Page 43 of Shadow of Doubt

But when the situation called for seriousness and professionalism, as it did now, every member of the team could be counted on to deliver.

This wasn’t a game. They were on the clock. Grechko was a Russian defector with information that was expected to be of great value to Norway, NATO, and the United States. The Carlton Group was here to keep him safe, to support Sølvi in debriefing him, and to carry out whatever assignments Harvath deemed necessary.

Haney wore a black suit, a wired earpiece, and a pair of Oakley Contrail sunglasses. The six-foot-tall former Force Recon Marine looked every inch the executive protection specialist.

Idling behind the Audi was a Black Mercedes G-Wagon filled with four more of Harvath’s teammates—ex–10th Forces Group soldier Kenneth Johnson; ex–5th Special Forces Group soldier Jack Gage; ex–Navy SEAL Tim Barton; and another former Force Recon Marine, Matt Morrison. Harvath nodded subtly in their direction and the men in the vehicle nodded back.

“Good to see you, Mike,” said Harvath as he approached.

“You too, Scot,” Haney replied, head on a swivel, scanning for threats.

As Grechko was their protectee, they loaded him in first. Sølvi then walked around to the other side and got in back next to him. Themoment Haney climbed behind the wheel and put the car in drive, Harvath hopped into the forward passenger seat and gave him the thumbs-up.

After confirming with the men in the G-Wagon that they were ready to roll, Haney radioed the command to move out.

“I brought you a little something,” Haney said as the green security gate retracted and he exited the VIP parking lot.

Harvath raised the armrest to find a very sexy, highly concealable personal defense weapon. Built on a SIG Sauer P320, the Flux Raider X replaced the weapon’s frame and turned it into a pistol-style carbine complete with a spare magazine well, picatinny rails, and a lightning-fast, spring-loaded, retractable brace. Haney had added a TacDev Ripstik charging handle, a SureFire weapon light, and a compact Trijicon red-dot sight. Sitting underneath it were four fully loaded thirty-round magazines and an Applied Defense Concepts tactical holster.

“Very nice,” Harvath responded, lowering the armrest. “How’s the house?”

“It’s seen better days, but it’s quiet. Just the way we like it.”

“Everything in place?”

Merging onto Avenue Didier Daurat, Haney headed for the A8 autoroute to avoid the coastal traffic. “Palmer and Ashby are in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat doing surveillance and reconnaissance,” he said. “Staelin’s setting up perimeter security at the house and Preisler’s helping Nicholas with all the remaining electronics issues.”

The location the CIA had secured as their safehouse was in the hills above the French village of Eze, halfway between Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat and the Principality of Monaco.

After stopping to unlock a set of tall iron gates, they proceeded down a long, dusty driveway lined with ancient sycamore trees. On one side, beyond the trees, rows of vines could be seen. On the other, groves of olive trees. Harvath rolled down his window. Though it was well past summer, the car filled with the unmistakable scents the region was famous for—wild thyme, rosemary, and lavender.

At the end of the drive, they came upon their destination—a run-down, two-story, stone villa.

Left to wither in the intense southern sun, the villa’s once-vibrantyellow façade had been bleached to a pale straw. Its previously azure-blue shutters were now dull and faded. The terra-cotta tiles adorning its crooked roof had given up their dark red hues and had been replaced by an aging palette of apricot, coral, and pale orange.

They parked in the circular motor court and, gathering up his personal defense weapon along with the spare magazines from under the armrest, Harvath exited the Audi.

After helping Sølvi out of the vehicle, they left Grechko with Haney and walked back to the G-Wagon to say hello to the other members of the team.

The last time Harvath had seen most of these guys was when they had been tasked with recovering a high-value intelligence asset and his family from Afghanistan. The team had been involved in a brutal firefight with the Taliban and almost didn’t make it out. Had Harvath, against the wishes of his teammates, not offered himself up as bait, they all might have been killed.

As usual, the men acted more excited to see Sølvi than to see him. They rehashed the same lame jokes and reminded her that it would only be a matter of time before Harvath screwed up, in which case any one of them would be available to help console her.

From the jibes about replacing Harvath as the man in her life, they quickly pivoted to asking how many of her “hot” friends were going to be coming to their wedding in the United States. They were beyond shameless, and Sølvi, smart aleck that she was, gave as good as she got. She had an excellent sense of humor.

It went back and forth like this for a few more moments until Harvath saw a diminutive figure appear at the front door, bracketed by two huge white dogs. Smiling, he told his team to get back to work and led Sølvi away.

He was a handful of feet from the Audi when he noticed the shocked expression on Grechko’s face.

“You,” the Russian exclaimed.

“Hello, Leonid,” Nicholas replied from the doorway.

CHAPTER 20

Harvath’s eyes flicked to Nicholas’s Caucasian Ovcharkas. The dogs were incredibly intuitive. When it came to reading people, especially people intent on doing their owner harm, Argos and Draco were unparalleled. If there was going to be any kind of trouble, they would pick up on it first.

But while keenly alert and practically glued to the little man’s sides, the dogs didn’t seem unduly concerned. Harvath took that as a good sign.

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