Brad Thor - Path Of The Assassin

“Don’t worry, Agent Harvath, the Americans aren’t the only ones who know how to transport a prisoner and secure a courtroom.”

“Claudia, from what you have told me about this Jamek character in Macau-”

“Scot, I don’t have time for this, and I don’t want to listen to you lie to me about what happened in Macau. I know you were there. When you couldn’t get what you wanted out of Miner, you went looking for Jamek, hoping he could tell you something.”

“Claudia, I told you. I had nothing to do with Jamek being killed.”

“Yes, you did say that, but you have not denied knowing about it, and you also haven’t denied being in Macau when it happened.”

“You know I can’t tell you where I was or what I was doing.”

“I know, but it still hurts. You are important to me. You know that.”

“Then get me in to see Miner. I need to talk to him. I promise you I won’t lay a hand on him.”

“I wish I could help you. More than that, I wish I could believe you, but I can’t, not about Macau, not about Miner, not about anything. It’s just better that we end things, okay? Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Okay, Claudia, you’re right. You have your life here and I have mine back in D.C. As much as we might have wanted it to, it won’t work. But will you do one last thing for me?”

“Scot, I told you I cannot grant you access to Miner.”

“No, forget that. How are you transporting Miner?”

“I can’t tell you that. Not over the phone.”

“Tell me this, then. Will you be part of the team that transports him to the courthouse?”

“Of course.”

“Then I want to ride along with you.”

“You want to what? That’s ridiculous. Besides, I told you I don’t trust you to be anywhere near Miner.”

“Claudia, this isn’t about him. I don’t care who you have doing security; they can’t possibly know half the things that I do. Call me arrogant, but when it comes to this stuff, no one does it better than the U.S. Secret Service. Think about it as a free security consultation. There’s plenty of countries that pay big money for this kind of review.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I just want to know your route and the courtroom are safe. That’s all. You have my word. I promise. Miner won’t even know I’m there. I am doing this out of concern for you.”

“For me? Why?”

“Because someone wanted Philip Jamek dead. I’m convinced it wasn’t the Chinese. They were going to kill him, all right, but he would have been given at least some semblance of a trial beforehand. Somebody else wanted Jamek dead, and it may or it may not have to do with Miner, but at least I can go home knowing you’re safe.”

“Okay, Scot, you win. I’ll call a cab to bring you to the office. I just hope this is not a mistake.”

An hour and forty-five minutes later, Harvath was seated in the passenger seat of Claudia’s VW as they headed out of Bern on the short trip to the prison. The convoy consisted of eight vehicles. Two police motorcycles led the way, followed by two police cars, the transport van, two more marked police cars, and finally Claudia’s car, bringing up the rear.

Even in a country like Switzerland, where the inhabitants prided themselves on their obsession with organization, things could go amiss. Bern was constantly plagued with traffic jams, and today was no exception. Harvath didn’t enjoy being in the last vehicle of the convoy, and repeatedly asked Claudia to translate the dialogue with the lead vehicles that was going back and forth over her radio. Claudia assured him it was nothing more than normal Bernese traffic and that the motorcycle police were complaining that people weren’t responding quickly enough to their sirens. In all fairness to the people of Bern, it wasn’t easy to “hop to” when you heard a police siren, especially when you were stuck in traffic on a narrow, one-way medieval street with cars parked on both sides.

“We’re close now,” said Claudia, who then spoke rapid-fire Swiss German into her walkie-talkie before peeling off from the convoy.

“What are you doing?” asked Harvath, who immediately sat up straighter in his seat as Claudia broke formation.

“The courthouse is just down a little further. The press has gotten wind that Miner is appearing today, and they are out in full force. I don’t want anyone to see you going in the front, so I will take you in another way. You still want to check out the courtroom, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, but how did the press get wind of the proceeding being changed to today?”

“How do they find things out in America? People talk.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Of course it does, but that’s the way the press is. They pay everybody and have sources everywhere, but what can I do about it? Listen, including the personnel in that van, Gerhard Miner is being guarded by over twenty-five of some of the meanest and most heavily armed members of the police and Swiss military. Whether you have noticed it or not, there has been a military helicopter shadowing us the entire time Miner has been outside the prison’s walls.”

Scot had noticed the helicopter. He was impressed that Claudia had thought so far ahead, but he was still concerned.

“There are additional men posted within the courtroom itself, throughout the building, and even in plain clothes outside among members of the press. Now, Agent Harvath, how would you rate my security?”

“So far I’d have to say you’ve been pretty thorough-”

“It would take an army to get to Miner.”

Scot knew she was wrong. It was dangerous to believe that you were fully prepared. If one person was determined to do harm at any cost, there really was nothing any organization could do to stop him or her. This was the fear the Secret Service lived with twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Scot was about to share this with Claudia when her radio crackled to life with frantic shouts from one of the lead vehicles.

“What’s going on?” Scot asked.

“Some sort of accident,” she replied.

“Accident? What kind of accident?”

Claudia had already slammed on her brakes and was reversing full speed back toward where she had pulled off from the convoy. “I don’t know. Both motorcycle drivers are down. I can’t work the radio and drive backward at the same time.”

Harvath was about to suggest they trade places when an enormous explosion tore through the warm morning air. The roiling thunder-ball of fire could be seen above the buildings to their right. The radio calls grew in intensity and added to the sounds of chaos throughout the neighborhood. Harvath could distinctly make out the whoomp whoomp whoomp of a heavy chopper coming in from above.

Harvath grabbed hold of the wheel from Claudia and turned it hard to the left as he pulled up on the VW’s emergency brake. The car spun 180 degrees, gashing the sides of three parked cars. Claudia was too startled by Harvath’s move to speak. At least now they were headed forward and could make better time. Scot could apologize later. “Step on it,” he said.

When they rounded the corner and came back down the street where they had left the convoy, it looked as if they had driven into a war zone. At least fifteen cars were burning out of control. Glass and flaming wreckage were scattered everywhere, and several shops and nearby buildings were also engulfed in flames.

Claudia drove in as close as she could, and then she and Harvath jumped out of the car and began running. It was immediately evident that this had been no accident. A very large explosive device had been detonated right when the motorcade passed. Harvath saw Claudia draw her weapon.