Full Black

CHAPTER 69

The story of James Standing’s “suicide” made headlines around the world. The question from Hong Kong to Hartford, though, was Why? Why would a man who had everything end his own life?

That question was answered days later when the New York Post ran a front-page story about documents and photos that had been sent to one of its Page Six gossip editors. The story, presumed to have been leaked by an NYPD detective or forensics investigator, detailed how Standing had consumed a combination of wine and sleeping pills and climbed into his bathtub to slit his wrists. Before he could do so, he succumbed to the overdose. The razor was found after the tub had been drained.

The motivation for his death was said to be a DVD the police found in his bedroom. It was a rough cut of a documentary entitled Well Endowed. The film detailed how Standing had funneled profits from several of his hedge fund clients into a grand plan designed to collapse the U.S. government called Project Green Ramp. The film also included interrogation footage of two men, both of whom had had their faces blurred. One of the men, whom the Post claimed spoke English with a heavy Russian accent, could be seen admitting to having been hired to kill the film’s creative team, executive producer Larry Salomon, director Chip Marcus, and associate producer Jeremy Andrews. The mere suggestion that James Standing might be connected to the multiple homicides in Los Angeles set the media on fire.

The real bombshell in the Post story came from the interrogation of the second subject, a British man, who claimed that James Standing had financed and planned the devastating wave of terrorist attacks that had killed so many innocent Americans.

Within hours of the New York Post story, the Department of Justice launched a formal investigation.

Based on information provided by Robert Ashford and corroborated by Mansoor Aleem in Iceland, a detailed list of U.S. cells within the unrestricted warfare terror network was developed and delivered to the FBI, which, in conjunction with the U.S. Marshals Service and local law enforcement agencies, orchestrated an amazing nationwide roundup of all of the terrorist suspects.

Sean Chase and Pat Murphy flew from Iceland back to Sweden and found Mustafa Karami and Sabah right where Ashford told them they would, in a small apartment in Stockholm’s red-light district. Chase was forced to use his left hand but dispatched Karami with exceptional precision. Pat Murphy, on behalf of his teammates, made Sabah suffer. He shot him in the knees and worked his way slowly upward until he decided to end it and put his last round in the giant’s forehead and the man’s lifeless corpse slumped to the ground.

Back in Los Angeles, Martin Sevan accompanied Larry Salomon and Luke Ralston to a quiet meeting with LAPD detectives and the Los Angeles County district attorney. They were no longer active suspects in the murders that had taken place at Larry Salomon’s home.

Martin Sevan wanted the entire thing put to bed. Both of his clients wanted to get on with their lives. With all of the buzz Well Endowed had received in the press, Larry Salomon was eager to complete the film’s postproduction.

At first, he’d had no idea how James Standing had gotten hold of a rough cut of the film. But when he heard it included interrogation footage and that one of the men being interrogated was a Russian, he realized Scot Harvath must have been behind it.

Though he wasn’t officially asked to keep quiet about Harvath’s involvement, he knew it was the right thing to do. Thanks to him, everyone was clamoring to see Well Endowed. Several prestigious film festivals even offered to host, sight unseen, the premiere.

Salomon, though, had a different idea. If the communities would have him, he wanted to screen the film in the cities and towns whose movie theaters had been attacked. His plan was to show the film in outdoor venues. It seemed only right that those who had been attacked get the first look at the documentary.

All the cities and towns had to say was yes. Salomon didn’t want anything else from them. He would cover all the screening costs. He wanted to be part of helping people to heal.

And in a way, maybe it would help him heal. After the screening tour, Salomon planned to travel to Israel. He needed to make peace. He needed to make peace with himself and with what had happened to Rachael. He no longer wanted to be the man he was. He wanted to go back to being the man he had been before Rachael’s death. To do that, he needed to let go of a lot of things. He hoped the screenings and time away would allow him to do that.

Under Martin Sevan’s counsel, they went through the formality of answering a final round of questions for the authorities and were then allowed to leave.

When Luke Ralston stepped outside, he saw Ali Sevan waiting for him. He exchanged a few words with Larry and Martin, who walked off to their cars as he walked over to talk with Ali.

“Case closed?” she asked.

“Case closed,” he replied. He was surprised to see her and also surprised that her father hadn’t even batted an eye when he saw her outside waiting for all of them. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought maybe we could have lunch.”

“Lunch?”

“There are some things we should talk about.”

Ralston was unsure what to make of her offer. “Does Brent know you’re here?” he asked, referring to her husband.

“That’s one of the things I want to talk about,” she replied, holding up her left hand.

He must have missed it on the beach, but she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

Reading the look on his face, she said, “We’ve been divorced for about six months.”

“When I asked you about him, you said he was fine.”

Ali smiled. “I was telling you the truth. As a lawyer, I’m professionally forbidden to lie.”

Ralston smiled back. “We’ll have to take your car,” he said. “Mine’s going to be in the shop for a long time.”

While the rest of the loose ends were being tied up, the Old Man had sent Harvath to Paris for a meeting. Reed Carlton had always had a good relationship with Israeli intelligence. Harvath’s assignment was to see that it continued.

He carried with him a file that detailed how James Standing had intended to turn his sights on bringing down Israel, one of the world’s few other true democracies, once the United States had been collapsed.

The billionaire had planned to draw Israel into a war with its neighbors. But on top of that, he had developed a means to ensure that America would not come to her aid.

When Israel most needed America, Standing planned to release documents that would make it appear that Israel had created the Aleem terror network, a ruse to make Americans believe that the Israelis had ordered the terrorist attacks on the United States in order to manipulate public opinion and national policy. The documents would allege that Israel had dreamed up the elaborate plot in order to con America into rushing to Israel’s aid because the same common enemy was attacking both nations.

The Israeli intelligence officer Harvath met with was grateful for the information.

As their meeting ended at the La Closerie des Lilas bar in Montparnasse, the Israeli slid an envelope across the small table.

Harvath was confused. “What’s this?” he asked as the man stood up to leave.

“I was told to give it to you when we were finished.”

As the man walked out of the bar, Harvath opened the small envelope. Inside was a piece of paper with an address in the Sixth Arrondissement. It was written in the Old Man’s hand.

Carlton had told him there was something else he wanted him to do in Paris, but he hadn’t elaborated. Most likely, the address was for the Carlton Group’s new Parisian safe house and there’d be further instructions waiting for him there.

Carlton could often be cryptic like that. He compartmentalized everything, revealing only as much as he felt you needed to know. Robert Ashford could have had no clue about the nature of the new life and identity the Old Man had promised him in exchange for his cooperation. The Brit had made the mistake of referring to James Standing as the “world’s deadliest catch,” and that cemented his fate.

Ashford was quite distraught once he learned that he was being relocated to Alaska. Harvath could only imagine the look on the MI5 man’s face once he discovered that his new career was nowhere near as pedestrian as recycling boxes at the Fairbanks Wal-Mart.

Rawhide was a ninety-two-foot crab-fishing boat out of the Aleutian Islands port of Dutch Harbor in Unalaska. Robert Ashford was her newest deckhand.

The Old Man had kept his word, but he had simultaneously sentenced Ashford to a life of hard labor. Carlton had made it very clear that, if Ashford tried to run, there was an open kill order for him and Harvath would fill it personally.

The Old Man then turned Yaroslav Yatsko over to the CIA. Though they might very well kick him out of the country and turn him loose, the Carlton Group needed to purchase a modicum of goodwill with the Agency. Harvath wanted to see the man tried for setting up the murders of the filmmakers and the attempted murder of Larry Salomon, but the Old Man had his mind made up. He did, though, make sure the CIA intervened with the L.A. County authorities on behalf of Ralston and Salomon, and for that, Harvath was grateful.

Stepping out of the bar, he turned up the collar of his coat. It was a chilly night, but Harvath decided to walk anyway and headed north.

Unlike Venice, Paris was a city that could be romantic and still not make you feel self-conscious about walking its streets alone.

As he walked, he remembered the last time he had been in Paris. He had been sitting in a cafe, ready to propose to a woman with whom he thought he could spend the rest of his life and leave his career behind, when his career had reappeared and sucked him back in.

It hadn’t been that long ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. So much had happened since. So much had changed.

Couples passed by on the sidewalk. They seemed oblivious to his presence, too wrapped up in each other to even notice him. Harvath shook his head and moved on.

He wondered where he was going and why the Old Man had transmitted the address through the Israeli.

Entering the Sixth Arrondissement, he conducted another round of SDRs. Finally, he arrived at the address.

He stood outside looking up at the limestone facade of the building with its black, wrought-iron balconettes. The ground floor consisted of a patisserie and a wine shop separated by a security door that likely provided entrance to the dwellings above.

Harvath studied the note again. There wasn’t any name, just the address.

As he removed his cell phone to call the Old Man, it vibrated with a text message. Harvath clicked on it. It was from Carlton. All it said was Ring #7.

Harvath approached the buzzers. Number 7 was listed under the name Bonduelle. He pressed the button.

Moments later the door clicked open.

Harvath stepped into the eighteenth-century lobby. A gilded, cage-style elevator was surrounded by a stained marble staircase.

Not a fan of tiny elevators, Harvath opted for the stairs and began climbing.

Stepping onto the landing, he found the light switch timer and depressed it to give him enough light to navigate the hallway.

As he walked past the old, scarred doors, he wondered what his next assignment would be.

The sounds of French programming could be heard from each apartment he passed until he reached number 7. From behind the large, wooden door, he could hear music playing. It sounded like Pavarotti.

Reaching out, he twisted the brass handle, which rang the bell inside, and then he waited.

The music turned down. There was the sound of footfalls approaching the door and then a pause as someone gazed out the peephole.

The metal clacking of an old lock sounded and the old door creaked as it was slowly pulled open.

Inside stood a woman in jeans and a white button-down shirt. Her reddish-brown hair fell past her shoulders. Even in the half-light of the hall, her blue eyes shone. Harvath was taken completely by surprise.

Her lips spread into a smile. “Hello, Scot,” she said softly.

He was about to lean forward and kiss her, when he noticed movement at the stairs.

“Gun!” he yelled, and knocked Riley Turner back into the apartment just as a hail of bullets splintered the door frame.