Black List

CHAPTER 26

MONTERREY, MEXICO

SATURDAY

Padre Peio’s airline contact made all Harvath’s travel arrangements and booked the tickets under the name on his Italian passport.

Using the car Eyebrows and Scarface had been driving, Harvath navigated his way back to Bilbao and abandoned it near the train station. He caught public transportation to the airport, where a ticket was waiting for him at the counter for the first leg of his journey.

He flew from Bilbao to Madrid, where Peio’s contact, an older man named Gomez, met him at the gate. He escorted Harvath to the “Sala VIP” lounge, checked him in and then led him to a quiet corner to finish transacting their business.

Gomez provided Harvath with forms and two padded FedEx shipping envelopes, then left him alone while he fetched them each a coffee. When he returned, Harvath had the packages ready to go.

The first envelope contained Gomez’s fee. Harvath had sealed the cash inside and scribbled down an imaginary address in Barcelona. The second envelope contained his real passport, as well as Riley Turner’s, along with the handful of other personal items that had been in her backpack. Harvath addressed it to one of his aliases in care of a fly-fishing resort in Alaska owned by a buddy of his. The man had received packages for Harvath before. When he saw the name on the label he would simply take it and put it in his safe until Harvath contacted him for it.

After accepting the two mailers, Gomez handed over a small wheelie bag that had been packed with clothing in Harvath’s size and a small toiletries kit. Traveling from Bilbao to Madrid with a small backpack was one thing, but traveling all the way to Mexico City without any real luggage would definitely arouse suspicion and added scrutiny. Gomez had agreed to supply the bag, probably liberated from the airline’s lost luggage department, as well as to handle Harvath’s FedEx drop-off for an additional fee.

Peio had vouched that Harvath could trust Gomez completely, which was good, since Gomez was the only man who could provide what Harvath needed.

When their business was concluded, the Spaniard wished Harvath a pleasant flight and left the VIP lounge. Harvath finished his coffee and then took his newly acquired luggage into one of the private shower rooms, where he unpacked the entire thing and stripped it all the way down. He wasn’t about to board an international flight and then attempt to clear customs in Mexico, of all places, carrying a bag someone else had given him.

Satisfied that there was nothing in it that could get Harvath in any trouble, he turned on the shower and cleaned himself up.

When his flight to Mexico City was ready to board, he shuffled out of the lounge with a Spanish daily newspaper tucked under his arm and attached himself to a group of businessmen as they made their way to the gate.

Onboard, Harvath studied the passengers around him in the business class section as he stowed his bag. No one appeared the least bit interested in him, which was just the way he liked it. Informing the flight attendants that he didn’t want to be awakened for the meal, he donned the headset from the seat pocket.

He had no idea what awaited him in Mexico, but he knew he needed to be rested for whatever came. It was much easier said than done. As the plane sped down the runway, his mind was overrun by the same questions that had been plaguing him since Paris and which had only been compounded in Spain, foremost among them—who had accused him of treason and why?

And while he didn’t want to believe he might have been betrayed, he had to ask himself how the Old Man was involved. Had he set him up? It seemed almost impossible. There were so many other ways he could have gotten to him if he had wanted. But Carlton was like a father to him. The idea that the Old Man would ever want to “get to” him at all was insane. No matter what charge anyone could ever trump up against him, the Old Man wouldn’t blindly issue a kill order. He knew Harvath too well. They had history together, a bond.

The more he thought about it, the more it pissed him off. None of it made any sense. He couldn’t get a handle on any of it, and each time he tried to fit the pieces together he only got angrier and more confused.

He knew alcohol normally wasn’t the answer, but sometimes it could be. Feigning a fear of flying, he talked a flight attendant into leaving him with several mini bottles and a glass of ice. As the liquid warmth spread through his body, it soon worked its way into his thoughts, disconnecting him from his mind in a dull haze, which allowed him finally to drift off to sleep.

It wasn’t one of the best chunks of sleep Harvath had ever had, but it was better than nothing. He awoke quite a few times, uncomfortable even in the business class seat, but was able to fall back asleep.

An hour before the plane touched down in Mexico City, he awoke again when the lights were brought up and the crew came through to serve a final meal. Harvath was hungry and downed two cups of coffee along with his food.

Despite the fitful sleep, he felt more exhausted when he stepped off the plane than when he had gotten on.

As he moved through the airport, he kept his hat on, his collar up, and his eyes looking down, trying to avoid the cameras as best he could. At least three people knew that he was on his way to Mexico, and that was already three too many.

The customs and immigration agents seemed more interested in one another than in Harvath and his Italian passport. They simply stamped it and waved him on through. He would make his flight to Monterrey, Mexico, with time to spare.

Walking through the terminal, there were countless opportunities to relieve any number of oblivious travelers of a cell phone or a laptop computer, but he resisted the urge. It wasn’t worth the risk while in transit. Staying off the radar meant staying completely off. Hopefully he’d have answers to his questions soon enough.

After getting more coffee, he killed time in an adjacent gate area until the final call came for the flight to Monterrey. He had surveilled all of the passengers on his flight and none of them gave him any pause. Boarding, he found his seat, stowed his bag, and sat down next to an attractive young woman who seemed more interested in her stack of Mexican fashion magazines than in striking up any sort of conversation with the man sitting next to her. They were perfectly suited for each other. An hour and twenty minutes after takeoff, when the plane touched down in Monterrey, the woman was still engrossed in her reading.

Harvath made his way through the drab airport to the transportation counter and purchased a ticket into the city, then exited the terminal and walked over to a cab stand. He counted the number of vehicles in the queue and watched them as he moved forward. At the last minute, he allowed two families to step in front of him and take the awaiting taxis. They thanked him for being such a gentleman, and he smiled. None of them realized that they had done him more of a favor than he had done for them.

After showing his ticket, the driver unlocked the doors and Harvath climbed inside with his bag. Leaning over the seat, he handed the driver the address Peio had given him. The man looked at the slip of paper and then turned and looked at his passenger. “Con permiso, señor,” he said. “Estás seguro de saber lo que haces?”

Even if Harvath didn’t possess a minor grasp of Spanish, he would have understood the question just by the look on the man’s face. Was Harvath sure he really wanted to be taken to that part of town? “Sí,” Harvath replied. “Vámonos.”

The man shrugged, put his cab in gear, and pulled out into evening traffic.

It was a twenty-minute drive from the airport into the city, one of the largest in Mexico. It was hard to believe that in 2005 it was ranked the safest city in all of Latin America. Now it was wracked with cartel violence and incredibly dangerous, each year bloodier than the one before.

Harvath had no idea where the address was that the taxi driver was taking him to, but he had a feeling it wasn’t one of the city’s garden spots. By the same token, Harvath hadn’t expected it to be anything spectacular. Orphanages didn’t usually occupy prime real estate.

He had to hand it to Nicholas, though. Being plugged into a worldwide network of orphanages was very much akin to how intelligence agencies used NGOs. They provided a certain amount of cover at ground level and allowed you to tap into what was happening “on the street” better than at almost any other level save for narcotics or law enforcement organizations. Orphanages often had a religious affiliation that put them above reproach and scrutiny. On top of that, if they had been treated well, former charges who were now adults could be incredibly loyal and prove extremely helpful in certain situations.

Harvath didn’t doubt Nicholas’s sincerity, but he also didn’t doubt that Nicholas structured many of his relationships with a secondary benefit in mind.

Nearing the city, the driver—who had wisely stayed off the highways because they were controlled by the drug cartels—began taking narrower side streets. Many of the buildings were dilapidated and covered with graffiti. At the next stoplight, a street vendor appeared and the driver double-clicked the cab’s door locks. It was the man’s subtle way of giving his passenger a heads-up. It happened again two blocks later as a motorcycle came up from behind and slowed down next to them, its rider taking a particularly long look at Harvath before moving on.

Five minutes later, the cab came to a stop not outside an orphanage, but a dimly lit tavern. Sensing his passenger’s confusion, the driver read the address aloud from the slip of paper as if to say, “This is where you asked to be taken,” and handed it back to him. Harvath turned over the fare ticket along with a U.S. twenty dollar bill as a tip, grabbed his suitcase, and got out.

He looked up at the battered colonial façade and checked the address himself. Sure enough, it was the one Peio had given him. The cab idled as Harvath stood on the sidewalk studying the tavern. The sound of Mexican pop music could be heard from inside. A bad feeling began to overtake him. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was walking into an ambush.

The longer he stood waiting outside, the more attention he was going to draw to himself, so he decided to walk in. As he moved toward the door, he heard the cabdriver put the taxi in gear and drive away.

Harvath was now totally on his own.