Chapter 45

CHAPTER 45

As Harvath opened a bottle of Ruinart Blanc de Blancs and filled four glasses, Nicholas had his laptop on the counter and kept refreshing a Telegram account called Stratkom ZSU. It was a Ukrainian military channel, approved by the army high command, that was known for breaking news about successful military operations, especially when they could include spectacular video. And in this particular instance, they really did have some spectacular video.

The understanding with the Ukrainians was that they wouldn't publish the Tsybulsky story until the jet with their commandos had successfully left France. Once it had, the post went live.

Grechko was floored. He'd had no idea what Harvath and his team were planning. Right up until this moment he had believed that they were going to fake Inessa's disappearance and help smuggle her back to Norway.

"My God," he stated. "Tsybulsky's dead?"

Harvath raised his glass and clinked it against the defector's. "Problem solved. Congratulations."

S?lvi nodded approvingly at Harvath. "Well done," she stated, clinking glasses with him.

"Don't look at me," he replied, smiling. "From what I'm hearing, it was the Ukrainians."

"Carried out just off the coast of Monaco. Very clever," said Grechko. "The principality provides little to no support to Ukraine and is quite limited in conducting any sort of investigation. You averted an international incident and gave the Ukrainians a very high-profile win."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Harvath responded, taking another sip of his champagne. "But I will say this—I hope the Norwegians are paying you a lot of money. From the little bit I saw, Inessa has excellent, and expensive, taste."

The Russian grinned from ear to ear. "It doesn't matter. Now that Tsybulsky's dead, she's rich."

"She's in his will?"

"No. In order to avoid sanctions, he put all of his foreign holdings in Inessa's name."

Now all of the shell companies out of Cyprus that Holidae Hayes had found made sense. "Please tell her I'm sorry about the boat," said Harvath.

Grechko laughed. "I'm sure it's insured."

"So the estate on Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat is hers too?" S?lvi asked.

"Plus the chalet in Switzerland, and the flat in London, and a penthouse in New York City. She's going to need a team of accountants to sort it all out, but she'll have no problem affording them. Her life has just taken a dramatic turn."

"To the perfect crime," said Nicholas, raising his glass. "Za zda-ró-vye."

"Za zda-ró-vye," they all replied.

When Nicholas excused himself to go walk the dogs, Harvath topped off their glasses and suggested that Grechko join him and S?lvi on the terrace. He wanted to get this next piece of business finished.

They took seats around a glass table and, without wasting time on small talk, Harvath got right to the point.

"I believe you have a name and a location for me," he said.

Grechko took a long, slow sip of his champagne. "I assume you're familiar with a unit of Russian military intelligence referred to only by a number. 29155?"

Harvath nodded. "I am."

"Their missions include assassinations, sabotage, and other covert activities—like interfering in elections and fomenting riots—aimed at destabilizing foreign countries, particularly those in Europe. They were responsible for the poisoning and attempted murder of Sergei Skripal and his daughter, Yulia, in the UK. Skripal was a former GRU officer who had become a double agent for MI6."

"They used a nerve agent," said Harvath. "Novichok."

"Correct. They used that same nerve agent on Alexei Navalny. They've also used a radioactive material called polonium-210. This is in addition to all the other tools of the dark arts—guns, knives, garrote wires, rooftops, and open windows. They can be highly sophisticated and also downright brutish. They can also be sloppy. And that's where the name I have for you comes in."

"I'm listening."

"Perhaps it was a product of being based in Europe and being so far away from Moscow, but the unit got careless. Several members were caught on CCTV footage. Several more didn't change cell phones often enough, which allowed their movements to be tracked. Missions had to be scrapped. Assignments were abandoned. The powers that be back at the GRU were not only angry, but also embarrassed, which only made them more angry. They decided to send in a man named Colonel Ivan Kapralov.

"Kapralov had served with Spetsnaz GRU in both the Second Chechen War and the Russo-Ukraine War. In both actions, he tortured, maimed, and killed a lot of people. Men, women, children, the elderly—you name it. For his service, he was awarded Hero of the Russian Federation.

"He was loathed within the GRU. His fellow intelligence officers wanted him out of the building and as far away from them as possible. As he had earned ‘preferred status' from the Kremlin, he was put in charge of unit 29155, and sent off to Europe. When it came time to prepare the operation to snatch you from the United States and bring you back to Russia, Colonel Kapralov was put in charge of selecting the team and drawing up the mission plan. He authored the rules of engagement, which called for any witnesses to be killed."

"Including my wife," responded Harvath, his jaw tight.

Grechko nodded.

"Where do I find him?"

"They're based near Paris. Six of them in a safehouse. The location changes every couple of months."

"Do you have an address?"

The Russian shook his head. "No," he replied. "But I have the next-best thing."