Use of Force

CHAPTER 91

Harvath stood at the windows of the Old Man’s study and looked out. The weather was already changing. There wouldn’t be an Indian Summer this year. Winter would be here soon, and by all accounts, it was going to be long, hard, and cold.

He had stayed in Italy long enough to clean everything up and attend Argento’s funeral. Lovett put on a tough show, but it was obvious that his death disturbed her deeply.

If there was anything good that had come out of it, it was that the attack on St. Peter’s had been averted. Once they had the cell phone used to communicate with the other mortar teams, the ROS waited for the next communications window to open up and then tricked the terrorists into leaving their phones on. While they thought they were awaiting further instructions about the attack, the ROS was zeroing in on their locations.

The terrorists did not go peacefully. Many of them fought and were killed. Three ROS operatives were injured. The number of lives that were saved, though, was incalculable.

Once Tursunov was stable, the Italians agreed to let Harvath have a short window to interrogate him. He flew Vella in and let him do the work. With the information they gleaned, they were able to roll up high-level ISIS members across Europe and even in the United States. He turned out to be full of useful information. They were even able to locate the chemist who had helped assemble the shells for the St. Peter’s attack.

Harvath would have been happy to take any or all of them out, but they were considered of significant intelligence value. What’s more, the countries in which many of them had committed their grisly crimes wanted them to stand trial.

The families and victims needed closure. He understood. Though, if they had known what he was willing to do, he was certain many of them would have quietly chosen to have him handle things.

Part of handling things his way had been to get Staelin, Barton, and Morrison to pump Vottari full of Rohypnol and leave him naked in a cheap hotel room on Sicily. It wasn’t the justice he deserved, but that had been Harvath’s agreement with Argento, and he intended to honor it.

After a seventy-two-hour hold, the ROS operatives in Palermo blindfolded Ragusa, Naya the bartender, as well as the two bodyguards and dropped them in the middle of the street in front of the Black Cat.

Upon returning home, Bob McGee and Lydia Ryan had requested a private debriefing with Harvath. They met, as they had previously, at the blue lockhouse.

After taking them through everything that had happened, Ryan then explained all that she and the Old Man had been wrestling with.

Susan Viscovich had spilled the beans on Andrew Jordan. Working with Jake Fleischer, Nicholas had been able to connect Jordan and a ton of offshore accounts to Paul Page and Page Partners, Ltd.

In fact, they had been able to identify two other sources inside the Agency that Page had been buying information from without Jordan’s knowledge.

The problem, though, was that Jordan had gone missing. No one had heard from him and no one knew where he was. They suspected Page might have had something to do with it. Harvath had been tasked with getting to the bottom of it.

Once he did, though, Page’s confession — secured under considerable duress — was absolutely inadmissible in court. Ryan and McGee were just happy to have recovered Jordan’s body from the forest preserve where it had been buried, and to have closure. The possibility of a well-funded rogue CIA agent floating around wasn’t something they wanted to add to their to-do list.

And while recovering Jordan’s body and knowing Page had been responsible for his murder did provide closure, it didn’t provide any sense of justice. That was where the Old Man had come in.

The moment Harvath had heard his idea, he had been one hundred percent onboard. It meant one more plane ride, but he was happy to do it.

Pumping Paul Page full of ketamine, he had flown with him to Malta. There, he had met up with Vella, who had provided him a vehicle and a ticket on the high-speed car ferry to Sicily. Argento’s lieutenant, along with Roberto and Naldo, had met them upon arrival.

In the car trunk, “attempting to sneak into Italy,” was Page. In his pocket was a key for a safety deposit box at a bank in Palermo. In the box was a passel of uncut diamonds, paid for with money drained from one of Andrew Jordan’s offshore accounts.

It was a payday worth sneaking into Italy for. No matter what tall tale Page told about being smuggled into Italy against his will, no jury would ever believe him. Not only would he be expected to serve his full sentence for the kidnapping of the Milan Imam, but the diamonds would be forfeited and go toward paying off the fines levied against him in the case.

For a man suffering from Alzheimer’s, Reed Carlton was still pretty sharp.

“I have good days and bad,” he said, as he picked up his drink and joined Harvath at the windows. “The only thing I know for sure is that it’s not getting better.”

This was the visit Harvath had wanted to pay before he had left for Libya, but now that he was here, he wanted to be anywhere but. Knowing the Old Man was slipping away was more painful than having him suddenly taken.

The two of them were like family. Now, the father was looking to hand over the business to the son. The problem, though, was that the son didn’t want it. Not fully. Not yet.

“I know you want me to run a Special Activities Division for you,” he said, “but I’ve still got a lot of special activities I’d actually like to carry out. I don’t want to sit behind a desk.”

“What if you didn’t have to?” Carlton asked. “What if it were a hybrid and you could do a little bit of everything?”

“There’d have to be a solid team in place, starting with a number two who knew what the hell he or she was doing.”

“I hear you and Mike Haney get along pretty well. What about him?”

Harvath smiled. The Old Man was always up on everything. “Haney walks funny.”

Carlton smiled back. “That might be permanent. Time will tell. Nevertheless, he’s interested. If you are.”

“You already talked to him?”

“Of course. I don’t have a lot of time to pull this succession plan together.”

Harvath loved the Old Man, and also loved his offer, but there was a reason he had left D.C. and moved to Boston. “I have a plan I’m trying to pull together too. I can’t do that from here.”

“What if you didn’t have to?” said a voice.

He turned to see Lara standing in the doorway of the study. He didn’t know if he should hug Carlton or hit him. He had always been a resourceful yet manipulative spy. For the moment, Harvath decided to ignore him.

Crossing over to Lara, he took her in his arms and hugged her. He had missed her. “What are you doing here?”

“Lydia Ryan called me.”

“Against my wishes,” said Carlton.

“She cares about both of you,” Lara continued, “and she thinks you should take this position.”

Harvath laughed. “I’m sure she does. It’d make her job a lot easier having me around.”

“So do it. Take the position.”

“But what about us? What about Boston?”

“We’ll figure it out,” she replied. “Right now, though, there are a lot of people who need you here. The country needs you here. Not in Boston.”

“And you and Marco?” he asked.

“You made the move for us and I love you for that. But maybe we should have made the move for you. Maybe the right answer for all of us is here.”

Harvath kissed her. This was what he wanted. This was exactly where he wanted to be.

Looking over at Carlton, he saw the Old Man smile.