Chapter 39

CHAPTER 39

M ONACO

They dropped Harvath along the appropriately named Quai des Etats-Unis and let him walk the rest of the way.

Slinging his pack, he skirted the edge of the glittering, horseshoe-shaped harbor and took in the evening air, which had grown considerably cooler.

He saw everything from small sailboats, no bigger than twenty-five feet long, to massive megayachts, which were over three hundred feet.

It was good to see that in the billionaire's playground of Monaco, Port Hercule still had room for the little guy.

The boat the CIA had helped arrange was right where Nicholas had said it would be. Painted graphite black, the thirty-eight-foot brABUS Shadow 900 looked like a long, sharp knife bobbing gently on the surface of the water.

Its twin Mercury Marine V-8 four-stroke engines were capable of speeds over 60 knots. Its supercar-style helm included a sophisticated touchscreen information display, which provided the boat's main navigation, G-shock monitoring, engine management, multiple driving-assist features, and, similar to inflight systems, supported passenger screens with current speed, air temperature, and water depth.

From the hand-stitched leather seating to its blacked-out chrome, the craft was both sleek and luxurious. It was immediately obvious to Harvath why this was the same company famous for taking already high-end Mercedes-Benz vehicles to the next level.

Hopping on board, he shook hands with Barton and the two Ukrainian commandos, Max and Petro, before getting a quick update.

To help them track and target Tsybulsky's vessel, Harvath had volunteered to slip into the water and attach the HEL-STAR marker lights with zip ties. Barton, however, was worried about the distance Harvath would have to swim.

"I'm not saying you can't do it," he stated. "I'm just asking why you would want to. Even with a wet suit."

Part of his development as a team leader had been learning when to listen and when to speak. He had a lot of experience, but it didn't mean he had cornered the market on good ideas. That had already been proven in the short amount of time they'd been in France.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

Opening his tablet, Barton pulled up satellite imagery of the harbor and walked Harvath through his idea. "If you can make it to this point, we can trail a rope as we head out of the port. You grab on to it and we'll tow you until we get just beyond the last pier. Then we'll bring you aboard and nobody will be any the wiser."

Barton was using his head. There were more than a few cameras around Port Hercule. Like Ring doorbell cams, they had become ubiquitous on even the smallest of vessels. If Harvath got into or out of the water anyplace other than their boat, there was a good chance it was going to be captured on video.

Even though he could keep his mask on, he knew that it was best to avoid being recorded whenever possible. If that meant swimming farther than he preferred or treading in cold water waiting to be picked up, that would always be the best way to go. Now all he had to decide was which option he wanted to take.

Examining the image and calculating the distances and time in the water, Harvath weighed his options. Then his phone, along with Barton's, chimed. Someone had added a message to the team's encrypted group text. It was from Preisler. Tsybulsky had cashed in his chips early and was on the move.

Harvath and Barton both looked at each other and said the same word in unison: "Fuck."

They then looked back down at the tablet. Harvath used his fingers to move the imagery around until he found what he was looking for.

Zooming in, he said, "Right here. The gas dock. I'll dump off the port side."

"What am I supposed to tell them?" Barton asked. "We stopped there on the way in and already fueled up."

"You'll come up with something," he replied, opening his backpack and pulling out everything he needed. "Let's get moving."

Within minutes, Barton was ready to go. As Harvath got into his wet suit and prepped the rest of his gear, Barton activated the running lights, fired up the engines, and, after making sure all systems were functioning, had the commandos cast off the lines.

Moving toward the gas dock, he radioed Nicholas a SITREP to bring him up to speed on what they were doing. Phase Two had officially begun.

The gas dock was not its own stand-alone structure. It was at the end of a long pier and resembled the crosspiece on the letter T.

Barton slowed as he neared and placed his engines in neutral. Glancing toward the stern, he caught a glimpse of Harvath as he slipped over the side and entered the water without making a sound.