Brad Thor - The Lions Of Lucerne

During Scot’s time with the SEALs, he had done a lot of cross-training exercises with some of Germany’s most elite soldiers. One soldier in particular, Herman Toffle, had become quite popular with the SEALs, not only for his bravado, but also for his crazy sense of humor. Scot and Herman the German, as the guys called him, grew to be fast friends. When Herman left the military because of an injury, he entered the private sector and began representing a German arms manufacturer. Scot helped Herman get his weapons tested in America and also plugged him in with former SEALs around the world who were doing military or private security consulting and had a heavy say in their clients’ weapons procurement.

Scot couldn’t accept any commissions, but Herman felt his good friend was due something for all of the business he had helped create. Once, while Scot was on leave in Germany between SEAL training exercises, Herman led him on a cloak-and-dagger tour of Munich which, after several stops for beers, finally ended in a small apartment on the city’s north side. Knowing his friend’s proclivity for loose women, Harvath thought Herman had brought him to a brothel and was going to get him laid.

As it turned out, Herman had a million connections and the two men just happened to be in the apartment of one of them, a master documents forger. Herman introduced the stooped, balding man with thick glasses simply as Tinkerbell. After making Scot up with the eyebrows, goatee, glasses, and contacts, Tinkerbell had him sit in front of a tarp to have his picture taken. Two hours and five beers later, the man emerged from the back of the apartment and handed Scot his new passport. When, through the fog of beers, Scot realized what Herman had done for him, he tried to refuse the gift, but Herman said, “Men in our profession need insurance that employers can’t always provide.”

Harvath knew that Herman was trying, in his own way, to thank him, so he kept the passport locked safely away at his bank, not thinking he would ever need it. The passport was filled with valid entry and exit stamps from America, Canada, Europe, Asia, and South America. Trying to find the most recent stamp would drive an immigration officer crazy, Tinkerbell had said, so not to worry. The old man had also given Scot an address in Munich at which, if he dropped the passport off whenever he was in Germany, one of Tinkerbell’s people would update the stamps for him. Scot knew the gift had cost Herman a lot of money, and even though he originally hadn’t wanted to take it, it looked now as if it was going to come in very handy.

Harvath finished changing into the J. Crew clothes and put the rest of the new clothing into his rolling suitcase. The trench coat and suit he had been wearing went into the J. Crew bag, which he promptly tossed into a Dumpster in an alley behind the mall. Wiping his prints off the Glock, he disassembled it and threw the pieces into three different storm drains. Now all he had to do was make a phone call and he would be free to go.

Scot Harvath, having completely taken on the persona of Hans Brauner, strolled with a certain nonchalance through the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton towing his luggage on wheels. When he’d walked through the main entrance, he’d noticed the cab line was full of taxis. In his German-accented English he told the bellman he did not need any help with his bag. Having stopped at the Georgetown American Express travel office to buy a stack of traveler’s checks under his new persona, he was confident in not only the outward appearance of the disguise, but his ability to pull off the complete identity of the character.

Harvath made his way to the pay phones and, glancing at his watch, knew he would have to make this call quickly. He picked up the receiver, deposited the coins and dialed the number.

“Lawlor,” said the voice that answered.

“Gary. It’s Scot Harvath.”

“Scot, where the hell are you?”

“C’mon, Gary, you know me better than to expect an answer to that, and don’t bother tracing this call. I won’t be here long enough for you to get me.”

“What’s this all about?” asked Lawlor.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. I had nothing to do with the deaths of André Martin and Natalie Sperando. She was a good friend. I want you to believe that. For some reason, Bill Shaw is trying to set me up.”

“Bill Shaw is trying to set you up? Why would he do that?”

“I know you’re trying to stall me, but I’ll indulge you anyway,” said Scot, looking at his watch to see how long he’d been on with Lawlor. “I think he’s connected to the president’s kidnapping, along with Senator Snyder and maybe Rolander as well. He’s trying to paint me as a conspiracy nut.”

“He doesn’t need to paint you as one; you painted yourself that way.”

“I did? What are you talking about?”

“I heard a recording of your call to him this morning. It didn’t sound like the musings of a sane person. You’re really throwing around some far-fetched notions.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m so far off base with my theories, why did I get hallmarked today?”

“‘Hallmarked’? What do you mean?”

“You know, when you care enough to send the very best?”

“Are you trying to tell me somebody tried to put a hit on you?”

“Twice. Once at Union Station and then again outside my bank on Twelfth Street not long after that. They must have been tracking my credit card because I used it to pay for cabs to both locations.”

“Hit men? Tracking your cards? Scot, this is pretty serious stuff. If you come in, I promise I’ll help you.”

“No thanks, Gary. That’s the second time I’ve had that offer today, and I feel a whole heck of a lot safer on my own for the time being.”

“Scot, I swear I don’t know anything about a hit being put out on you. That’s not how we do business and you know it. Tell me where you are, and we’ll send a car for you right away. I’ll put you in protective custody while we debrief you, and then-”

“Yeah? And then what? Shaw had told me he was doing the same thing with Natalie and André Martin, and look what happened to them.”

“Scot, how well did you know André Martin?”

“He was a friend of Natalie’s. I just met him last night. Why?”

“When was the last time you checked your bank statements?”

Harvath looked at his watch. “You’re running out of time, Gary, and you’re wasting it with questions that don’t make any sense.”

“The Secret Service has discovered that you received several large deposits to your bank account in the past month, the most recent being the day after the president was kidnapped. The money came from an account in the Caribbean. A little digging revealed a series of shell corporations, which eventually led to André Martin, D.C. attorney and international finance specialist.”

“What are you saying?”

“It’s not what I’m saying, Scot; it’s what everyone else is. The way it looks is that André Martin somehow used his relationship with Natalie Sperando to get to you and buy you off.”

“Buy me off? What the hell for?”

“The Secret Service and the Justice Department figure you were the inside leak and helped the kidnappers in grabbing the president.”

“Me? That’s insane.”

“Is it? Look at it from their point of view. You had the means as head of the advance team, money’s as good a motivation as any, and you had the opportunity.”

“You can’t believe that I-”

“You were the only Secret Service agent to survive the avalanche. You then interfered with three separate crime scenes resulting in the corruption of evidence in at least one of them; you were the last person seen with Sperando and Martin alive-”