The Last Patriot

CHAPTER 49

Anthony Nichols had arrived in Paris on a commercial flight, and that was exactly how Rutledge had planned on getting him back to the United States. There had been no margin of error built into the plan in case things went wrong. It wasn’t how a proper operation was run, but Harvath couldn’t blame the president. Rutledge wasn’t an operator.

He was, though, extremely tight when it came to operational security. Normally, that was a good thing, but in this instance it meant that there were scant few resources he could tap for help.

After his last phone call with Gary Lawlor, Harvath had learned two things. The first was that Dr. Marwan Khalifa had been fully vetted by the president and neither he nor Lawlor believed the Koranic scholar had anything to do with the attempts on Anthony Nichols’ life. For now, Harvath was going to have to take them at their word.

The other thing was that President Rutledge wasn’t going to be able to get him and the professor out of the country any time soon. Harvath knew that the longer they remained in France, the greater their chances were of getting caught. He had to come up with his own plan and once he did, the first call he made was to Finney and Parker at the Sargasso Program.

“Yeah, we’ve got a cobbler in Paris,” replied Tim Finney. “But she doesn’t just play both sides of the fence, she plays both sides of the porch, the driveway, the front yard—”

“I get it,” interrupted Harvath. “How good is she?”

“Excellent and she charges like it too.”

“I’m going to need two passports right away, tonight.”

There was a loud noise as Finney pursed his lips and sucked in a big breath of air. “That’s going to be expensive.”

“I know,” replied Harvath. “Good, fast, and cheap — pick any two.”

“Do you want them to be U.S.?”

“No. The French are going to be scrutinizing American passports very closely. Make them Canadian. Entrance to France seven days ago. Medium amount of international stamps and travel visas, all to first- and second-world countries. We’ll also need a couple of credit cards. Brand doesn’t matter. We’ll take whatever blanks she has.”

“What about photos?” asked Finney.

“I’m going to get to work on those now,” said Harvath. “I’ll post them in the usual place along with aliases and physical descriptions.”

“Okay, I’ll get on this right away. I’ll have her put it on my account and we’ll settle up later. You do have access to funds, right?”

“Yes,” replied Harvath, remembering the private account the president had established for Nichols. “I’ll make sure you get reimbursed.”

“It’s not that I don’t like you, Scot,” said Finney. “It’s just that we’re talking about some pricey work here.”

“Understood.”

“The passports will be left at a dead drop. As soon as they’re ready, she’ll let us know where you can pick them up. How about on your end? Anything else you need?”

Harvath prioritized the other items in his mind. “We’re going to need a private jet as soon as the passports are ready,” he said. “Preferably something with a discreet pickup service.”

“Destination?”

“Montreal for the flight plan, but once we’re safely on our way, we’ll need to change for D.C.”

“That’s doable,” said Finney.

“And one other thing,” replied Harvath. “I’ve got a problem bound and gagged in one of the staterooms that needs to be dealt with, but not until we’re gone.”

Finney didn’t like the sound of that. “Dealt with how?”

“Somebody just needs to open the cage and let him out. Chances are the cops will pick him up within half an hour. By that point, I don’t care what he does or says.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“Only if you’re a bag of heroin or a fashion editor.”

“Okay,” said Finney. “I’ll have someone check in on him once I know you’re out of French airspace. That’s it, then?”

“That’s it,” replied Harvath.

Two hours later, Harvath was back aboard the péniche. With him was a digital camera he had lifted off a tourist near Notre Dame and several plastic bags filled with items he and Nichols would need to disguise themselves.

Once they had taken each other’s picture in front of a plain white wall, Harvath uploaded them to the draft folder he used to communicate with Parker and Finney. He’d already provided names and physical descriptions for the bogus passports. Now, all they could do was wait.

An hour later, Harvath heard from Ron Parker. “The car will be there to pick you up at 0500. Your private charter to Montreal is all booked.”

“What about the dead drop for the passports?” asked Harvath.

“Your driver has been instructed to take you to the Paris Marriott Champs-Élysées. The bell captain’s name is Maurice. You give him the James Ryan alias from your new passport and he’ll hand over two suitcases. Inside are dirty clothes and assorted toiletry items just in case somebody decides to give you a closer look. One of the bags has a piece of yarn tied to the handle. Inside, you’ll find an envelope with the passports.”

Harvath had to hand it to him, Parker and Finney thought of everything.

When they arrived at the Marriott Champs- Élysées shortly after five a.m., Harvath found the bell captain, gave him the James Ryan name as well as fifty euros, and retrieved the bags.

Back in the car, he removed the passports and looked them over. Finney’s cobbler was a true artist. The documents were impeccable.

He committed his stamps and visas to memory and then quietly quizzed Nichols to make sure he had done the same.

At Paris — Le Bourget Airport, they were met by a representative from the charter company who saw to their bags and accompanied the pair to passport control.

Harvath had instructed Nichols to appear tired and disinterested. He had cut the professor’s hair very short and had him shave off his beard. His face had been darkened with toner while Harvath wore a new wig and glasses. He also now sported a mustache.

The passport control officer took his time studying their documents. Harvath grew concerned and debated whether he could subdue the officer and still be able to get Nichols on board the plane and take off. They were the only ones there at the moment and Harvath gave himself fifty-fifty odds of being successful.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to do anything. The jet rep was on a first-name basis with the officer and chided him into hurrying it up. With a dismissive wave of his hand, the officer stamped the passports and handed them back.

Within five minutes, they were on board the aircraft, and as the main door was closed, Harvath breathed a sigh of relief. Ten minutes more, with well deserved drinks in hand, the pair was airborne and headed for the States. The hardest part, though, was leaving Tracy behind.

Harvath had been against it, but he knew there wasn’t anything he could do about it. To his credit, the president had already started the diplomatic wheels rolling. It was now Harvath’s turn to perform.

As the ground disappeared beneath the Bombardier Global Express XRS jet, Harvath left Nichols on the couch and walked back to the sleep suite in the aft cabin. Lying down on the bed, he closed his eyes and tried to rest. He had a very bad feeling that things weren’t over yet — not by a long shot.