Page 30 of Spymaster

“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 holdvery 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 rapidly 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.

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