Chapter 52

CHAPTER 52

P ARIS

Something was eating at Harvath, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Something just felt off.

Perhaps it was having to rush another job. He knew all too well that just because the Tsybulsky op had been successful, it didn't mean that this next one would.

Hits that were daisy-chained, where the intel gleaned from one operation led immediately to the next, required a tremendous amount of luck. There was a lot of room for error. No matter how much care you took, Murphy seemed to be waiting around not just one corner, but all of them.

Harvath was reminded of a friend who, years ago, had been killed right at the finish line. It was July Fourth weekend and they had been chasing a team of terrorists through New York City. At the very end, right when they had cornered the key figure they were after, Harvath's buddy, Bob Horrigan, had been shot.

They had been running and gunning for hours. From one battle to the next, they kept pushing through their mental and physical exhaustion. Then, right when they could see light at the end of the tunnel, Bob had been hit by a figurative train.

It didn't matter that Horrigan had been an elite Delta Force operator and that he had been on countless high-risk missions throughout his storied career. In the end, the world's best training and hard-won experience hadn't been enough to save him.

Harvath had always wondered if it was bad luck or simply the law of diminishing returns. Had Bob's number just come up or had they pushed too hard for too long?

By the same token, night after night during the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, teams had daisy-chained from dusk to dawn. It wasn't the preferred method of doing business, but it produced results, which was why it was done. Sometimes, people got hurt. But when the clock was ticking, often there was no other choice. Which was where Harvath was now.

He tried to let the feeling roll off him. If there was nothing he could do about it, it was pointless to dwell on it. He needed to focus forward.

The Russians being the Russians, they observed a strict 5 p.m. end to their workday, meaning that many of them began leaving the embassy at 4:30. Harvath and his team would have to be in place well before that.

Having checked and rechecked their weapons, radios, and equipment, Harvath called for a brief break. It was important that everyone get a little pre-mission relaxation. A chance to breathe and decompress before going hot could reap substantial benefits if things got bad. If there was one truism in their business, it was that a rested operator was a resourceful operator.

While Powell had stocked the fridge in the break room with bottled water, there wasn't much else. In one of the cabinets, there were bags of salty snacks—pretzels, chips, and peanuts—but that was it.

Johnson offered to run out for food, but couldn't find any takers. No one was really hungry. Not now.

As Preisler put on coffee, Harvath kicked off his boots and closed his eyes for a few minutes. Being able to quiet his mind and block out his thoughts before an assignment had always been one of his greatest skills. Even if only for a few minutes, he always came away feeling refreshed and much sharper.

He sat in that meditative state for a good fifteen minutes before the smell of the coffee became too tempting to ignore any longer. Getting up, he grabbed a mug and then sat down next to Staelin, who was studying the satellite imagery at the table.

"See anything interesting?" he asked.

Staelin, who would be driving one of the vehicles, shook his head. "Just running the routes. Do we have any clue how busy the Bois de Boulogne is going to be?"

Harvath shrugged. "It'll be rush hour, so expect it to be busier. Other than that, I don't have any additional intel."

"At least we're not trying to grab the guy in the center of downtown Paris. That'd be a nightmare."

Harvath agreed. He had done a handful of operations like that. They were incredibly complicated and took a long time to orchestrate. Crowds and chaos could work to your advantage, but only if you retained control over all the other elements in the operation. If not, you very quickly became a rat being chased through an increasingly dangerous maze. He had no desire to get anywhere near that sort of scenario.

When the time neared, he gave his teammates a fifteen-minute warning. It had been agreed that all weapons and police gear would be kept out of sight until Elovik had been spotted and they were ready to begin their pursuit. There was absolutely no reason to risk drawing any attention before that.

He sent Nicholas a text, letting him know that they were ready to roll. The little man, who had hacked himself deep into the CIA's security system, confirmed receipt and began streaming bogus feeds from the safehouse cameras to the Agency's cloud. No one in the Paris station or back at Langley would have any record of what Harvath and his team were about to do.

Opening the garage bay doors, they backed the two navy blue Renaults into the small parking lot area and paused as they awaited Nicholas's next move.

Each of the vehicles was outfitted with a tracking device so that Nicholas could not only monitor their progress, but also cover their movements. The less evidence available to anyone—be it the CIA, the Russians, or the French—the better.

While the little man couldn't wipe every single, individually operated camera the team passed, he could interrupt the feeds from those controlled by the French authorities, particularly their traffic cameras. It would be next to impossible to fully grasp what had happened, if they couldn't pick up any trace of the vehicles.

As soon as word came back that Nicholas was ready, Harvath gave the order for the team to roll.

They crossed the Seine via the Pont de Puteaux, cut through the Bois de Boulogne, and popped out a few blocks from the Russian Embassy near the Porte de la Muette.

Passing the Embassy of Bangladesh, they hung a left on Boulevard Flandrin and found places to park right before Rue Dufrenoy. Now it was simply a waiting game. The moment Powell saw Elovik's car, he would let them know.

At 4:55, they received word. The Russian military attaché was on the move. His car had turned right onto Boulevard Lannes and was headed south.

Elovik, however, wasn't alone. An additional embassy security vehicle—carrying two men—was trailing right behind him.

As Harvath had feared, Murphy had now arrived on scene.