Chapter 60

CHAPTER 60

"I want you to know that it wasn't personal," said Powell, still on his knees and not moving a muscle.

"Of course not," Harvath responded, masking the rage he was feeling. "It was just business."

"Exactly."

"Out of curiosity, what did the Russians pay you? What was my life and the lives of my teammates worth to them?"

"I'll split it with you," Powell offered, attempting to bargain his way out. "Better yet, you can keep it. All of it. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"From one hundred million to one hundred and fifty thousand. I'm beginning to think the Russians are losing interest."

"They're not. Believe me. It was fifty thousand for the information. One hundred thousand more to lure you to the Bois de Boulogne. All of which, like I said, is yours."

Harvath now realized what had so bothered him on first meeting Powell. It wasn't that the chief of station was too tweedy, it was that he was too smarmy. Just beneath the surface, there was a casual unprofessionalism about him that Harvath had allowed himself to ignore as the CIA man lulled him into a false sense of security with his well-thought-out planning, a halfway-decent safehouse, and his ability to source police-like vehicles and accoutrements. It was a mistake Harvath wouldn't make again. Ever.

"Forget the money," said Powell, still negotiating. "Or don't. What I mean is, I know what you really want."

"What's that?"

"Elovik. Unit 29155. He's the key; the only way you can get to them."

Skeptical, Harvath replied, "And you're going to help me get to Elovik."

"I think, all things considered, that would only be fair."

"Why do I need you? You've already told me where he lives. Suresnes."

Powell, his back still to Harvath, shook his head. "That's an FSB safehouse. It was also a trap. If you showed up there, it was going to be another ambush."

"So where is he?"

"I can show you."

Harvath laughed. "Nice try, asshole. Not interested."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. You're going to have to do better."

"May I turn around?" Powell asked.

"Slowly," Harvath replied. "Hands behind your head."

The station chief obeyed his orders. Keeping his hands behind his head, he turned very slowly around.

"If you were going to shoot me, you would have done it already. So, why don't you tell me exactly what you want, and we can figure out some sort of arrangement."

"A, I still may shoot you," said Harvath. "And B, you know what I want. Where do I find Elovik?"

Powell was still in a mood to negotiate. "What assurances do I get that if I tell you, you'll let me live?"

"Nothing in life is guaranteed, Ray. The only way you can help yourself is by helping me. This is the last time I'm going to ask. Where's Elovik?"

The station chief needed to buy himself some more time. He knew the only way to do that was to cooperate. And cooperation meant telling the truth.

"There's a small command center at the Russian Embassy. He's there. Monitoring the situation and dealing with the fallout from Moscow."

"I'm not interested in storming a hardened diplomatic facility guarded by local law enforcement. Where does he live?"

"In the Eighteenth. Near Montmartre," said Powell, shaking his head. "But he won't be there. Until he knows you've been neutralized, he's going to remain at the embassy. It's SOP for them."

A plan started to form in Harvath's mind. "And once he believes I've been neutralized?"

"Then things will be safe enough for him to come out. Why? What are you thinking?"

"I assume you gave Elovik the location of our safehouse?"

Powell dropped his gaze and nodded.

"So, there's been surveillance on it, likely still is, and the Russians will be aware that none of us have returned."

"I would assume so," the CIA man responded. "But I still don't under—"

Harvath cut him off. "Where's your car?"

"It's parked outside."

"Let's go," said Harvath, waving the pistol and motioning for the station chief to get up.

"Where are we going?"

"That's none of your concern. I'll explain when we get there."