Foreign Agent

CHAPTER 59

Harvath was pissed. The Hadids had lost two good men and all they got in return was a dead Russian general.

Vella didn’t buy that Proskurov may have bitten down on a cyanide tablet. Nobody did that anymore, especially Russians. They made deals — comfortable sanctuary in the United States in exchange for information. Proskurov had to have had an underlying medical condition.

It didn’t matter to Harvath what the cause of death was. His plans for recording Proskurov’s “confession” and then using that to sow doubt, mistrust, panic, and fear throughout the ranks of ISIS were shot.

He set the laptop bag from the saltbox on top of Mathan’s desk and unzipped it.

Inside was a thin, ruggedized laptop — a style popular with soldiers and spies deployed to harsh environments. Opening the lid, the first thing he noticed was the fingerprint sensor.

A lot of things had moved to biometrics. They eliminated the need to constantly change passwords.

Powering it up, he carried it back to the supply room and waited for the security prompt. When it appeared, he reached under the drop cloth, grabbed Proskurov’s right hand, and swiped his index finger along the sensor.

Thinking he was good, Harvath stood up, but was greeted by a second security prompt, a picture of an eyeball with crosshairs over it. He called for the Hadids to come help him. He also told them to bring some more tape.

Putting the General in a sitting position, they propped him up against the wall. Harvath then taped his eyelids open.

He had no idea if the computer required an iris or a retinal scan and whether it was the left eye, the right eye, or both. With Proskurov ready to go, Harvath held the laptop in front of him and activated the scan. A status bar charted its progress.

Two seconds later there was a chime as the General’s desktop screen came to life.

Tan folders littered a bland, medium-blue background. Everything was written in Russian.

Technically and linguistically, Harvath was nearing the outer edge of his expertise. He knew better than to push it. It was time to get a professional involved.

In order to do that, though, he was going to need better signal strength for his phone.

It took Thoman a half hour to pick up his taxi and return. Once he did, Harvath hopped in back and got to work.

Using the USB cable from his charger, he connected the laptop to his encrypted phone. Over his earpiece, he listened to Nicholas explain what he was doing as he took control of his screen.

Harvath watched as the little man back in the United States remotely opened folder after folder for him.

There were reams and reams of inane government memos. The Russians seemed to paper their employees to death in much the same way that the Americans did.

Finally, Nicholas hit on something.

“What is it?” Harvath asked.

“Something apparently worth encrypting.”

“Can you decrypt it?”

“It’s password protected,” the little man replied. “It’s going to take some time.”

Harvath looked at the battery life remaining on the computer and said, “The laptop is at about thirty percent power.” Making sure there was a cord in the carrying case, he turned his attention to Thoman. “I need somewhere to plug in. How long will it take us to get to the loft?”

“Twenty minutes. If there are no checkpoints.”

Harvath doubted the laptop’s battery would last that long. He also didn’t want to run the risk of hitting a checkpoint. “Let’s go back to the garage. We’ll charge it up there and try again.”

“I know someplace we can try,” offered Thoman. “Not far from here. You should be able to plug in. Your phone should get a good signal.”

“Is it safe?”

“Safe enough.”

It was a hole in the wall. A couple of men sat at a table in back, smoking a hookah and playing backgammon.

Thoman signaled for two coffees as he let Harvath choose where he wanted to sit. He picked a table near an outlet with a good view of the front door.

“How’s your signal?”

Harvath looked down at the phone. “Excellent.”

“Good.”

When the café owner brought over the coffees, he and Thoman spoke for several moments. As they were finishing, Thoman asked Harvath, “Do you want to smoke?”

Not particularly, thought Harvath, but as he was trying to blend in, he nodded. “Sure. Thank you.”

The café owner returned and prepared the hookah with watermelon-flavored tobacco. Harvath wasn’t a fan, but he took a few pulls nonetheless.

As he watched the smoke rise toward the stained ceiling, he thought about all of the cigarettes Yusuf had smoked on their ride from Jordan.

He knew where his mind was going to go next — to Yusuf having cancer and getting robbed at the border.

Though he normally liked silence, he decided talking might be better. “Why did you pick this place?” he asked Thoman.

“Because of the owner.”

“What about him?”

“He grew up with my father. They were good friends.”

So much for steering away from serious issues. “Where’s your mom? Is she in Damascus?”

Thoman shook his head. “Paris. Moved there after the regime murdered my father.”

“She can’t be happy that you and your brother stayed behind.”

“No. She’s not happy, but I think she understands. Our father worked with the Americans. CIA. That’s why he was killed.”

“I’m sorry,” Harvath replied.

“You shouldn’t be. He was doing what he thought was right. He was an honorable man.”

“I’m sure he was.”

“And you?” Thoman asked.

“What about me?”

“Your father. What does he do?”

“He was a Navy SEAL. He died in a training accident.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He loved it.”

“And your mother?”

“She lives in California,” said Harvath.

“Is she bothered by what you do?”

It was a good question. Harvath had to think about the right way to respond. Finally, he said, “She doesn’t really know what my job is. What she does know is that I try to do the right thing.”

Thoman smiled. “Because that’s the way you were raised.”

“By both of them. Yes.”

“We have a few things in common.”

Harvath smiled as well. “We do.”

Sitting back in his chair, he was about to take another puff from the hookah when a text message appeared on his phone from Nicholas.

It was in all caps and read URGENT. CALL ME.