Spymaster Read online

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to give you a superpower of your own.”

  “Smartass?” she asked, handing it over to him. “From what I hear, I’m already okay in that department.”

  Removing a small piece of metal from his pocket, he popped open the cover for her SIM card and replied, “No. Invisibility.”

  It only took him a couple of seconds to swap out her card and replace it with a brand new one that didn’t have a history and couldn’t be traced back to them.

  “There you go,” he said, closing everything up and returning her phone.

  “What about my original SIM card?”

  “We’ll all swap back when we’re in the air on the way home.”

  It seemed to her a pretty elaborate precaution—one that you would take only if you were doing something you shouldn’t be. “The Swedes know we’re coming, right?”

  He took a moment before answering and when he did, it was his pause, not his words, that unnerved her.

  CHAPTER 19

  * * *

  As the twin Rolls-Royce BR725 engines roared to life and the G650-ER began to race down the runway, Jasinski tried to get clarification. “Either they know, or they don’t know. Which one is it?”

  Harvath picked up his espresso and settled back in his seat. “Like I said, the appropriate agency has been made aware.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means they know.”

  Jasinski doubted that’s what it meant, but she let it go and changed the subject. “Why Sweden?” she asked as the jet lifted off. “Technically, they’re not a NATO member.”

  “Correct,” he replied. “But they are a NATO ‘affiliate.’ They’re also strategically important. In particular, Gotland is very important. If the Russians want to take and hold the Baltics, they have to control the Baltic Sea. To do that, they need the Swedish island of Gotland. It’s small, which means a large invasion force isn’t necessary. And its position near the middle of the Baltic Sea would allow Russia to prevent any NATO ships from reinforcing Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia. If they control Gotland, they control everything.”

  “But I thought Sweden was already handling concerns over Russia. Didn’t they bring back conscription?”

  “They did. They have even permanently garrisoned several hundred soldiers on the island, but it isn’t nearly enough. Three years ago, thirty-three thousand Russian troops rehearsed an invasion of Sweden. Gotland fell in less than an hour.”

  “So if Gotland is so important, why hasn’t more been done about it?” she asked.

  “The Swedes have pumped a lot of money into infrastructure,” said Harvath. “But infrastructure isn’t their main problem. Troop strength is. We’ve been working with them, conducting joint training exercises and encouraging them to build up their forces on the island, but they simply don’t have enough soldiers to go around.”

  “So what happens if Russia invades?”

  “The Swedes think they can move troops in from the mainland.”

  “In under an hour? You can’t even mobilize, much less move troops in under an hour.”

  “That’s what we’re worried about. There’s a concern the Swedes might not even defend Gotland at all. They might choose to focus their resources on Stockholm and other key areas, in hopes of limiting the invasion and holding out until the United States and other NATO members come to their aid.”

  “By which time, control of the Baltic Sea will have already been ceded to the Russians, giving them exactly what they want.”

  Harvath nodded solemnly. “Swedish politicians may not think they fully need NATO, but NATO absolutely needs Sweden if it wants to protect the Baltic States. That’s why Russians can’t be allowed to take Gotland.”

  “I still don’t understand why Sweden hasn’t joined NATO yet.”

  “Russia has made it very clear that if Sweden does, it will be seen as an act of aggression against them.”

  “So?”

  “So, I think Sweden is spooked. They’re trying to remain neutral, if they can, and thread the needle in order to hopefully have their cake and eat it, too.”

  “Sounds like a pretty dangerous gamble to me.”

  Harvath nodded again. “Believe me, we agree. If war broke out with Russia, we couldn’t afford to have our forces divided, fighting on both sides of the Baltic.”

  “Suppose the Russians did seal off the Baltic, then what?”

  “To get to any of the Baltic States, NATO’s ground forces would have to move up through Poland. Normally, most of the equipment would be put on trains. There’s just one problem. Western Europe adheres to a standard gauge. Once you leave Poland and head up into Lithuania, the width of the tracks change. It’s a logistics nightmare.”

  “Not to mention the transition points being prime targets for sabotage.”

  “Exactly,” replied Harvath. “We’re looking at weeks, possibly even a month, before an effective response to a Russian invasion of the Baltics could be launched.”

  “During which time, Lithuanian, Latvian, and Estonian forces would be cut to ribbons. Russian forces would have ample time to fortify their positions, dig in, and prepare for any NATO attack.”

  “Along with the additional troops NATO rotates through the Baltic States, as well as the standby force it maintains in Poland.”

  “But what about air support?” she asked. “Couldn’t allied aircraft launch from Sweden or Finland?”

  “Depends on whether they grant us permission, or whether they play the neutrality card and stay out of it. Finland, as you know, isn’t a member of NATO either. The U.S. has been doing a lot of training with them, weapons sales, and things like that. But until bullets start flying, you never really know what people are going to do.

  “What’s more, NATO air superiority isn’t guaranteed. Russian attack fighters and antiaircraft systems could make it very difficult for our pilots.”

  “Sounds pretty dire.”

  “I deal in worst-case scenarios. Like I said, my job is to prevent an Article 5 from happening.”

  “So why are we going to Sweden?”

  Harvath took a sip of his espresso. “To see a man in a hat.”

  Jasinski looked down the length of the luxury plane, studying all the players assembled aboard. “Must be one hell of a hat.”

  “Second-best thing to ever come out of Sweden.”

  “Really? What’s the first? And don’t say ABBA.”

  “Okay, I won’t.”

  The NATO investigator smiled. “Seriously, what’s in Sweden? Besides this man in a hat.”

  Harvath took another sip of espresso. “Nicholas cracked three of the phones from the cabin in Norway. They led us to a person of interest on Gotland. We have a contact in Swedish intelligence. He has been running it to ground for us.”

  “Is that what Nicholas meant by Sweden might hold very serious trouble?”

  “He has a lot of history with the Russians. He doesn’t think they’d waste an anti-NATO cell here. What he does think is that they might place a deep-cover Spetsnaz team, highly trained in reconnaissance and sabotage, to harass and tie up Swedish troops during a Russian invasion.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think it could go either way. But regardless, we need to find out.”

  “Is that what all the Storm cases are about?” she asked. “What’s inside them?”

  Harvath winked at her. “Pens, pencils, paper—that sort of thing. This is a fact-finding trip. We’re just here to learn.”

  “Right.” She laughed. “And I’ve got a big, beautiful bridge to sell you in San Francisco.”

  “Too dangerous.”

  “Bridges?”

  “No, San Francisco,” he replied.

  She laughed again. He smiled back.

  Slowly, he was winning her over. That was important, because he needed her. In truth, he needed a hundred more like her, a thousand.

  The threats faced by Western Europe were rapi
dly changing, evolving. Unfortunately, Western Europe wasn’t.

  By not leaning in, by not being aggressive, they were encouraging more acts of violence upon their nations and their citizens. They had forgotten that civilization lives, thrives, and survives only when it is willing to wield a very sharp sword. If you didn’t meet the barbarians out on the road, soon they’d be at your gates. And once at your gates, be they Islamic terrorists or Russian soldiers, they would soon be inside.

  Simply put, Western Europe’s enemies did not fear them. They did not fear them because they did not respect them. And they did not respect them because the Western Europeans would not fight.

  The Europeans, like any noble society, prided themselves upon what set them apart, what made them better than the barbarians—their laws. The barbarians didn’t care for laws. They only cared for brute force—What can I take, whom can I subjugate, what can I make mine through sheer force of will?

  Law and civilization were supremely important things, but without strength, and a willingness to engage the enemy, they were worthless.

  Harvath had always appreciated the maxim of an Army Lieutenant Colonel named David Grossman. In Grossman’s mind, there were just three categories of human beings—sheep, sheepdogs, and wolves.

  To those three categories, Harvath had added another—wolf hunters. That was what the world needed more of.

  The sheep had only two speeds—graze and stampede. They needed sheepdogs to keep them safe in case of an attack by the wolves. Wolf hunters, though, were needed to find and kill the wolves, whenever possible, before they attacked.

  Harvath was a wolf hunter. His whole team was composed of wolf hunters. He saw the potential for Jasinski to be one, too. That’s why it was important that she experience what they did and understand why they were necessary. He and his team couldn’t be everywhere. There were too many hot spots, too many threats.

  But when they did appear, only for the most serious of threats, they acted as a force multiplier. And in those situations, like now, the more wolf hunters they helped create, the more endangered the wolves became, and the safer the places the hunters protected.

  “So,” she said, breaking into his thoughts, “what do I need to know before we land?”

  Harvath thought about it for a moment. “You’re with an exceptional team that’s on the right side of this fight,” he replied. “No matter what happens, just remember that.”

  CHAPTER 20

  * * *

  GOTLAND, SWEDEN

  They landed at Visby Airport on the west side of the island. Seeing the town’s name emblazoned upon one of the hangars, Jasinski said, “Visby’s an interesting name. I wonder where it comes from.”

  “It’s Old Norse,” Harvath replied. “It means the pagan place of sacrifices.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “What a delightful omen,” she stated.

  Harvath grinned.

  At one hundred miles long and thirty miles wide, Gotland was Sweden’s largest island and was known as the Pearl of the Baltic. It lay ninety miles from the mainland and was home to sixty thousand inhabitants, twenty-three thousand of whom lived in the main town of Visby.

  Surrounded by the Baltic Sea, its coasts were craggy and windswept, covered with limestone pebbles, while its interior boasted lush pine forests, dramatic grass marshes, sprawling meadows, and fertile, verdant farmland.

  As the jet rolled to a stop, a private aviation ground crew materialized and laid down a red carpet.

  Looking out the window, Harvath didn’t see his contact. What he did see were two uniformed police officers—one tall, one short, along with a man in a leather coat, exiting the FBO building and walking in the direction of their plane.

  “What’s going on?” Jasinski asked, as she looked out the window at the men who were approaching.

  Picking up his cell phone, he dialed the man in the hat. It went immediately to voicemail. He tried again with the same result.

  “Do me a favor,” he said, pulling out his Sig Sauer and handing it to her. “Hold this for me until I get back.”

  “What’s up?” Sloane asked from the back.

  Chase, who could see the cops approaching through his window, said, “Karma. I’ve got a hundred bucks that says Harvath dated at least one of their daughters.”

  “Time to face the music, Norseman,” Barton joked.

  Harvath ignored them as he grabbed his North Face jacket and moved forward. Sticking his head in the cockpit, he told the pilots, “Keep the engines hot.”

  Then he disarmed the forward door, opened it up, and extended the airstairs. They hit dead center at the top of the red carpet. The chilly, salt-tinged ocean air blew through the open doorway.

  As he zipped up his jacket and prepared to walk down to speak with the men, Jasinski changed seats so she could get a better view of what was happening. Sloane came up and joined her.

  “Any idea what this is all about?” the NATO investigator asked again.

  “I don’t know,” Sloane replied. “The man in the hat was supposed to meet us. Apparently, he’s not here.”

  “Why do you keep calling him that? Doesn’t he have a name?”

  Sloane smiled. “Lars Lund. He works for Sweden’s Military Intelligence and Security Service.”

  “MUST,” Jasinski replied, using its acronym. Part of the Swedish armed forces, MUST was the country’s main foreign intelligence service and reported to both the government and the military.

  Sloane nodded. “Lars is known for his good looks—tall, blond, and Nordic. But he is even better known for his vanity. When he started to go bald, his friends began buying him hats. His trademark is one of those small Alpine-style caps made out of felt.”

  “A Tyrolean?”

  “That’s the one. He has all kinds of them.”

  “Which division of MUST is he from?” Jasinski asked.

  “Now you’re going to stump me,” Sloane replied. “I’m not up to speed on all the acronyms yet.”

  “It’s okay. What does he specialize in?”

  “Espionage and clandestine operations.”

  “He’s probably in KSI then.”

  “That’s the one,” said Sloane.

  Also known as the Office for Special Assignment, KSI was the darkest corner of Swedish intelligence. In all of the country’s civil law system, there was only one mention of it.

  Jasinski was intrigued. “How is it you know him?” she asked.

  “I don’t. Not personally. I only know of him. He and my boss go way back together.”

  “Lars and Harvath do?”

  Sloane smiled. “I should rephrase that. Lars and my boss’s boss go way back.”

  “And who is your boss’s boss?”

  Sloane smiled once more. “Now we’re getting into things above my pay grade.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me?”

  “It’s better if you ask Harvath,” she replied as she glanced back out the window.

  Jasinski realized that she had likely hit a dead end. Changing the subject, she, too, looked out the window and asked. “Are we in trouble?”

  “Only if they search our luggage.”

  Shit, Jasinski mumbled under her breath.

  “And knowing Harvath,” Sloane continued, “he probably did date one of their daughters. So we’re probably totally screwed.”

  The joke made her smile. “Where’d he get the Norseman call-sign?”

  “In the SEALs. He had a thing for flight attendants from Scandinavian Airlines. Dated quite a few of them. The name started as a joke, but stuck.”

  “And now?”

  “Meaning what?” Sloane replied. “Is he dating? Married?”

  Jasinski nodded.

  Sloane grinned. “Yeah. His friends refer to her as the ‘underwear model.’ Her parents are from Brazil. She’s gorgeous. Super smart, tough as hell, and really sweet. Why? You’re not interested in him, are you?”

  “Me?”
Jasinski scoffed. “No. Not at all. Just curious.”

  She’s a liar. And not a very good one, Sloane thought. But better for her to know up front. Harvath was as close to marriage as you could get without actually being married. The joke around The Carlton Group was that if he ever came back home long enough for there to be a wedding, he’d probably be married already.

  As far as Sloane was concerned, Harvath would be an idiot not to marry Lara. They were made for each other. She’d never seen two people click as well as those two.

  But what truly amazed her was how Harvath could put his entire personal life in a box, slam the lid shut, and not let it intrude on his thinking while he was downrange on a mission.

  He had an iron will. It was the only way she could describe it. Only half-joking, she had teased that she hoped to grow up and be just like him one day.

  She made a lot of jokes at Harvath’s expense, especially about his being older, but he took them all in stride. He was like the older brother she never had.

  Harvath made his share of jokes at her expense as well. One of his favorites was that she was just young enough and good looking enough to be a rich country-club doctor’s perfect idea of a third wife.

  That had cracked Sloane up. Outside their age difference, she and Harvath were very similar personality-wise. Both had been accomplished winter athletes before joining the military. They were also hard chargers who employed a lot of take-no-prisoners humor to buoy morale in order to get through tough assignments, as well as just the day-to-day.

  It had always impressed her that he had never come on to her. Many men, even in leadership positions, had, but not him. It was one of the many reasons she respected him.

  “I have it on good authority,” Sloane joked, “that he sleeps with a light on and leaves the toilet seat up. You can do better. Much better. Believe me.”

  Jasinski laughed and tried to appear blasé. He was off the market. His teammates liked his significant other and apparently the two were a good match. She had been foolish to allow her mind to even explore the possibility.