Page 61 of Spymaster

“You’ll figure it out,” he said. “Besides, the onlyoperatingyou’re supposed to be doing is capturing Sparrman’s attention.”

“How about you come in with me, and I give you a full-on ass-kicking for this costume? Think that might get his attention?”

Harvath grinned. “Probably, but not in the way we’d like.”

“Consider yourself lucky then, because it wouldn’t have been pretty. I mean,Iwould have been pretty, butyouwould have ended up curled in a ball and crying on the floor of the ladies’ room.”

Drawing an oval around his face with his index finger, he encouraged her to put her makeup on.

Turning the bag upside down and dumping the remaining items on the seat, she looked at everything and said, “Don’t ever go clothes or makeup shopping for Lara. Stick to jewelry, okay? Because you are beyond hopeless.”

He shook his head.

Opening a metal tube, she extended a bright lipstick called Dynamite Red. “Subtle. Can’t wait to see the eye shadow.”

The eye shadow, as it turned out, was not half bad. The lipstick, too, looked great on her.

Finishing up her makeup, she did her hair, and then asked Harvath, “How do I look?”

“Terrific,” he replied, and he meant it. As a rule, he ignored her looks and focused on her brains and her skills—which were also formidable. The truth was, though, that she was hot. And the way she was put together now, she was super hot. “Dressed to kill.”

“Or at leastcapture, right?”

Harvath laughed. “Correct. Let’s roll.”

Opening the door, he waited for her to slip her heels on and then helped her out. “Don’t rush anything, okay? Take your time. Play hard to get. The more he drinks, the better off we’ll be.”

“Trust me,” she replied. “I know what I’m doing.”

Of course she did, but Harvath was a detail guy. He needed to make sure she understood how he wanted the operation to unfold. That said, he knew that the minute she walked into that bar, anything could happen.

“Just be careful,” he said. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks. I’ll be close by if you need me.”

Holding out her hand, she waited for him to count off a stack of currency. Once he had, she grabbed her cell phone and headed for O’Learys. She really did look fantastic.

“You’d better not be looking at my ass,” she warned, without turning around.

Harvath laughed and watched until she disappeared around the corner. Moments later, Haney came and joined him.

“She’s inside,” he stated. “Am I good to go?”

Harvath nodded and handed him the keys to the minivan. “Get back here as soon as you can. Jasinski’s bag is on the backseat.”

“Got it,” said Haney. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he fired up the minivan, put it in gear, and headed back to the rental house.

Harvath decided to go check out the three vehicles Sparrman and his crew had driven into town from the farm. They were parked about a half block up and he began walking.

He had only made it a quarter of the way when he saw a marked police car coming down the cobbled street, and he ducked into an archway.

The vehicle was moving slowly, almost purposefully. He couldn’t tell if the cop was looking for something specific, or if he was just making his rounds. Receding further into the darkness, Harvath pressed himself up flat against the wall.

As the car neared, Harvath recognized the officer. He was one of the two uniformed cops who had met the plane last night—the taller one. Harvath paused for a moment, trying to recall the man’s name. Then it came to him—Johansson.

Visby was a small town. Maybe Johansson was just on patrol and they had ended up in the same place at the same time. That wouldn’t have been so unusual. Harvath was tempted to write it off as a coincidence.

By the same token, he had made it a rule not to believe in coincidences. That rule had saved his life more times than he could remember.

Once the officer had rolled past, Harvath looked out from the archway and then stepped back onto the street. He had a bad feeling about it and decided to take Johansson’s presence as an ominous sign.

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