Chapter 68

CHAPTER 68

Knocking on the side of the maintenance shed, Harvath waited for Preisler to roll the sliding door back. When he did, the first thing he noticed was Powell's Citroen sitting off to the side of the large space.

"Do you want to bring your vehicle in?" Preisler asked.

Harvath shook his head. "It'll be okay outside."

Standing aside, Preisler let Harvath enter and then slid the door closed behind him.

"Any problem getting here?" Harvath asked.

"Negative," Preisler replied. "Neither of those assholes wanted to ride in the trunk, but other than that, everything went fine."

Harvath had figured as much. He and Preisler had predetermined a secluded spot for Preisler to pull over. Upon which, Powell was enlisted to help secure Elovik and place him in the trunk. After that, it was Powell's turn. The less each of them was aware of, the better.

Powell already knew Harvath's reputation and what he was capable of. Inviting, or even forcing him to watch the interrogation, was pointless. By and large the station chief had served his purpose. When Harvath was ready to put him out with the trash, he would do so. Right now, he had some very personal business to attend to.

Unlike the woodsy scent outside, the maintenance shed smelled like diesel fuel and old motor oil. The concrete floor was cracked and covered with decades of stains. Iron trusses ran overhead, and snatches of moonlight spilled through the dirty glass skylights. Parked at the far side, a yellow snowplow looked old enough to have served as a troop transport in World War II.

The place had character. It had served a purpose in life. And though it was a little aged and a bit worn down, it was still doing its job. Harvath respected that.

He also respected the touch of modern that had recently been added, and which Preisler now drew his attention to. Mounted to one of the trusses was a two-ton electric chain hoist. Its remote hung from a thick, black cord. Underneath, a table with two chairs had been set up.

"Hands over his head or keep them behind his back?" Preisler asked, a wry smile on his face.

Harvath smiled back. Even the most inexperienced police officers didn't pull up on cuffs to get a suspect to his feet when his hands were behind his back.

What's more, with equipment like this it wouldn't take much to tear the arms out of someone's sockets. Between the screaming and the passing out from the pain, the interrogation they were planning could go well into overtime. Nobody, especially Harvath, wanted to be here a minute longer than they needed.

Nodding at the Citroen, he said to Preisler, "Time's a-wasting. Let's get Vlad out."

Opening a trunk with one prisoner inside, much less two, was a lot like opening a soda you'd left in the presence of a vindictive sibling. You never knew how explosive the result was going to be.

As seniority had its privileges, Harvath motioned for Preisler to hand him his Taser and then stood back as the junior operative popped the lid.

Thankfully, especially for Preisler, whose job it had been to properly secure the two men, nothing happened. Powell and Elovik were right where he had left them—hands and feet secured, hoods over their heads, and pieces of duct tape across their mouths underneath. Harvath had been quite clear that he didn't want these two comparing notes and making plans for some great escape. They were no longer masters of their own destinies. Harvath, and only Harvath, would decide what happened to them.

Grabbing Elovik, who had been placed in the trunk first and was therefore farther back, Preisler dragged him across Powell and pulled him out.

Preisler then removed his knife and cut away the plastic restraints from Elovik's ankles so that he could walk.

Guiding him to the table, he sat him down in such a way that his hands, which had been bound behind his back with flex-cuffs, were slipped over the rear of the chair.

As Preisler went to stand next to the Citroen, Harvath removed Elovik's hood and peeled the piece of duct tape from his mouth.

The Russian didn't speak. He just blinked as he tried to adjust his eyes to the light.

On the table was a tall plastic bottle of water and a stack of cups. "Thirsty?" Harvath asked.

Elovik nodded.

Harvath poured a cup and then held it to the Russian's lips so he could drink. The man nodded again when he'd had enough and Harvath set the cup back on the table.

"Thank you," the military attaché replied.

"You're welcome," said Harvath, keeping his demeanor relaxed.

Having control over an interrogation required, first and foremost, control over oneself. Psychologically, it was important that the Russian understand that Harvath held his fate in his hands. The outcome, good or bad, would depend on how Elovik comported himself.

"It appears Mr. Powell was happy to play us both," the Russian offered. Looking up at the heavy steel hook hanging from the hoist, he added, "Is that meant for me?"

Harvath smiled. "That's up to you. But to be honest, I hope it won't be necessary. If that's where we arrive, then this conversation has really gone off the rails."

"Agreed," the Russian replied, stealing one more glance at the winch. "Where would you like to start?"

"Normally, we'd be talking about your background and things like that."

"Building rapport."

"Exactly," said Harvath. "Except that I'm not that interested in your background."

"From what Powell told me, I understand you are interested in Colonel Ivan Kapralov, the commander of unit 29155."

"That's correct. What can you tell me?"

"Quite a bit, I would imagine. More to the point, however, I can tell you where to find him."

"Then we're off to a good start," Harvath replied. "Where is he?"

This time it was Elovik's turn to smile. "Perhaps we can first discuss what a successful outcome of this conversation looks like. Beyond us not having to employ anything suspended from the ceiling."

"Such as?"

"Such as, what does my life look like after we're done chatting? Do we shake hands and I return to my embassy?"

"That depends," said Harvath. "Is that how you want this to end?"

"Maybe. What did you promise Powell?"

"I promised that he gets to keep breathing."

The Russian smiled again. "At a minimum, I would expect the same."

"If you prove helpful to me, I might be able to arrange that."

"What if I could prove helpful not just to you, but also to your government?"

"Are you looking for some sort of an overall deal with the United States?"

The military attaché nodded.

The man definitely had Harvath's attention. But Harvath had his own agenda. "To work out a deal, we'd need a station chief. And all things considered, I don't think Powell is in a position to help anyone. Why don't we start with why I'm here. We'll call it a mutual gesture of good faith. You tell me where Kapralov is, and I'll agree to let you keep breathing. Fair enough?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Harvath couldn't have been more serious as he looked at the man and replied, "No."

"Colonel Kapralov and his men are in Norway."

"Where in Norway?" Harvath asked, working to conceal his surprise.

He had entertained the possibility that the assassination unit might be on an assignment and that he'd either have to wait for their return, or chase after them. What he hadn't foreseen was that they would be in Norway.

"Near Oslo," Elovik answered.

"Why? What are they doing there?"

"Several days ago, a high-level Russian intelligence official, named Grechko, defected. A team was sent to kill him. They failed. Kapralov and his men were dispatched to finish the job."

"And you know precisely where I can find them?" Harvath asked.

"Of course. I helped set up their safehouse."

"That's helpful," said Harvath, who, knowing what he had in the palm of his hand, began pressing for more information. "I've got to imagine, though, that the Norwegians have this guy Grechko locked down tight. They're not going to leave a high-value defector sitting on a park bench somewhere. How is Kapralov supposed to find him?"

"We have someone inside Norwegian Intelligence. An asset I developed myself," the Russian responded proudly, before shifting gears and adding, "But something's wrong. The Norwegians have misplaced him."

"Misplaced?"

"After the first team tried to kill him and were all wiped out, Grechko and the agent debriefing him disappeared. They're assumed to still be in Norway. No one, however, knows where. Kapralov and his team are on hold until the location is uncovered."

"Interesting," Harvath replied, feigning indifference. Switching gears, he posed a new question, a plan forming in his mind. "Why don't you run me through what intel you have that you think my country might be interested in."

"I assume since Powell is no longer viable, that you have another station chief in mind we could speak with?"

Harvath nodded, itching to get outside and place the call. "I think I have someone who will be very interested."