Brad Thor - Foreign Influence

Nicholas answered on the second ring, his voice disguised as usual. “I didn’t get a chance to power the battery all the way up. This could take a while so make sure you plug the power cord in.”

Harvath fished the cord from his pack and plugged the computer into the outlet. “Done,” he said as peered down at the Quai du Mont Blanc. “I don’t see the van. Where’s Peio?”

“He’ll be there shortly. Now, I want you to log on to the system, open a browser window, and surf over to any site you like. I’ll take it from there.”

Harvath did as he was instructed. After entering his room number and agreeing to the charges, he plugged in the URL for the midget and dwarf wrestling federation.

“Very funny,” said the Troll, who was remotely monitoring the laptop.

Glancing back out the window, Harvath saw the van pull up. “Peio’s here.”

“Good,” replied Nicholas. “Turn up the TV and leave the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob.”

“I’ll talk to you from the van.”

Harvath stood up from the desk and closed the windows. Slinging his pack over his shoulder, he grabbed his Coke and his almonds and headed downstairs.

Peio was finishing up a conversation with Nicholas when he climbed into the van and shut the door.

“So where to?” asked Harvath as the priest ended the call and pulled away from the hotel.

“Nicholas wants us to stay in the area. Once he pinpoints Tsui’s location, you’re going to have to move fast.”

Harvath studied the man. “You do miss the lifestyle, don’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, motioning to several small grocery bags on the floor behind them. “I didn’t know how long we’d be out.”

“I’m okay for now. Thank you.”

A couple of blocks from the hotel a parking space opened up and Peio pulled in. He put the van in park, but left the engine running.

Rolling down the window, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Harvath, who declined. The priest removed one from the pack, pulled out his lighter, and lit up.

He took a deep drag and out of respect for his nonsmoking passenger, blew the smoke out the window. “I gave it up for Lent last year,” he said. “Put on twenty pounds almost overnight.”

“Those things will kill you,” replied Harvath with a grin as he took a sip of his Coke.

Peio smiled back. “My wife used to bother me all the time about my smoking. I quit once, for her.”

“Didn’t take?”

“I became so difficult to be around she begged me to take it back up again.”

Harvath laughed.

“Are you married?”

“No.”

The priest was silent for a moment. “Assuming I am correct in what you do for a living, it must be difficult finding the right woman; someone who understands the demands of your job.”

“To be honest, Father, I found the right woman. She knows me better than anyone else in the world. She has no problem with what I do for a living. She not only supports me, she encourages me. She’s an exceptional person in that regard.”

“Why do I detect a but?”

Peio didn’t miss much. Harvath imagined he’d probably been a pretty good intelligence operative. “My personal life isn’t that interesting, Father.”

“Everyone’s personal life is interesting, Scot. Yours I find particularly interesting. Tell me why you are hesitant. Were your parents divorced?”

Harvath laughed again. “No. In fact, just the opposite. They were made for each other. After my father died, my mother never remarried.”

“I’m sorry,” said the priest. “Is that your concern about marriage? Are you afraid something may happen to you and that you would leave this… I’m sorry, what is this woman’s name?”

“Tracy.”

“Are you afraid that if something happened to you that you would leave Tracy alone?”

“I certainly wouldn’t want to die, but if that happened, Tracy is an incredibly resilient woman.”

Peio looked at him. “So this is about having children.”

Harvath couldn’t believe it. The man had put his finger right on it. At least he had until he added, “You’re afraid that the same thing that happened to you could happen to your children. If you died, you’d be doing exactly the same thing to them that your father did to you.”

“Something like that.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about. Obviously, your father’s passing had a very profound impact on you. How old were you when he died?”

“I was already out of high school,” said Harvath, “and if you don’t mind, Father, I’d rather not talk about this anymore.”

“I understand,” said Peio as he took another drag on his cigarette and exhaled out the window.

Harvath doubted it, but he let it go and the two men sat in silence for several minutes.

“May I ask you how your father died?” said the priest.

“He was a SEAL. He died in a training accident.”

“Nicholas told me you had been a SEAL. Is that why?”

“I suppose that was part of it,” replied Harvath.

“I think your father would be proud of you.”

This was one of the biggest reasons Harvath hated conducting these types of ops with someone he didn’t know. What they were doing was akin to surveillance. It was grindingly boring to sit around and wait to be set loose on a target. The boredom got to some people faster than others and when it did, they always wanted to “chat.” And it was often about stuff that was entirely too personal.

“With all due respect, Padre,” he said, “you don’t really know that much about me.”

“Don’t I? I know you care for Nicholas. I know you care for Argos and Draco. I know you care for your country and I know you care for this woman, Tracy. You are a good man. Nicholas told me so and I can see it for myself. And no matter what has happened to you up to this point in your life, I want you to know that God wants you to be happy.”

“Even if I want to kill all the Muslim fundamentalists in the world?”

It took Peio a moment to ascertain whether Harvath was pulling his leg. “Let’s leave the fundamentalists out of this.”

He was about to make a snappy remark that probably would have drawn the ire of the priest when his cell phone rang. It was Nicholas.

“I’ve got him.”

CHICAGO

My wife called,” said Paul Davidson as John Vaughan slid back into the Bronco and handed a Styrofoam cup of coffee over to him.

“Yeah?” replied the Organized Crime officer, pulling the passenger door shut. “What’d she say?”

“She says she’s naming you in the divorce decree as well.”

“Me? I only kept you out one night.”

“Yeah, but today is punta Sunday.”

“What the hell is punta Sunday?” asked Vaughan, vaguely recognizing the Spanish-sounding word.

“Today’s the day, we, you know,” said Davidson awkwardly.

“Are you serious? You only have sex with your wife on Sundays?”

“And my birthday.”

Vaughan started laughing.

“Go ahead and laugh,” said Davidson, “but this is going to affect you too.”

“Me?” he repeated. “How the hell could this possibly affect me?”

“You’ll see. Trust me.”

Vaughan rolled his eyes and peeled the lid off his coffee. Examining the logs from the dispatch computer in Nasiri’s cab, he had discovered a pattern. The Pakistani driver picked up fares in a certain part of the city at regular times of the day. As that area was nowhere near his apartment, there had to be another reason Nasiri favored it.