“Yes he did.”

“Any chance the information didn’t pan out and so he wanted to whack you out of revenge?”

Nicholas laughed. “That’s not how our business works. If the information had been bad, he would have demanded his money back. And I would have paid him. But he never asked. Which tells me that the information was solid.”

“So he tried to kill you to get you out of his way.”

“Or to keep me quiet.”

Harvath needed to fill in the blanks. “How many transactions have you done with Tsui over the years?”

“A lot.”

“And you never had any animosity? No problems at all?”

“There was plenty of animosity, but nothing that would rise to either one of us wanting the other killed. I told you, he’s a despicable character. But from time to time he proved a useful and lucrative source. We flowed information both ways if the price was right. And we never let price prevent us from making money.”

It sounded to Harvath as if Tsui and Nicholas deserved each other. They were a couple of gossiping old ladies who talked trash behind each other’s backs but would sit down and have coffee to trade gossip about everybody else if they got the chance. The only difference was that the “gossip” they traded in was the stuff of state secrets and the kind of dirty laundry that brought politicians, business titans, and even countries to their knees.

Harvath swirled the liquid in his glass. All signs pointed to Tsui, but he wanted to be sure. “Who else could have framed you with the Italians?”

“The pope himself could have done it.”

“I’m going to assume that you’re exaggerating. You haven’t actually crossed the pope, have you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Nicholas. “Leveque gave you Tsui’s name and I’m going to bet he didn’t do so willingly.”

“No, it was under significant duress,” replied Harvath.

“Then you need to ask yourself how confident you are in what Leveque told you. Personally, Tsui makes perfect sense. He knows enough about me and what he doesn’t know, he most likely has the means to find out.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Enough to make him very uncomfortable,” said Nicholas.

“I want to pay him a visit. How soon can you get me an address?”

“It’ll probably take me a few hours.”

“Get started and call me back when you have something.”

After hanging up, Harvath downed the remainder of his drink and opened the minibar for a second. Though his ego was more bruised than his body, he was still sore from the beating he had taken from Dominique Fournier. But it was nothing compared to the beating he knew he was going to take from Reed Carlton.

After a couple of sips of his second whiskey, he picked up the phone and dialed.

CHAPTER 27

Harvath had had only intermittent e-mail contact with his boss since leaving for Europe three days ago. It was time to provide Carlton with a full debriefing, which was exactly what he did. When it was complete, he sat back and readied himself for the recriminations he was sure would follow.

“So let me get this straight,” said the Old Man. “You trunked two Basque separatists, Tasered a madam and her bodyguard-after she kicked your tail-then bagged and dragged her to some French farmhouse where you threatened to disfigure her, then iceboarded a concierge, shot three hotel security guards, kidnapped the wife of one of Russia’s wealthiest mobsters, and are now sitting in a hotel in Marseille waiting for a callback from the man I sent you over there to apprehend. Is that about right?”

“Pretty much. All except the part of me she kicked. It definitely wasn’t my tail.”

“Very funny, smartass. Have you seen what happened in Paris?”

Harvath changed his tone. “Yes.”

“What am I supposed to tell DOD?”

“Tell them I haven’t located the Troll yet.”

“You want me to lie to them?”

“Then don’t tell them anything.”

“Which is it?” asked the Old Man.

“Are you pulling my chain? Because I can’t tell.”

“I could say the same thing to you. I sent you over there to pick up your little buddy and bring him back, not to be his designated hitter.”

“He didn’t have anything to do with Rome, Reed.”

“It doesn’t matter. DOD wants him.”

Harvath tried to keep himself in check. His guilt over the second bombing had made him defensive. “I thought DOD wanted whoever was behind the attack.”

“And the first rung on that ladder is your pal.”

“I agree. But the second rung is Fournier, the third Leveque, and the fourth is Tony Tsui. We’re making progress.”

“Tell that to the people in Paris.”

Though Carlton probably didn’t mean it that way, the rebuke stung. “The Troll is a dead end. He had nothing to do with Rome. He was framed and the person who framed him is Tony Tsui. Tsui had prior knowledge of the attack.”

“Do you think Rome and Paris are connected?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Harvath.

“I didn’t ask you what you know, I asked you what you think.”

“I think they’re connected.”

“Me too.”

There was silence between them. Harvath was the one to finally break it. “Would you have connected these dots any differently than I have?”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell me my methods are too harsh?”

“No.”

“Do you think that I’m being too much of a cowboy?”

“You’re doing exactly what I expected you’d do when I selected you.”

Harvath laughed. “Are you telling me I’m predictable?”

“I’m telling you that you’re a professional and you’re reliable. I trust your judgment. You’re the man in the field. If you have a choice between a flyswatter and a sledgehammer, would I rather you use the flyswatter? Of course. But that’s for you to decide. That’s your job. My job is to give you whatever you need to get things done.”

“Well, what I need right now is more time.”

“How much more?” asked the Old Man.

“I’ll know better once I have a location for Tsui. In the meantime, tell DOD that we’re making progress.”

“Body bags aren’t progress, Scot.”

“I promise you,” said Harvath. “I’m going to find who did this and I’m going to make sure they never do it again.”

“I agree with you. But first, give me something I can give DOD. If you can prove the Troll had nothing to do with this then bring me Tsui-alive. Do that and then we’ll be able to take the next step.”

It was Sunday and the sun was just beginning to rise when Harvath’s phone rang. “I’ve got a location,” said the computer-modulated voice on the other end.

“Where?”

“Geneva.”

“That’s terrific. How’d you find him?” asked Harvath.

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I pick you up. Be at the General Aviation terminal at the Marseille airport in two hours.”

“What about customs in Switzerland?”

“Already taken care of,” replied Nicholas.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The white Learjet 45 touched down in Marseille and taxied to a revetment area near the General Aviation building. An attractive aviation services hostess walked Harvath to the plane. He was met at a set of air-stairs by the copilot, who offered to take his bag. Harvath politely declined and stepped aboard.

Argos and Draco were the first to say hello. The dogs weren’t the only company Nicholas had brought with him. Surprisingly, Padre Peio had come along as well. He was dressed in a pair of tan trousers and a blue button-down shirt.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, Father,” replied Harvath, dropping his pack on one of the forward seats. The Troll was lying on a leather couch toward the rear of the cabin. “You should have stayed in Spain. You’re not up for this.”

“That’s exactly what I told him,” said Peio.