Ingesson invited them inside and led them back to the kitchen where he already had coffee ready. It was a modest home, paneled in blond wood, with ceramic masonry stoves in several of the rooms they passed. The hallway was lined with family photos.
Nyström made the introductions and they kept their voices low so as not to wake Ingesson’s wife and children.
“Anders tells me you’re with NATO?” the big man asked.
Harvath nodded. “And he tells me you were in the military. Which branch?”
“Army. K4.”
“Noorland’s Dragoons,” Harvath said, respectfully.
Ingesson was impressed. “You know it?”
He did. They were Sweden’s crack Ranger battalion—expert light infantry trained to carry out missions behind enemy lines.
“I started out with SEAL Team Two,” said Harvath. “We cross-trained with K4 in Lapland. Up until that point, I had thought Alaska was the coldest place on earth.”
The big man grinned. “SEALs are excellent warriors. But I think the cold water eventually breaks you. That’s why you retire to places like Florida and Texas.”
Harvath laughed. “In addition to nice weather, those states also have no income tax, are good places to raise a family, and don’t mind if you own guns.”
“Fair points,” Ingesson conceded, as he poured coffee and pushed a plate of pastries forward. “So, what are we all doing in my kitchen?”
Nyström had made the introduction. That was as far as he was prepared to go. “I’m going to take my coffee into the living room.”
Harvath waited until he was gone and then began speaking to his host. “I wanted to talk with you about one of your employees.”
“Which one?”
“Dominik Gashi.”
“He’s one of my best employees. What about him?”
“How well do you know him?” Harvath asked.
“He’s smart. He works hard. And he’s always on time. What else should I know about him?” asked Ingesson.
“What about his background?”
The big man thought for a moment. “From what I understand, he’s from a small village in Kosovo. His family, most of whom are dead, were in the butchery business. That’s about all I know.”
“Have you ever met any of them?”
“No, I have not.”
“Have you ever heard him speak Albanian or Serbian?” asked Harvath.
“No.”
“Have you ever seen him reading any books, magazines, or anything else in Albanian or Serbian?”
Ingesson shook his head.
“Have you ever heard him speaking Russian?” Harvath asked.
“Is that what this is all about? You think Gashi is Russian? Not Kosovar?”
“Yes. In fact, we think he’s GRU.”
Ingesson’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Russian military intelligence? Gashi? That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“It just doesn’t fit.”
“Really?” replied Harvath. “You were K4. You were trained to conduct reconnaissance and sabotage behind enemy lines. If you were Russia, and you were going to place a deep-cover operative on Gotland, exactly what type of person would you choose?”
“Probably a man just like Dominik Gashi,” he finally admitted after several moments of thought. “I’d take advantage of Sweden’s soft spot for immigrants, especially from conflict-torn countries. And I’d place him in an industry few people want to know anything about, much less be part of, like animal processing.”
“There you go,” said Harvath.
“Of all people, I should have seen it.”
“If there was nothing suspicious about him, there’s no reason you should have suspected anything.”
“So you think he’s here as part of some GRU operation. To do what?”
“We think he’s running a cell responsible for gathering intelligence and conducting sabotage, in advance of a Russian invasion.”
Again, the big man shook his very big head. “I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“I always suspected the Russians had operatives here. It just makes sense. Strategically, they need Gotland. Nobody, though, has ever been able to catch them.”
“Well, they’re here,” said Harvath. “And part of the cell includes a contingent of Spetsnaz soldiers.”
“I’m not surprised,” he replied. “That’s exactly the kind of thing K4 would do. But if you know all this, why hasn’t Anders arrested them?”
“That’s why I came to see you,” said Harvath. “How do I put this appropriately? The way some of the intelligence was gathered makes it difficult for the Chief Inspector to use in court.”
Ingesson nodded knowingly. “I am assuming, based on how it was gathered, that it would be difficult for any Swedish authorities to use this intelligence as well.”
“Correct. That’s one of the reasons I was brought in. My team and I allow Sweden to keep its hands clean.”
“I think Americans call it plausible deniability.”
“Correct again,” replied Harvath.
“What do you wish to do with Dominik Gashi?”
“We just want to talk with him.”
Ingesson laughed and repeated the word “talk,” with air quotes.
“He may not want to talk with us,” said Harvath, “but he doesn’t have a choice. We believe he is part of an overall operation to weaken NATO and prepare the battlefield for an ultimate Russian invasion of the Baltic States.”
“Which is why they would need Gotland. To control the Baltic Sea.”
“Exactly,” Harvath stated, relieved to be speaking with someone who understood the big picture. “America doesn’t want to go to war and we’re certain that Sweden doesn’t want to either. In our opinion, all that matters—”
“Is stopping the Russians—no matter what it takes.”
Harvath nodded. “That is our position.”
“It is the right position,” replied Ingesson. “What can I do to help you?”
“Do you have a picture of Gashi?”
“Sure. I can pull his file from the company server. What else?”
“I have spoken with two of his associates, neither of whom has ever been to his home. Can you give me some idea of where he lives?”
“I can do better than that,” the big man replied. “I’ll take you right to him.”
CHAPTER 47
* * *
Gashi lived in a crappy, run-down cabin on a poorly maintained piece of land in the middle of nowhere. Ingesson knew it because he had driven the man home after he’d had too much to drink at the company Christmas party.
Gashi allegedly augmented his income from the processing plant by acting as a caretaker. He worked for several mainland homeowners who rented out their beach houses to the tourists who flocked to Gotland in the summer.
Off-season, he simply dropped by once a week to make sure pipes hadn’t frozen and nothing had been stolen.
It was easy money. What he did with it, though, was anyone’s guess. He definitely wasn’t putting it into where he lived.