This wasn’t a domicile. It was a control center. And at that moment, she knew her hunch was correct about who the little man was.
The Troll was infamous in intelligence circles. He was a purveyor of highly sensitive, often classified information. He bought it, sold it, traded it, and stole it. He had an amazing list of clients around the world and an equally amazing list of enemies. The intel he trafficked in had been used to disrupt covert operations, blackmail politicians, and bring down governments.
“You’re the—” she began.
“Not anymore,” he replied, cutting her off as he climbed onto a stepstool to reach the stove in the open kitchen—the smells from which were delicious. “Now, I’m just Nicholas.”
She noticed he spoke English with a slight accent. “You’re working with the Americans?”
“I am an American,” he beamed. “Recently minted.”
“I give up,” she said. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“Don’t worry,” said Nicholas as he lifted the lids off several pots and pans and began plating their lunch. “It will eventually make sense.”
“Or it won’t,” said Harvath as he examined a new photograph that had been added to the wall.
Jasinski lowered her voice. “Is he always like that?”
“Like what?”
“Such an asshole.”
The little man smiled. “He’s just testing you.”
“For what?”
“He doesn’t like people who blindly follow orders. He wants you to think for yourself, to think outside the box. Don’t worry, he’s a Teddy bear.”
“I heard that,” Harvath replied from the living room.
The little man smiled at her and, nodding at the plates, asked for her help in carrying everything out to the table.
He then encouraged Harvath and Jasinski to sit, while he fished a bottle of white Burgundy out of the fridge.
“I actually found a very nice 2014,” he said, bringing the bottle over and handing it to Harvath, along with a corkscrew.
Harvath looked at his watch. As long as they didn’t open a second, they’d be okay. It might also help to further take the edge off of Jasinski.
He had decided to read her in, and a lot of it was going to come as a shock.
CHAPTER 14
* * *
For a man of such small stature, Nicholas’s appetites far outstripped his size. One of his most troubling predilections, at least from a security standpoint, had been Nicholas’s appetite for women. Because of his primordial dwarfism, he had been accustomed to paying for sex. And not just any kind of sex.
As with his passion for food, the little man had been a gourmand in the realm of exotic sexual practices. The pool within which he could “fish” for the right professionals was quite limited. Eventually, one of his enemies had discovered the highly secretive service he employed. An assassin was dispatched and Nicholas had almost died.
Those days, though, were behind him. An intriguing woman named Nina had become a permanent fixture in his life. She understood not only who he now was, but also why.
Once his adversary, Scot Harvath had become Nicholas’s friend. He had realized his talents and had given him an opportunity to go from an international fugitive to being one of the key players of his team. Even Reed Carlton, who had been highly suspicious, eventually grew to trust and respect him. In fact, it was Carlton who had convinced the President of the United States to pardon his past offenses and make him a citizen.
For the first time since his parents had abandoned him at a brothel, Nicholas had the one thing he had always wished for—people who cared for him and a semblance of an actual family.
As Harvath poured, the little man explained what he had prepared. The wine was from France, but everything else was classic Belgian. There was tomate crevette, ham and endive gratin, and sole meunière.
Before they dug in, Jasinski had a question. Ever since she had entered the guesthouse, music had been playing. It sounded familiar and she thought she recognized the artist. “Have we been listening to George Clinton and Parliament-Funkadelic this whole time?”
Nicholas looked at Harvath and grinned. “I like her. A lot.”
Both men were fans of funk music in general, and George Clinton and Parliament-Funkadelic in particular. The fact that Jasinski recognized what they were listening to said a lot about her. Good taste in music wasn’t easy to come by.
As they ate, they made small talk. Harvath hoped to bond with her and get to know her better. In order to facilitate a conversation, he opened up—a little.
Referring to the back-and-forth that had taken place at the gate, she asked about his military background. Harvath explained that he had been a Navy SEAL.
When she asked which team, he told her. “I started at Team Two and ended up at Team Six. They now call it Development Group, or DEVGRU for short.”
He described how he had caught the attention of the Secret Service and had worked for the White House, after which he gradually moved into the role he was now in.
“As a consultant,” she repeated, the skepticism evident in her voice.
“If it flies, floats, or fights—chances are I have consulted on it,” he replied with a smile, taking a sip of his wine.
There was something devilish about him. He reminded her of someone from her past—someone she had loved very much, someone who had been taken from her way too soon.
She glanced at his left hand again, as she had when they’d first met, and there was still no ring, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Plenty of operators removed their wedding bands when they were away on assignments.
“Let’s stop playing games,” she said. “You’ve been holding out on me. I want to know what’s going on.”
He smiled. She was the right choice for this job. Her intelligence and her instincts were excellent.
Leaning back in his chair, Harvath picked up a folder from the credenza behind him and set it on the table. Opening it, he removed three photographs and slid them toward her. “Do you recognize these?”
Jasinski looked at them and nodded. “They’re crime scene photos from the attacks on the NATO diplomats in Portugal, Spain, and Greece. In Lisbon a high-powered rifle was used, in Madrid a rather sophisticated car bomb, and in Thessaloniki a .45 handgun was fired by a passenger on the back of a motorcycle.”
“Correct,” said Harvath. “The victims all worked for NATO and all the attacks happened in NATO countries. What else did they have in common?”
She thought for a moment. “Allegedly, they were carried out by the same organization—some new terrorist group called the People’s Revolutionary Front.”
“Exactly,” said Harvath. “Except the PRF isn’t real.”
“What?” asked Jasinski, confused.
“The People’s Revolutionary Front is all made up. It isn’t real.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a two-pronged attack against NATO. The first part involves the attacks themselves. They’re meant to create an internal panic and drain NATO resources as SHAPE moves to secure all their diplomats and facilities while simultaneously hunting down the perpetrators.