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Setting aside the last report, Harvath leaned back and watched Nicholas work. Regardless of how rapidly his fingers moved across his keyboard or how many times he clicked and double-clicked his mouse, the man’s expression was tranquil.

In this he resembled the multitudes of counterterrorism operatives Harvath had worked with over the years. No matter how dangerous the situation, they approached each mission with an icy resolve. Though they all felt strongly about what they were doing, it was as if they were completely devoid of emotion, which was probably true. As things heated up, they calmed down and became completely focused. Essentially, each was in his or her own particular zone. That was exactly what he saw in Nicholas at the moment.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Half an hour after he had begun, Nicholas turned from his computer. His expression reminded Harvath of that of a doctor stepping out of a difficult surgery to update an awaiting family.

“There’s a lot here,” he said.

“If you’re talking about loan sharking and racketeering, I’m not interested. We can leave that for the Feds. Is there anything damning on Ashford or not?”

The little man tilted his head to the side. “By name, no. Everything so far is coded. Everyone appears to have a different designator. It’s filled with random strings of letters and numbers.”

Harvath wasn’t surprised. Yatsko had been a professional spy, and some old habits died very hard. “So we’ve got nothing.”

“Not exactly,” said Nicholas. “There’s one remaining file. I think it’s a Rosetta stone that might explain all the other data, but it’s heavily encrypted.”

“Can you crack it?”

“Given enough time, I can crack anything. But all things considered, why don’t we just crack Yatsko instead.”

“I think they took him to the house in Maryland. I’ll have the Old Man call the interrogators.”

“The Old Man is Yatsko’s interrogator,” said Nicholas.

“Reed? Really?”

“Really. I think the two of them have a history. Don’t ask me what it is. Reed Carlton has more secrets than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Harvath didn’t know if he should like the sound of that. From what Ralston had said, Yatsko was a tough son of a bitch. The Old Man, though, was the toughest son of a bitch Harvath had ever met. If the two men had a history, it could result in a very successful interrogation. There was also a flip side. History could also result in an extremely regrettable interrogation.

“Did they take Yatsko to the farm in Maryland?”

“Maryland?” replied Nicholas. “Why bother? They wanted to get started right away, so they brought him and Sarhan here.”

“They brought them here?”

“Yeah, Carlton has them downstairs on twenty-four.”

There was a stairwell near Nicholas’s SCIF that Harvath knew led to the twenty-fourth floor. Access was via a keypad next to the door. Harvath punched in his code and waited. The tiny light above the pad remained red.

He tried it again. Nothing.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

Finally, Harvath decided to try the code he’d seen the Old Man use on multiple occasions. He punched the numbers into the keypad and watched as the little light turned green and he heard the sound of the locks releasing.

Pulling open the door, he stepped into the stairwell and headed down to twenty-four. It had always been characterized as “empty office space” to him. It was a buffer between their offices and the rest of the building. It had also been explained as future space that the Carlton Group could grow into. As Harvath descended the stairs, though, he wondered if maybe he hadn’t been told the whole truth.

In fact, as he neared the landing for twenty-four he was reminded of something Robert Ashford had told him the first time they had met. The MI5 man had picked Harvath up at the airport, and after whisking him through customs and passport control, he had inquired as to the Old Man’s well-being. Of course, as they were about the same age, he hadn’t referred to him as the Old Man. That was what his employees referred to him as. But Ashford hadn’t referred to him as Reed or Carlton either. He had called him Peaches.

When Harvath had jokingly asked if it was because his boss was so sweet, Ashford had laughed and flatly stated, “No.”

The two men had worked together many times over the years and Ashford explained that Carlton was anything but sweet. No matter how unsavory a tactic the enemy employed, Carlton would always one-up them. According to Ashford, the Old Man had never shied away from doing whatever needed to be done. He was apparently a very aggressive interrogator. Bloody ruthless, in Ashford’s words. Hence the nickname Peaches—the antithesis of the man’s operating style.

Ashford was one of the few people Harvath had met who had worked with the Old Man in the field. He found his stories about Carlton fascinating. He also found some of them very disturbing. Allegedly, he had pushed a handful of interrogations way too far. Prisoners had died, or so the rumors went.

Though the Old Man had never been charged, some of the whispers cited his tactics as a prime reason he and the CIA had parted company.

Harvath knew not to put a lot of stock in rumors, especially Washington rumors, but nevertheless, as he plugged Reed Carlton’s code into the keypad at the door for twenty-four, he couldn’t help but wonder what he would find on the other side.

There was a particularly nasty rumor about the Old Man’s beating a prisoner with an electrical cord. Harvath had overheard several staffers talking about it when he first came on board at the Carlton Group. He’d made the mistake of asking the Old Man about it and had been put firmly in his place. Harvath hadn’t asked him again.

As he stepped onto twenty-four, he didn’t know what he would find, but when it came to Carlton and his reputation, he figured nothing would surprise him. Harvath’s mind, though, was about to be changed.

CHAPTER 60

H
arvath moved from one empty office and conference room to the next. Finally, on the west side of the building, he located Reed Carlton and his “prisoner.”

They were in a small suite of tastefully decorated rooms that looked as if they had been plucked right out of the Four Seasons. Propped up on a hospital-style bed was Yaroslav Yatsko. His wounds had been cleaned and dressed, and an IV had been started. Each of his legs was in a straight-leg brace with a large ice pack atop each knee. Sitting in a chair next to him, drinking a glass of wine, was Reed Carlton.

The Old Man looked up when Harvath stuck his head into the room. “What are you doing down here?” he asked.

“I heard the housekeepers forgot the mints for the pillows,” replied Harvath.

The Old Man set his glass on the table and stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Yatsko and motioned for Harvath to follow him into the hall.

Once they were in the hall and the door to the suite of rooms was closed, Harvath asked, “What’s all of that in there? Extra-extraordinary rendition?”

“Yaroslav is an old acquaintance.”

“That’s a pretty nice room you’ve got him in. Do we have a spa around here, too, that I don’t know about?”

“Relax,” said the Old Man. “We rented a hospital bed and put it in one of the old executive offices for him.”

“Why?”

“Because Yatsko needs to be protected.”

Harvath looked at him. “From what I hear, it’s everybody else that needs to be protected from Yatsko. How do you know this guy? And why are we taking care of him?”

“First of all, we’re not taking care of him. We’re using him, the same way he and the Russians would use us. And as to how I know him, let’s just say we crossed paths many times in the old days.”

“Reed, this guy sent a wet work team to smoke Larry Salomon. Yatsko’s Spetsnaz guys killed two filmmakers. Two American filmmakers. How the hell was he even able to sneak into the country in the first place?”

“He didn’t sneak in,” said Carlton.

Harvath looked at his boss. “We’ve actually known all along that he’s been here?”

“From what I hear, he’s been helpful.”

“Helpful how?” asked Harvath. “Helpful thinning the ranks of Hollywood producers?”

The Old Man shook his head. “He’s been a good source of intelligence for the CIA in Mexico. Facilitating the hit on Salomon, though, crossed the line. The Agency should have yanked his leash a long time ago.”

“So why didn’t they?”

“If I had to guess, it’s because much of what he’s been doing south of the border has been beneficial to the U.S. In exchange, Langley has been looking the other way, and that includes his criminal endeavors stateside. Murder for hire of American citizens, though, was a big mistake. It’s unforgivable and he knows it. He got too greedy.”

“What’s going to happen to him then?”

“At best, he’ll be persona non grata in the United States.”

“And at worst?” Harvath asked.

“He’ll stand trial for murder.”

“You think they’re actually going to give him a choice?”

“No,” replied Carlton. “We are.”

“What’s he going to do for us?”

“He’s going to help us nail Robert Ashford. And once we’ve taken care of Ashford, we’re going to settle America’s account with James Standing.”

“So you believe Ashford and Standing are connected to the terrorist attacks?” asked Harvath. “You think they were the ones who stole the unrestricted warfare plans from the Chinese?”

The Old Man took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I think we’ve got a lot of questions that need answering.”

“Well, we should start with your pal Yatsko. The password he gave back in California didn’t unlock his entire drive.”

“I know,” replied Carlton as he removed a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Harvath. “It was his insurance policy. Give this to Nicholas. It should unlock the remaining file.”

Harvath took the piece of paper. “The fact that he’s cooperating doesn’t mean we should trust him.”

The Old Man smiled. “Believe me, I know. It’s one of the hardest things about our business. You always have to assume that everyone is running an angle.”

“Even Robert Ashford.”

“Even Robert Ashford,” the Old Man agreed.

“So how are we going to get to him?” asked Harvath.

“We’re not. We’re going to have him come to us.”

“Why would he come to us?”

“Because he doesn’t know what he doesn’t know and that’s the sort of thing that bothers a man like Robert Ashford.”

“I’m not exactly following you,” said Harvath.

“There’s a reason Ashford hasn’t retired. He lives for the intelligence game, and the intelligence game is all about gathering information. The more you have, the more powerful you are.

“Right now, Ashford’s going nuts because he doesn’t know how much or how little we know about the Aleem network.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Harvath.

“Because shortly after Uppsala he contacted me. He said he had some information he thought might be helpful to us and wanted to compare notes.”

“Wait a second. He knew we were behind Uppsala?”

“No. He was fishing.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him,” said the Old Man, “that I was busy and would get back to him.”

“Do you think you can lure him over here?”

“I think so. In fact, I think we have to. It’d be too difficult right now to launch an operation in his backyard. I’d rather we do it in ours, where he’s out of his element and we have control.”

“In addition, Ashford has no idea that we know anything about Yatsko, much less that we have him in our custody.”

The Old Man smiled. “And that’s how we’re going to bring down Robert Ashford.”

CHAPTER 61

L
ONDON

M
ONDAY

I
t was early Monday morning and Robert Ashford was taking his breakfast at his tidy little row house at number 22 Portobello Road in London’s Notting Hill. Like many people around the world, he had his television on and was watching scenes from the terrorist attacks that had taken place in America over the last couple of days. Spread out on the dining table in front of him was a cross-section of domestic and international newspapers, along with reports from MI5 and MI6.