Harvath tapped one out of the pack and held it up to the man’s mouth. Kuznetsov leaned forward and took it between his lips. Harvath then took out a match, struck it against the box, and lit it for him.
The Russian attempted to take a deep drag, but the pain from his shoulder caused him to cough. The coughing only increased his pain.
Once it had passed, he tried again—this time taking a much more shallow pull.
“Mostly, I taught myself English. I like to read. I also took some classes while I was in the Russian Army and then in my following position.”
“With the GRU.”
“Yes,” said Kuznetsov.
“What can you tell me about your position with the GRU?”
“I am an intelligence officer.”
“Where were you assigned before Gotland?” asked Harvath.
The man took another drag before replying. “Let me see,” he said, compiling a list in his head. “Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary, Poland, Belarus. Many places.”
Three of the countries jibed with what Sergun had told Vella. That was a good start.
“And what was your job when you were in those countries?”
“My job was to do whatever they asked me to do.”
“For the most part, what was it that they asked you to do?”
“I recruited spies and built espionage networks.”
The Russian took another puff on his cigarette and then indicated by nodding his head that he wanted it removed from his mouth.
Reaching out, Harvath took it and set it on the edge of the table.
“Is there anything to drink?” Kuznetsov asked. “Perhaps you have some more coffee?”
“You may have some water, but first you need to answer some more questions for me.”
“I am in much pain. Can you give me something for it?”
“Yes, I can,” said Harvath, “but not yet.”
“What are the questions you want to ask me?”
“Who is your superior?”
“Colonel Oleg Tretyakov,” the Russian replied.
Harvath took a sip of his coffee, but kept his eyes locked on Kuznetsov’s face. By all indications, he was absolutely telling the truth.
“And Tretyakov is the one who sent you to Gotland?”
“Yes.”
“For what purpose?”
“To recruit spies and build an espionage network,” the Russian replied.
“And what was the ultimate goal of this network?”
“To assist the Russian military in a potential overtaking.”
“Overtaking?” asked Harvath.
“Invasion,” said Kuznetsov, clarifying what he meant.
Nodding his head toward the cigarette, he indicated his desire for another puff. Harvath picked it up and allowed the man to take one, and then returned it to the edge of the table. He wanted a clear, unobscured view of his face for his next question.
“Are you familiar with the anti-NATO attacks that have happened in multiple European countries?”
The Russian nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“What can you tell me about them?”
“First I would like some water. Please.”
Standing, Harvath reached behind the nearest sheet and Vella handed him a small bottle. Unscrewing the cap, he walked over to Kuznetsov, placed the bottle against his mouth, and tilted it back so he could drink. The man drank the entire thing.
Harvath set the empty bottle on the table and sat back down.
“Several hours ago, they let me piss. There was blood in it. I need to be taken to a hospital.”
“Tell me what you know about the attacks,” Harvath demanded.
“No,” said the Russian. “First we make our deal. Then we talk about everything else I know.”
“What is it that you want?”
“I want my family out of Russia,” the man said.
“How many are in your family?”
“Nine.”
“Nine?”
“Nine,” Kuznetsov repeated.
Standing again, Harvath walked over, parted the sheets, and requested a pad and pen from Vella.
When he sat back down, he said, “Give me their names, ages, and relationship to you.”
The Russian operative had a wife and four children. He listed their names and ages. The other four family members were his parents and his wife’s mother and father.
Harvath held up his hand. “I can only negotiate in regard to your immediate family.”
“Our parents must leave Russia as well. I cannot allow them to be punished for what I have done.”
Harvath tapped his pen against the pad of paper for several moments as he pretended to think about it. “I will see what I can do, but it will depend on how helpful you are to me. With each minute that passes, the information you have becomes less valuable, and my people will be less willing to make a deal.”
Kuznetsov smiled. “Really? I think it is just the opposite. With every minute that passes, my information is more valuable and your people should be more eager to make a deal. Time is a very precious commodity.”
“Like I said. I will see what I can do. In the meantime—”
“In the meantime,” the Russian interrupted, “I would like something for this pain. And while I am waiting for that, you can contact your people to confirm that you will be getting my entire family out of Russia.”
“Nine people,” said Harvath. “That’s not going to be easy.”
“I’m sure the all-powerful American government can find a way.”
“I will ask, though I cannot promise where you all will be relocated to.”
“Italy,” said Kuznetsov. “That’s where we want to be placed. Florence.”
Harvath was tempted to ask him why Italy and why Florence, but the truth was that he didn’t really care. It also wasn’t up to him.
“I cannot speak for the Italian government, but I can put in a request to my government to speak with the Italians on your behalf. That is, of course, if what you have to tell me is worth all of the trouble and all the expense of doing all of this.”
Kuznetsov smiled. “It will be. Trust me.”
Harvath smiled back. “What’s the old Russian saying? Trust but verify. You’re going to have to give me something I can give my people to convince them.”
The Russian paused, considering how much to reveal in order to secure this deal for himself and his family. Finally, he looked at him and said, “The man you are looking for is Colonel Oleg Tretyakov. Chief of GRU Covert Operations for Eastern Europe.”
“What about him?” asked Harvath.
“He’s behind it.”
“Behind what?”
Kuznetsov smiled once more. “All of it.”
Harvath picked up his pen. Flipping to a clean sheet of paper, he said, “Ivan, listen very carefully. This is your one and only chance to save your family. I’m going to need much more than just a name. Make this worth it. Give me everything you have.”
CHAPTER 58
* * *
“I can see everyone,” said President Paul Porter over a secure link from the White House situation room. “Are we all on?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” replied Lydia Ryan, from a Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility, also known as a SCIF, at The Carlton Group.