Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

O SLO

The exploding drones had drawn first responders from across the city. Emergency service vehicles, their light bars flashing, were parked and double-parked everywhere. With only two small bridges, both of which Norwegian police had already closed, no one was getting on or off of the island of thieves. At least not via land.

Once Harvath was in place, he sent S?lvi a final text. It contained just one word. Now.

Positioned at the water's edge, it was not unusual to see guests from the Thief Hotel's spa, wrapped in thick terry-cloth robes, venture out for a plunge in the Oslofjord. When S?lvi and Grechko exited, that's exactly what they looked like.

S?lvi's long blond hair was wrapped in a towel and Grechko had slung one over his head like a hoodie, so as to help disguise themselves. They wore rubber spa slippers and had rolled their pant legs up under their robes. Other than that they were fully dressed. S?lvi carried their socks, shoes, and the gear she had predeployed in the hotel room, in a backpack slung over her shoulder.

Slipping her arm through Grechko's, she encouraged him to walk slowly and to focus straight ahead. She kept her free hand wrapped around the grip of her pistol, which was tucked inside her robe. It was less than two hundred meters to the water.

As she walked, she kept her head down, occasionally leaning it against Grechko's shoulder in what looked like an affectionate gesture, but which in actuality allowed her to steal glances off to the sides. So far, so good. No one appeared to be following them. Everyone she saw was headed in the opposite direction, back toward the scene of the explosions.

After a few more moments, she spotted Harvath, his boat bobbing on the water. He had spotted her as well. She could hear the gurgling of the engines as he put the vessel in gear and came in toward the shore.

She guided Grechko down to the swim platform, where Harvath ignored the NO BOATS signs and pulled alongside the landing.

As he did, he saw a flash of recognition ripple across the Russian's visage. But just as quickly as it had materialized, it vanished. Had Harvath not been trained to notice such things, he might have missed it.

He had never seen Grechko before in his life, yet the man appeared to know who he was. It was slightly unsettling.

Setting it aside for the moment, he helped the Russian climb aboard and then extended his hand to S?lvi, asking, "All good?"

She looked back in the direction they had come, scanned the shoreline one last time, and then, not seeing anything that would suggest that they had been followed, accepted his hand and stepped into the boat.

"All good," she replied. "Where do you want us?"

"Down there," he stated, gesturing at the small cabin under the bow. "Just until we get away from the city."

"Thank you," she said, giving him a quick kiss before disappearing with Grechko below.

Pushing away from the swim platform, he put the engines back in gear and headed out into the fjord.

Most of the police marine units were on the other side of the island, but one did come flying past and he was glad that S?lvi and Grechko were out of sight. There was no telling if anyone was actively looking for them yet. If they weren't, they would be soon. It was going to be up to S?lvi how she wanted to handle that.

He had a bunch of questions, all of which would have to wait until they got to their destination. His only focus right now was getting them there safely.

Once they had passed the lighthouse at the tip of the Nesodden peninsula, the coast, as well as the water around them, was clear. Reaching down, he opened the cabin door and let his passengers know that it was safe to come up topside.

S?lvi made introductions, first names only. "Scot, Leonid. Leonid, Scot."

The two men shook hands.

As they did, Harvath decided that he wasn't in the mood for all the cloak-and-dagger bullshit. "Have you and I met before, Mr. Grechko?"

"No, we have not."

"Interesting. Because back at the dock, it was clear that you recognized me."

"I wouldn't have been very good at my job if I didn't. Your reputation, particularly in Russian intelligence circles, preceeds you, Mr. Harvath."

Harvath took a smug pleasure in hearing that. It was a matter of personal pride that he kept so many Russians awake at night.

"Glad to know my work is appreciated," he replied.

Grechko frowned. "Some of it, perhaps. But definitely not all of it."

S?lvi patted the gunwale and changed the subject. "Good to see the old girl again," she stated.

Harvath knew her well enough to know what she was doing. Grechko was her assignment; her responsibility. He didn't need to like the Russian, but he did need to maintain his professionalism. If nothing else than for her.

"We were lucky," he replied, accepting the subject change. "With the warmer-than-usual weather, they hadn't pulled her from the water yet."

It also didn't hurt that the boat's owner liked Harvath. Not many Americans who came to Oslo rented a boat for the whole summer, paid in advance, and brought it back in pristine condition.

The owners of the cottage they were headed to felt the same way. Harvath had been the perfect tenant, paying in advance for the summer and fixing anything he saw in need of repair. Just like the boat owner, when Harvath had called at the last minute in need of a favor, the cottage owners had been more than happy to oblige. The key was in the same spot and he was welcome to stay as long as he wanted. There were no other renters on the books.

It was only late afternoon when they arrived, but the sun was already going down. After tying up the boat and opening the cottage, Harvath walked into the village for supplies.

He hadn't realized until halfway through the summer that the village had played an important role in the Norwegian resistance movement during World War II.

A small, clandestine radio station had been hidden in one of the cottages. It was manned by three brave undercover agents who belonged to the main Norwegian resistance organization, Milorg.

In April 1944, the Nazis finally zeroed in on it and launched an ambush, killing the resistance operatives and leaving their bloody bodies behind as a warning to the rest of the village.

A brass plaque, which S?lvi translated for him, had been placed to commemorate the station and the valiant men who lost their lives.

The whole story had only endeared the village even more to Harvath's heart. It was full of good, neighborly people who were happy to engage in conversation, while at the same time respecting boundaries and not being too nosy. They were solid.

The stockboy at the grocery store remembered him from over the summer and, after checking with his assistant manager, agreed to give him a lift back to the cottage. This allowed Harvath to buy not only the groceries he wanted, but also a couple of bundles of firewood, and to hit the government-owned liquor store known as the Vinmonopolet, or Polet for short. Eschewing his credit card, he paid for everything in cash.

Back at the cottage, he tipped the stockboy two hundred kroner, about twenty bucks, thanked him for the ride, and told him he didn't need any help getting the groceries inside.

Once the young man drove out of sight, S?lvi stepped outside to give Harvath a hand. But before she could touch a single bag, he pulled her in tight and just held her.

They stood there in their embrace without saying a word. Neither needed to speak. He had made it back from his string of operations without being killed only to almost lose her today. And in downtown Oslo of all places. They both knew how lucky they were to be holding each other.

He could feel some of the stress leaving her body as her muscles relaxed. After a few more moments, however, he sensed a shift. The tension had returned. She had clicked back into work mode. He gave her an extra squeeze and let her go.

Tucking a lock of her long blond hair behind her ear, she looked down at all the groceries.

"You even went to the Polet," she remarked.

"After the day you've had, I thought you might need a drink."

"You have no idea."

Together, they carried the bags inside, where Harvath slid the bottle of vodka into the freezer and then helped unpack everything else.

Once they were done, he got a fire started in the fireplace and suggested they sit down and debrief about what had happened at the safehouse while it was still fresh.