“It’s been moved up.”

“‘Moved up’? What are you talking about?”

“Miner’s case. His attorneys made a motion to the judge that we thought we could knock down. We failed. There’s a preliminary hearing this morning and Miner will be present. With the trial moved up, I am going to have a lot of work to do. I’m going to be keeping late hours and I just think maybe we should stop things between us now.”

Harvath, usually never at a loss for words or a snappy comeback, for once in his life was silent.

“Scot, are you okay?” asked Claudia.

“How long have you known about this?”

“About the hearing? I have known for a couple of days.”

“What’s your security like? What do you have in place?”

“Don’t worry, Agent Harvath, the Americans aren’t the only ones who know how to transport a prisoner and secure a courtroom.”

“Claudia, from what you have told me about this Jamek character in Macau—”

“Scot, I don’t have time for this, and I don’t want to listen to you lie to me about what happened in Macau. I know you were there. When you couldn’t get what you wanted out of Miner, you went looking for Jamek, hoping he could tell you something.”

“Claudia, I told you. I had nothing to do with Jamek being killed.”

“Yes, you did say that, but you have not denied knowing about it, and you also haven’t denied being in Macau when it happened.”

“You know I can’t tell you where I was or what I was doing.”

“I know, but it still hurts. You are important to me. You know that.”

“Then get me in to see Miner. I need to talk to him. I promise you I won’t lay a hand on him.”

“I wish I could help you. More than that, I wish I could believe you, but I can’t, not about Macau, not about Miner, not about anything. It’s just better that we end things, okay? Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Okay, Claudia, you’re right. You have your life here and I have mine back in D.C. As much as we might have wanted it to, it won’t work. But will you do one last thing for me?”

“Scot, I told you I cannot grant you access to Miner.”

“No, forget that. How are you transporting Miner?”

“I can’t tell you that. Not over the phone.”

“Tell me this, then. Will you be part of the team that transports him to the courthouse?”

“Of course.”

“Then I want to ride along with you.”

“You want to what? That’s ridiculous. Besides, I told you I don’t trust you to be anywhere near Miner.”

“Claudia, this isn’t about him. I don’t care who you have doing security; they can’t possibly know half the things that I do. Call me arrogant, but when it comes to this stuff, no one does it better than the U.S. Secret Service. Think about it as a free security consultation. There’s plenty of countries that pay big money for this kind of review.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I just want to know your route and the courtroom are safe. That’s all. You have my word. I promise. Miner won’t even know I’m there. I am doing this out of concern for you.”

“For me? Why?”

“Because someone wanted Philip Jamek dead. I’m convinced it wasn’t the Chinese. They were going to kill him, all right, but he would have been given at least some semblance of a trial beforehand. Somebody else wanted Jamek dead, and it may or it may not have to do with Miner, but at least I can go home knowing you’re safe.”

“Okay, Scot, you win. I’ll call a cab to bring you to the office. I just hope this is not a mistake.”

An hour and forty-five minutes later, Harvath was seated in the passenger seat of Claudia’s VW as they headed out of Bern on the short trip to the prison. The convoy consisted of eight vehicles. Two police motorcycles led the way, followed by two police cars, the transport van, two more marked police cars, and finally Claudia’s car, bringing up the rear.

Even in a country like Switzerland, where the inhabitants prided themselves on their obsession with organization, things could go amiss. Bern was constantly plagued with traffic jams, and today was no exception. Harvath didn’t enjoy being in the last vehicle of the convoy, and repeatedly asked Claudia to translate the dialogue with the lead vehicles that was going back and forth over her radio. Claudia assured him it was nothing more than normal Bernese traffic and that the motorcycle police were complaining that people weren’t responding quickly enough to their sirens. In all fairness to the people of Bern, it wasn’t easy to “hop to” when you heard a police siren, especially when you were stuck in traffic on a narrow, one-way medieval street with cars parked on both sides.

“We’re close now,” said Claudia, who then spoke rapid-fire Swiss German into her walkie-talkie before peeling off from the convoy.

“What are you doing?” asked Harvath, who immediately sat up straighter in his seat as Claudia broke formation.

“The courthouse is just down a little further. The press has gotten wind that Miner is appearing today, and they are out in full force. I don’t want anyone to see you going in the front, so I will take you in another way. You still want to check out the courtroom, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, but how did the press get wind of the proceeding being changed to today?”

“How do they find things out in America? People talk.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Of course it does, but that’s the way the press is. They pay everybody and have sources everywhere, but what can I do about it? Listen, including the personnel in that van, Gerhard Miner is being guarded by over twenty-five of some of the meanest and most heavily armed members of the police and Swiss military. Whether you have noticed it or not, there has been a military helicopter shadowing us the entire time Miner has been outside the prison’s walls.”

Scot had noticed the helicopter. He was impressed that Claudia had thought so far ahead, but he was still concerned.

“There are additional men posted within the courtroom itself, throughout the building, and even in plain clothes outside among members of the press. Now, Agent Harvath, how would you rate my security?”

“So far I’d have to say you’ve been pretty thorough—”

“It would take an army to get to Miner.”

Scot knew she was wrong. It was dangerous to believe that you were fully prepared. If one person was determined to do harm at any cost, there really was nothing any organization could do to stop him or her. This was the fear the Secret Service lived with twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Scot was about to share this with Claudia when her radio crackled to life with frantic shouts from one of the lead vehicles.

“What’s going on?” Scot asked.

“Some sort of accident,” she replied.

“Accident? What kind of accident?”

Claudia had already slammed on her brakes and was reversing full speed back toward where she had pulled off from the convoy. “I don’t know. Both motorcycle drivers are down. I can’t work the radio and drive backward at the same time.”

Harvath was about to suggest they trade places when an enormous explosion tore through the warm morning air. The roiling thunder-ball of fire could be seen above the buildings to their right. The radio calls grew in intensity and added to the sounds of chaos throughout the neighborhood. Harvath could distinctly make out the
whoomp whoomp whoomp
of a heavy chopper coming in from above.

Harvath grabbed hold of the wheel from Claudia and turned it hard to the left as he pulled up on the VW’s emergency brake. The car spun 180 degrees, gashing the sides of three parked cars. Claudia was too startled by Harvath’s move to speak. At least now they were headed forward and could make better time. Scot could apologize later. “Step on it,” he said.

When they rounded the corner and came back down the street where they had left the convoy, it looked as if they had driven into a war zone. At least fifteen cars were burning out of control. Glass and flaming wreckage were scattered everywhere, and several shops and nearby buildings were also engulfed in flames.

Claudia drove in as close as she could, and then she and Harvath jumped out of the car and began running. It was immediately evident that this had been no accident. A very large explosive device had been detonated right when the motorcade passed. Harvath saw Claudia draw her weapon.

“How about me?” he asked.

Without breaking stride, Claudia reached underneath her blazer, withdrew a short Walther P38K and tossed it to Harvath. She pressed her walkie-talkie against her mouth and began shouting orders.

When she finally came up for air, she turned to Harvath and said, “One of the plainclothes men said he thinks the motorcycles were taken out by a sniper. When they went down, the convoy stopped and that’s when the explosion happened. I have the helicopter searching the area, and the city police are setting up roadblocks.”

The fire eventually stopped them from getting any closer, and Scot stood by while Claudia tried to coordinate the collective efforts of the police and military personnel via walkie-talkie. When emergency crews arrived on the scene, it took them over three hours to get the fires under control. It was another four hours before the techs had accumulated any evidence.

The explosive device had been a car bomb. Based on the make and model of the car, residents said they thought it had been parked on the street for at least two days, but nobody was certain, nor could they come up with a description of who had been driving it. The police had only one witness, but they immediately discounted her. She was an old gypsy who roamed the neighborhood poking through garbage cans with a stick, and was thought to be quite mad. She said she had seen the driver and, when asked to describe him, replied simply that it was none other than Satan. The Devil had looked at her with eyes that could change colors—from silver to black, like the moon turning into slate.

Standing nearby, Harvath could make out enough of the woman’s heavily accented German, along with her gestures, to pick up on what she was talking about. His suspicions had been right on the mark. The same person who had killed Philip Jamek wanted Gerhard Miner dead. The Lions had known something, and someone had wanted to make sure they were kept quiet—permanently.

Harvath was trying to connect the loose array of dots in his mind when Claudia came over and spoke to him. “There’s something up the street I’d like you to take a look at.”

“What?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. She began walking and Scot followed.

Harvath did not believe in coincidences. As a matter of fact, swearing off coincidences was how you stayed alive in his line of work. They just simply didn’t exist. That was what made the attack on the convoy all the more disturbing. His two best leads were now dead. What were the odds that Jamek and Miner had intentionally been killed before they could tell Harvath, or anyone else for that matter, what they knew about that fateful night the Spec Ops team was taken out?

Claudia led him into a narrow apartment building and up several flights of stairs. In typical European fashion, there was no elevator, and they had to hoof it all the way up.

On the top landing, she motioned toward an open apartment door, where inside a team of crime-scene technicians was busy at work. Claudia spoke briefly with the lead investigator and then translated for Scot.

“According to the landlady, the occupant of this flat has been out of town on vacation for the last week. The door shows signs of forced entry, but nothing appears to have been taken.”

“And?”

“And wait till you see what’s in the bedroom.”

Claudia led Harvath past the photographers and men dusting for fingerprints. In the bedroom lying on the bed, next to a pane of glass that had been surgically removed from the window, was a long, black rifle.

“Do you recognize that?” asked Claudia.

“It looks like a fifty-caliber Barrett sniper rifle. One of the best money can buy.”

“Very good. Ever seen one of these before?” asked Claudia as she ejected a round from the five-round detachable magazine. “They’ve already been dusted for prints. There’s nothing on them.”

Harvath accepted the almost six-inch-long projectile and held it up to the light coming in through the window. “This is a Barnes bullet.”

“You can tell the manufacturer just by looking at it?”

“There’s nothing else like it. It has a very distinct shape. The U.S. Navy had it developed for use by their SEAL snipers in the Gulf War. This bullet holds the world record at one thousand meters, and SEALs have even reported confirmed kills with it at over two thousand.”

“So taking out the motorcycle escorts with head shots at four hundred meters would have been easy.”

“I wouldn’t say easy. My guess is the shooter used the attached bipod for added stability and was obviously careful with his ammunition selection. If you look here, you can see that he also used a top-of-the-line Leupold scope with an optical filter to reduce sun glare.”

“What about a laser range finder?”

“Did your people find one in the apartment?”

“No, it just seems like it would have been helpful for a shot like this.”

“Probably, but to tell you the truth, range finder or not, whoever we’re dealing with is one incredibly skilled marksman who really knows his equipment.”

“Who would want to kill Miner?” Claudia asked as she took back the fifty-caliber bullet from Harvath.

“Where do you want me to start, and how much time do you have? His group did a lot of murder for hire before kidnapping President Rutledge.”

“I know, but it was common knowledge that we were going to lock him up and throw away the key. His trial was nothing more than a formality. He was essentially finished for life. Why go to all this trouble?”

“Maybe somebody thought jail was too good for him,” Scot offered.

“Maybe. But someone also went to a lot of trouble in Macau to kill Jamek as well. Someone wanted to make sure both Miner and Jamek were definitely dead. Why? It doesn’t make sense.”

Maybe it didn’t make sense to Claudia, but a picture was beginning to form in Harvath’s mind.

While Claudia returned to conducting her investigation, Harvath made plans to leave Switzerland. Where he was headed next was one of the last places he thought he would ever see again.