As with his passion for food, the little man had been a gourmand in the realm of exotic sexual practices. The pool within which he could “fish” for the right professionals was quite limited. Eventually, one of his enemies had discovered the highly secretive service he employed. An assassin was dispatched and Nicholas had almost died.
Those days, though, were behind him. An intriguing woman named Nina had become a permanent fixture in his life. She understood not only who he now was, but also why.
Once his adversary, Scot Harvath had become Nicholas’s friend. He had realized his talents and had given him an opportunity to go from an international fugitive to being one of the key players of his team. Even Reed Carlton, who had been highly suspicious, eventually grew to trust and respect him. In fact, it was Carlton who had convinced the President of the United States to pardon his past offenses and make him a citizen.
For the first time since his parents had abandoned him at a brothel, Nicholas had the one thing he had always wished for — people who cared for him and a semblance of an actual family.
As Harvath poured, the little man explained what he had prepared. The wine was from France, but everything else was classic Belgian. There was tomate crevette, ham and endive gratin, and sole meunière.
Before they dug in, Jasinski had a question. Ever since she had entered the guesthouse, music had been playing. It sounded familiar and she thought she recognized the artist. “Have we been listening to George Clinton and Parliament-Funkadelic this whole time?”
Nicholas looked at Harvath and grinned. “I like her. A lot.”
Both men were fans of funk music in general, and George Clinton and Parliament-Funkadelic in particular. The fact that Jasinski recognized what they were listening to said a lot about her. Good taste in music wasn’t easy to come by.
As they ate, they made small talk. Harvath hoped to bond with her and get to know her better. In order to facilitate a conversation, he opened up — a little.
Referring to the back-and-forth that had taken place at the gate, she asked about his military background. Harvath explained that he had been a Navy SEAL.
When she asked which team, he told her. “I started at Team Two and ended up at Team Six. They now call it Development Group, or DEVGRU for short.”
He described how he had caught the attention of the Secret Service and had worked for the White House, after which he gradually moved into the role he was now in.
“As a consultant,” she repeated, the skepticism evident in her voice.
“If it flies, floats, or fights — chances are I have consulted on it,” he replied with a smile, taking a sip of his wine.
There was something devilish about him. He reminded her of someone from her past — someone she had loved very much, someone who had been taken from her way too soon.
She glanced at his left hand again, as she had when they’d first met, and there was still no ring, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Plenty of operators removed their wedding bands when they were away on assignments.
“Let’s stop playing games,” she said. “You’ve been holding out on me. I want to know what’s going on.”
He smiled. She was the right choice for this job. Her intelligence and her instincts were excellent.
Leaning back in his chair, Harvath picked up a folder from the credenza behind him and set it on the table. Opening it, he removed three photographs and slid them toward her. “Do you recognize these?”
Jasinski looked at them and nodded. “They’re crime scene photos from the attacks on the NATO diplomats in Portugal, Spain, and Greece. In Lisbon a high-powered rifle was used, in Madrid a rather sophisticated car bomb, and in Thessaloniki a .45 handgun was fired by a passenger on the back of a motorcycle.”
“Correct,” said Harvath. “The victims all worked for NATO and all the attacks happened in NATO countries. What else did they have in common?”
She thought for a moment. “Allegedly, they were carried out by the same organization — some new terrorist group called the People’s Revolutionary Front.”
“Exactly,” said Harvath. “Except the PRF isn’t real.”
“What?” asked Jasinski, confused.
“The People’s Revolutionary Front is all made up. It isn’t real.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a two-pronged attack against NATO. The first part involves the attacks themselves. They’re meant to create an internal panic and drain NATO resources as SHAPE moves to secure all their diplomats and facilities while simultaneously hunting down the perpetrators.
“Then there’s the propaganda component. With each attack, the PRF puts out a gratuitous statement, describing NATO as an imperialist organization, propped up by global corporations, committed to war, conquest, and profiteering, among a host of other false charges. Each attack gets them even more news coverage.
“On the Internet, armies of trolls and bots repeat the lies. They attack anyone with a pro-NATO stance. They put out fake news stories to amplify their message, to appear like they are part of a broad international movement. Their goal is to throw NATO into chaos and to cause the citizens of its member countries to question the organization’s ultimate value.”
She was stunned. “But to what end?” she asked.
“To prevent NATO from effectively responding to an invasion.”
“By whom?”
Harvath took a long pause before responding. “Russia.”
Jasinski couldn’t believe it. “You’re telling me Russia is behind the attacks on our diplomats?”
Harvath nodded.
“And the attempted sabotage of American military equipment in Norway?”
He nodded again.
“How can you be so sure?”
He looked at her. “Because I personally put the bag over the head of the Russian embassy official who provided this information.”
CHAPTER 15
“Wait,” she said. “You kidnapped a Russian embassy official?”
“Technically, he was Russian Military Intelligence.”
“GRU?” she asked, using the popular acronym for the Main Intelligence Directorate of the General Staff of the Russian Army, Russia’s largest and most secretive foreign intelligence service.
He nodded once more. “Colonel Viktor Sergun. He was operating as Russia’s military attaché to Germany, out of their embassy in Berlin.”
“And you just snatched him off the street?”
“No. From his apartment.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”
“Believe it.”
Jasinski shook her head. “There’s no way NATO condoned something like that.”
“I wasn’t working for NATO at the time,” he stated.
“Then whom were you working for?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Jasinski shook her head again. He was exasperating — all the subterfuge, all the double-speak. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume it was for the United States. I’m going to go even further out on that same limb and assume it probably involved more consulting, right?” She drew the word “consulting” out as if it was some sort of slur.
Harvath let her get it out of her system. He knew what was in her file. He knew she hated the Russians just as much as he did, if not more. She also believed in the rule of law — as did he. But she wasn’t yet at the point where she was willing to bend one to beat the other.
“By the way,” she continued, “what does consulting even mean? That the law doesn’t apply to you? That you can do whatever you want, wherever you want, whenever you want — all in the name of winning? Is that what consulting is?”