Chapter 77

SOMEWHERE OVER THE CARIBBEAN SEA

The flight to Rio should have been restful, but Harvath didn’t get a wink of sleep. Vaile had promised to email him Roussard’s dossier, but Harvath doubted there’d be much in it of any use.

He still had one slimy little rock to overturn.

Harvath kept thinking about his past in general and one person in particular. Meg Cassidy was the last person he’d been involved with before meeting Tracy.

Brazil was one of those magical places Meg had always wanted to take him to, but Harvath had never been able to find, or never wanted to find, the time to go. As his commercial flight roared south, he thought what an idiot he’d been to lose Meg and how lucky he’d been to find Tracy. If Tracy died, he knew his status as damaged goods would be permanently cast in stone. One was rarely given second chances in life. He’d managed to get his second chance at happiness put on a life support system. It was an ironic metaphor, as his love life had always been in critical condition.

Harvath tried to shake the morbid thoughts, but couldn’t. Across the aisle from him was a young, newlywed couple. By the looks of their hand-holding, kissing, and repeated requests for more champagne, they were off to Brazil or points further afield for their honeymoon.

He hadn’t been keeping track of the date at all. Glancing down at his Kobold chronograph, he realized Meg Cassidy’s wedding was just days away. He made a mental note to contact Gary to ask him to arrange a special security detail for her, effective immediately. While he and Meg were no longer romantically involved, Harvath still cared deeply for her and wouldn’t want to see anything happen to her, especially because of him.

Lawlor had gotten to know Meg very well and liked her immensely. The president had also grown quite fond of her and visited her summer cottage each year when he vacationed in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin.

Meg had done her country an invaluable service in helping Harvath to track down the heirs to Abu Nidal’s terrorist organization several years ago. Lawlor would have no problem getting President Rutledge to agree to assigning her a special detail for the next few days.

That was the window of time Harvath was most worried about. Despite the attack on New York, the last Harvath had heard the president was still planning on attending Meg’s wedding. Security would be beyond tight at that point. It was the run-up he was concerned about.

Like Tracy, Meg was an amazing woman. Though it had probably created more than a little friction between her and her fiancé, Meg had sent Harvath an invitation.

When it had arrived, the beautifully engraved note card had hit him like a hammer in the center of his chest. He’d never realized it, but it became apparent at that moment that he still carried a torch for Meg and harbored a hidden desire that things might one day work out between them. Seeing the invitation with her name and that of her fiancé, made him realize that some sort of spontaneous reconciliation cast down from the gods was no longer a possibility.

Not knowing how to reply to the invitation, Harvath simply set it aside and politely changed the subject the one time the president brought it up.

Now, speeding ever closer to Brazil -a country Meg had been so passionate about having him visit-Harvath couldn’t help but think of her and also of himself. God, was he really that screwed up? It seemed like everything he touched turned to dust.

There was a part of Harvath that wondered, just for a moment, if when the plane landed he should simply disappear into the wilds of Brazil, never to be seen again.

Chapter 78

RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL

It was in the low seventies when Harvath stepped off the plane at Rio’s Antonio Carlos Jobim International Airport. His sense of purpose had returned and his earlier desire to disappear into the wilds of Brazil faded. He was anxious to get to work.

Using the false passport he’d removed from his safe-deposit box in D. C., he cleared customs and passport control as a German national by the name of Hans Brauner. The passport was invaluable. Not only did it allow him to travel without being tracked by any American intelligence agencies, but traveling as an EU national allowed him to enter Brazil without a visa, something he wouldn’t have been able to do had he been traveling on an American passport.

Bypassing the RDE taxi desk, he headed straight to the Rio de Janeiro State Tourism desk and bought a prepaid taxi voucher. The last thing he needed right now was to deal with one of the city’s notoriously unscrupulous cab drivers.

After sliding into a cab and giving the driver his destination, Harvath leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He’d been on planes or switching between them for the last eleven hours. He was looking forward to checking into his hotel and getting a shower, as well as a little sleep, but there was work to do first.

The driver took the Linha Vermelha road toward the city. His speeding and lane changing were perfectly choreographed to the local Funk Carioca music pumping out of the boom box taped to his elaborately decorated dashboard.

The American Express office was located beneath the Copacabana Palace Hotel on Avenida Atlântica directly across from the world-famous Copacabana Beach.

Getting out of the cab, Harvath turned his back on the blue-green waters and scantily clad bronzed bodies and headed inside. He used a house phone to contact the American Express office to inquire whether his FedEx package had arrived yet. It had.

After checking in at the front desk and getting his key, he headed down to Amex to retrieve his parcel. He changed a few thousand dollars into Reais and then returned to the lobby where he asked the concierge to organize a helicopter tour for him.

Up in his room, Harvath tossed the FedEx box onto the bed and dropped his bag near the desk. He walked over to the windows, drew back the sheer curtains, and opened them up. Placing his palms against the sill, he leaned outside.

The view was amazing. The four-kilometer-long beach was covered with people. The salty smell of the ocean poured into the room. Looking at the waves as they crashed upon the beach, Harvath was almost sorry he hadn’t brought a bathing suit.

Pulling his head back inside, he crossed to the bathroom and started the shower. After hanging up his clothes, he climbed in and lost all track of time as he let the hot water pound against his body.

Normally, he would have finished his shower by turning the water all the way to cold-a maneuver he found even more refreshing than a cup of espresso-but not today. Today he needed to get caught up on his sleep.

Standing on the soft bathmat, he dried off and then headed for the king-sized bed. He put a do-not-disturb on the phone, drew back the sheets, and lay down.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the music of the cars and beachgoers below as he plunged into sleep.