Brad Thor - Full Black

Harvath knew not to put a lot of stock in rumors, especially Washington rumors, but nevertheless, as he plugged Reed Carlton’s code into the keypad at the door for twenty-four, he couldn’t help but wonder what he would find on the other side.

There was a particularly nasty rumor about the Old Man’s beating a prisoner with an electrical cord. Harvath had overheard several staffers talking about it when he first came on board at the Carlton Group. He’d made the mistake of asking the Old Man about it and had been put firmly in his place. Harvath hadn’t asked him again.

As he stepped onto twenty-four, he didn’t know what he would find, but when it came to Carlton and his reputation, he figured nothing would surprise him. Harvath’s mind, though, was about to be changed.

Harvath moved from one empty office and conference room to the next. Finally, on the west side of the building, he located Reed Carlton and his “prisoner.”

They were in a small suite of tastefully decorated rooms that looked as if they had been plucked right out of the Four Seasons. Propped up on a hospital-style bed was Yaroslav Yatsko. His wounds had been cleaned and dressed, and an IV had been started. Each of his legs was in a straight-leg brace with a large ice pack atop each knee. Sitting in a chair next to him, drinking a glass of wine, was Reed Carlton.

The Old Man looked up when Harvath stuck his head into the room. “What are you doing down here?” he asked.

“I heard the housekeepers forgot the mints for the pillows,” replied Harvath.

The Old Man set his glass on the table and stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Yatsko and motioned for Harvath to follow him into the hall.

Once they were in the hall and the door to the suite of rooms was closed, Harvath asked, “What’s all of that in there? Extra-extraordinary rendition?”

“Yaroslav is an old acquaintance.”

“That’s a pretty nice room you’ve got him in. Do we have a spa around here, too, that I don’t know about?”

“Relax,” said the Old Man. “We rented a hospital bed and put it in one of the old executive offices for him.”

“Why?”

“Because Yatsko needs to be protected.”

Harvath looked at him. “From what I hear, it’s everybody else that needs to be protected from Yatsko. How do you know this guy? And why are we taking care of him?”

“First of all, we’re not taking care of him. We’re using him, the same way he and the Russians would use us. And as to how I know him, let’s just say we crossed paths many times in the old days.”

“Reed, this guy sent a wet work team to smoke Larry Salomon. Yatsko’s Spetsnaz guys killed two filmmakers. Two American filmmakers. How the hell was he even able to sneak into the country in the first place?”

“He didn’t sneak in,” said Carlton.

Harvath looked at his boss. “We’ve actually known all along that he’s been here?”

“From what I hear, he’s been helpful.”

“Helpful how?” asked Harvath. “Helpful thinning the ranks of Hollywood producers?”

The Old Man shook his head. “He’s been a good source of intelligence for the CIA in Mexico. Facilitating the hit on Salomon, though, crossed the line. The Agency should have yanked his leash a long time ago.”

“So why didn’t they?”

“If I had to guess, it’s because much of what he’s been doing south of the border has been beneficial to the U.S. In exchange, Langley has been looking the other way, and that includes his criminal endeavors stateside. Murder for hire of American citizens, though, was a big mistake. It’s unforgivable and he knows it. He got too greedy.”

“What’s going to happen to him then?”

“At best, he’ll be persona non grata in the United States.”

“And at worst?” Harvath asked.

“He’ll stand trial for murder.”

“You think they’re actually going to give him a choice?”

“No,” replied Carlton. “We are.”

“What’s he going to do for us?”

“He’s going to help us nail Robert Ashford. And once we’ve taken care of Ashford, we’re going to settle America’s account with James Standing.”

“So you believe Ashford and Standing are connected to the terrorist attacks?” asked Harvath. “You think they were the ones who stole the unrestricted warfare plans from the Chinese?”

The Old Man took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I think we’ve got a lot of questions that need answering.”

“Well, we should start with your pal Yatsko. The password he gave back in California didn’t unlock his entire drive.”

“I know,” replied Carlton as he removed a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Harvath. “It was his insurance policy. Give this to Nicholas. It should unlock the remaining file.”

Harvath took the piece of paper. “The fact that he’s cooperating doesn’t mean we should trust him.”

The Old Man smiled. “Believe me, I know. It’s one of the hardest things about our business. You always have to assume that everyone is running an angle.”

“Even Robert Ashford.”

“Even Robert Ashford,” the Old Man agreed.

“So how are we going to get to him?” asked Harvath.

“We’re not. We’re going to have him come to us.”

“Why would he come to us?”

“Because he doesn’t know what he doesn’t know and that’s the sort of thing that bothers a man like Robert Ashford.”

“I’m not exactly following you,” said Harvath.

“There’s a reason Ashford hasn’t retired. He lives for the intelligence game, and the intelligence game is all about gathering information. The more you have, the more powerful you are.

“Right now, Ashford’s going nuts because he doesn’t know how much or how little we know about the Aleem network.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Harvath.

“Because shortly after Uppsala he contacted me. He said he had some information he thought might be helpful to us and wanted to compare notes.”

“Wait a second. He knew we were behind Uppsala?”

“No. He was fishing.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him,” said the Old Man, “that I was busy and would get back to him.”

“Do you think you can lure him over here?”

“I think so. In fact, I think we have to. It’d be too difficult right now to launch an operation in his backyard. I’d rather we do it in ours, where he’s out of his element and we have control.”

“In addition, Ashford has no idea that we know anything about Yatsko, much less that we have him in our custody.”

The Old Man smiled. “And that’s how we’re going to bring down Robert Ashford.”

It was early Monday morning and Robert Ashford was taking his breakfast at his tidy little row house at number 22 Portobello Road in London’s Notting Hill. Like many people around the world, he had his television on and was watching scenes from the terrorist attacks that had taken place in America over the last couple of days. Spread out on the dining table in front of him was a cross-section of domestic and international newspapers, along with reports from MI5 and MI6.

When his phone rang, he figured it was yet another call from his office. He had come home only long enough to shower, change, and get something to eat, but the calls had kept coming. Both MI5 and MI6 were desperate to make sure that what had happened in the United States didn’t happen in Britain.

Of course Ashford knew they didn’t have anything to worry about, at least not from the group pulling off all the attacks in the United States, but he had to play along and appear distraught and quite concerned that the United Kingdom could very well be next.