Use of Force

CHAPTER 73

Despite being told to get a “good night’s sleep,” almost everyone was up early at the safe house in Villa San Giovanni.

Barton and Morrison joined several of Argento’s men for a run. Lovett left to pick up some things she needed in town. Staelin was up on the roof drinking coffee and reading his book. Harvath was the last person to stumble into the kitchen.

“Buon giorno,” said Argento. He was standing at a press, wearing only a pair of workout shorts, juicing oranges. “Ready for breakfast? Let Roberto know how you like your eggs.”

Standing at the stove, similarly dressed, was Roberto. Stopping what he was doing, he turned to look at Harvath.

Harvath, who was wearing a pair of Under Armour boxer briefs and a Parliament-Funkadelic T-shirt, replied, “Scrambled.”

“Strapazzate,” Argento translated, as he continued to squeeze oranges.

“Is there any coffee?”

The Italian nodded toward the dining table. Grabbing a cup from the counter, Harvath walked over and poured himself some.

“How are you doing on my list?” he asked as he walked back into the kitchen.

“Essere pane per i propri denti.”

“What does that mean?”

Argento shrugged. “There’s a degree of difficulty involved. Some things I can get. Some things are illegal.”

Harvath laughed out loud. “Paolo, you’re a cop — and a serious one at that. You can get anything you want.”

“Ecco,” he relented, “but—”

“But nothing,” Harvath said, cutting him off. Pointing to his laptop, he said, “May I?”

The Italian nodded.

On their drive from the airport to the safe house, Harvath was looking to build rapport and they had talked movies. Like any red-blooded Italian male, Argento loved American movies, especially the movies of Robert De Niro.

“You saw The Untouchables, right?” Harvath asked, as he pulled up YouTube.

“Robert De Niro and Kevin Costner. Of course. Directed by Brian De Palma; another Italian.”

“Do you remember the scene when Kevin Costner and Sean Connery are in the church together?”

Argento stopped juicing and looked at him to see if he was being serious. “It’s one of the best scenes in the movie. That’s,” he said, mimicking Connery’s Irish accent, “the Chicago way.”

“That’s the first time I have ever heard an Italian speak English with an Irish accent,” said Harvath.

“And?”

“You shouldn’t do it again.”

The Italian threw his hands in the air. “Levati dai coglioni!” he exclaimed, laughing. Get off of my balls.

“I’m serious. It was really bad. But that’s not the point. Come here,” he ordered. “Watch this.”

Argento wiped his hands on a dishtowel and walked over. Harvath hit the Play button. Together, the two of them watched the scene.

When it was over, Harvath pointed at the computer and asked, “Who’s me and who’s you in the movie?”

“No contest,” the Italian replied. “I’m older and much better looking, so I’m Sean Connery.”

Harvath chuckled. “Wrong. You’re Kevin Costner. You’re Eliot Ness. You’re the guy who wants to do everything by the book, no matter how dirty your opponent plays. I’m Sean Connery. I’m the guy trying to talk some sense into you. I’m the guy asking, what are you prepared to do in order to get Capone?”

Argento was about to respond when Roberto announced from the stove, “Colazione!” Breakfast.

Turning back to his oranges, Argento handed Harvath the pitcher and directed him to put it on the table.

With the shout of “Colazione,” everyone else who was in the house materialized in the kitchen for food. Somehow, even up on the roof, Staelin had heard the call and had come down too.

Scooping eggs, potatoes, and sausages onto their plates, the men shuffled into the dining room and sat down at the table. Those who couldn’t find a seat carried their plates into the living room.

Staelin had grabbed the chair next to Harvath’s. “So,” he asked. “Are we going to be good for tonight?”

“Fingers crossed,” Harvath replied as he reached for the orange juice.

“What are the odds we’re going to get Vottari there?”

“If anybody can do it, Nicholas can.”

“How?”

Harvath filled his glass, set the pitcher down, and took a bite of scrambled eggs before responding. “He hacked Facebook’s algorithm.”

“He what?”

“He had already stolen a couple of big ones from Google and someone bet him he couldn’t hack Facebook, so he did. Can you pass the salt, please?”

Staelin handed him the shaker. “So how does that play into getting Vottari to The Beach Club?”

“All the photos and video I shot there last night go into a program. With it, Nicholas can access any social media post that has ever been done based on that club.

“He compares those against what Vottari reacts to on social media. Then, knowing what Vottari likes, he creates a bunch of fake accounts and starts drumming up a groundswell of posts about how tonight is a not-to-miss night at The Beach Club.

“Nicholas is smart, though. He doesn’t push it directly at Vottari. He pushes it through other people Vottari knows and trusts on SnapChat, Instagram, et cetera. They repost it and it keeps showing up in his feeds. That’s it.”

Staelin shook his head. “That’s pretty fucking manipulative.”

Harvath shrugged as his phone chimed. “That’s social media for you. There’s a reason the intelligence community loves it so much.”

Looking down, he read the text message. Addressing Argento, he said, “That’s my VIP. He’s got a plane on standby. He wants to know if we’re a go for tonight.”

A silence settled over the table. Everyone waited for Argento’s response. Slowly, he nodded.

Harvath, though, wanted to make absolutely sure. “We’re all good to go?”

Once more, Argento nodded. “Let’s get Capone.”