Turning back to the flyer, Harvath asked, “Do you have any other photos of the property?”

“We’ve got a couple more on our website,” said Erikson as she booted up her computer. When she had clicked through to the page for the house Roussard had taken, she turned the monitor so Harvath could see for himself.

“Can you click on the virtual tour, please?” said Harvath after she had scrolled through all the static images.

Erikson was halfway through the second 360-degree virtual tour when Harvath ordered her to stop. “Back up,” he said.

The realtor dragged her mouse, slowly moving the image back the way it had come. Finally, Harvath said, “Right there. Stop.”

The camera had been set on a manicured lawn that led down to the water. It provided a perfect view of the home’s short pier and the view beyond. What Harvath was interested in wasn’t the view, though. It was the hull of a sleek powerboat that sat beneath a striped awning in the pier’s sole boat slip.

“Oh, that,” replied Erikson, rolling her eyes. “That boat almost cost me the deal.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harvath.

“When Mr. Boesiger arrived, I had to explain to him that it had developed a problem with its fuel line and had to be taken in to the shop. The home’s owners offered a very generous discount on his rental rate but he didn’t care about the discount, he wanted the boat and was very angry that it wasn’t available.

“I know the family who owns the Cobalt dealership in Fontana. They agreed to lease me one of their best boats so Mr. Boesiger could have a comparable watercraft for the duration of his vacation.”

Harvath couldn’t believe his good fortune. “And how long is that supposed to be for?”

“Mr. Boesiger is paid through Sunday, but when we were trying to arrange a new boat for him he said he didn’t care when it came as long as he had it by today.”

Chapter 114

As Harvath left Leif Realty, he knew he had uncovered a major part of how Philippe Roussard planned on carrying out his attack. It was going to come from the water.

Scenes of a USS Cole-style ramming attack briefly flashed through Harvath’s mind, but he discounted them. Roussard did not strike him as suicidal, and when it came to the Lake Geneva Country Club, there was nothing to ram. The club was perched high at the water’s edge and almost impossible to get significantly close to because of a series of wooden piers and boat slips.

There was a chance that Roussard could pack his boat full of explosives and try to leave it in one of the slips closest to the clubhouse, but it would be next to impossible for the craft to avoid Secret Service scrutiny. Well before the president had arrived they would have checked each boat over completely and matched it with its rightful owner, upon whom a thorough background investigation would have already been completed along with background checks of all the other members of the club.

Harvath backed out of his parking space and followed the directions Nancy Erikson had given him for the rental property. As he drove, he gave play to every conceivable scenario that might involve Meg’s wedding and Roussard’s access to a high-powered speedboat.

The SEAL team that accompanied the president whenever he visited marine environments would be on, under, and all around the water during the wedding. In addition, there would be numerous support craft keeping boaters a good distance away from the area. A straight kamikaze-style run by Roussard would certainly fail.

Reaching Highway 50, Harvath turned left and headed west, parallel to the lake’s north shore. There had to be something he wasn’t seeing; something about the boat, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

With a hard perimeter established around the country club, the only way it could be breached was with an attack that, once launched, couldn’t be stopped. Again, Harvath returned to the idea of a projectile of some sort, along the lines of a Stinger missile or an RPG.

Consulting his map, Harvath noticed that he was coming up on the turnoff for Roussard’s lakefront rental. When he saw the road sign, he eased off the gas and applied his turn signal.

Moments later, he was driving down a paved lane shaded by a canopy of tall oaks that had been planted at equal intervals along both sides of the road.

As Harvath drove, he focused on what lay ahead of him. Most important, he focused on the need to keep Roussard alive until he uncovered what the man had planned.

For all Harvath knew, the boat might have nothing to do with Roussard’s attack and everything to do with his getaway. He couldn’t close his mind off to any options.

As Harvath followed a gentle bend in the road, he was unable to see the dark SUV that had just turned off the highway behind him.

Chapter 115

About a half mile before Roussard’s, Harvath came upon a small home undergoing extensive renovation. As it was nearing five o’clock, all the construction workers had gone. He pulled into the gravel drive and parked. He’d cover the rest of the distance on foot.

Roussard’s rental property was bordered on three sides by thick wood? Harvath decided to approach from the far side, opposite the road.

He moved as quickly as he could without making too much noise. Nothing moved save for a cloud of gnats that seemed to follow him every step of the way.

At the edge of the woods, Harvath stopped. From where he sat, he could make out the entire rear and one side of the French château-style home.

Roussard had registered a Lincoln Mark VII with the real estate office, but the driveway was empty.

There were no interior lights and none of the windows were open. Only the hum of the air conditioning unit hinted at the possibility of human life inside. It was time to make his move.

Maneuvering through the woods to a spot nearest the garage, Harvath located the side door off the garage and removed the set of keys the realtor had given him from his pocket.

Crouching low, he pulled his H amp;K, counted to three, and made a break for it.

He moved fast, making sure his approach wouldn’t be seen from any of the windows. At the door, he slid the key into the lock and opened it slowly.

The first thing he noticed was Roussard’s Lincoln. Harvath walked over and placed his hand on the hood to see if it had been driven recently. It hadn’t.

Skirting a collection of brightly colored beach toys, he headed for a short flight of steps and the door that led into the house. He didn’t expect it to be locked and it wasn’t. Roussard was like most people who trusted the overhead garage door to be a sufficient line of defense.

The air inside the home was much cooler than that in the garage. It washed over Harvath as he slipped inside and silently shut the door behind him. He was in a mudroom area just off the kitchen.

He stood for what felt like an eternity and quieted his breathing to focus solely on listening. His ears strained for any sound that would tell him where in the house Roussard might be, but no such sound came.

Tightening his grip on his pistol, Harvath began to systematically clear the structure. He moved with practiced efficiency as he swept into each room with his H amp;K at the ready.

Room after room was empty. There was no sign of Roussard anywhere on the first floor. Reaching a grand staircase, Harvath took the carpeted steps two at a time as he raced upward, eager to confront Roussard and end the chase that had begun the moment Tracy had been shot.

Harvath buttonhooked into each bedroom, checking closets, bathrooms, and under beds. Nothing, no sign of Roussard anywhere.

Harvath reached the master bedroom and finally began to see evidence that Roussard had actually been staying in the house. The bed was unmade and the bathroom sink and shower were slightly wet. As recently as that morning, Roussard had been there, but the walk-in closet was empty, not a suitcase, backpack, or bag to be seen anywhere. Roussard was already prepared to disappear, but it didn’t make any sense, the wedding wasn’t until tomorrow. Why pack up your clothes, your toiletries, and everything else a day early?