Page 109 of Spymaster

“Lydia, please. Of course not,” he protested. “The kits were stolen and now they’re in the hands of another party who wishes to sell them.”

“I want the identity of the cutout.”

The Polish intelligence officer threw up his hands. “Why? He’s not going to reveal his source.”

“You don’t know that. We could buy him off. It’d be cheaper than buying our merchandise back.”

“And then what? Steal the kits, maybe kill the person or persons who have them?”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with what happens next.”

“He’smysource, Lydia. He’d be as good as dead. You don’t understand how things work in Belarus.”

“To tell you the truth, Artur, I don’t care. I want those kits back, damn it.”

In the entire time he had known her, he didn’t think he had ever heard her swear before. Granted, the United States had to be losing its collective mind over this issue, but the stress really seemed to be getting to Ryan. It was time to lay his cards on the table.

“There might be one scenario under which I would be willing to give you my source.”

Ryan, whose Manhattan had just arrived, was about to take a sip. “Name it,” she said.

“You must give me Matterhorn.”

“Jesus Christ, Artur. How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t have him. I don’t know who he is. I don’t know where he is. Only Reed Carlton knows. And he’s not exactly in any shape to talk.”

“Or so you say.”

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t believe me?”

“I’d like to see him for myself.”

“And I explained to you why that wasn’t possible. He has been classified as a risk to National Security. This isn’t like visiting the old folks’ home, having a cup of tea and a sweet chat, then leaving. He is in bad shape and he could say anything.”

“I’m willing to risk it.”

Ryan laughed. “You’rewilling to risk it. That’s cute. These are American secrets and American national security we’re talking about, not Polish.”

“Matterhornisa matter of Polish national security as far as Poland is concerned.”

A long, cold silence fell over the table. Ryan picked up her cocktail and sipped from it, trying to decide what to say. What Kopec did next, though, stunned her.

Standing up, he placed a hundred-dollar bill on the table. “When you’re ready to get serious about your upgrade kits, you know how to reach me.”

“Don’t do this to me, Artur,” she implored. But it was no use. Without so much asgood-bye, the Polish intelligence officer turned and left the bar.

CHAPTER 64

KALININGRAD

After burying their parachutes and wingsuits, Harvath and his team spent the rest of the night in an abandoned barn on an adjacent property. Their weapons loaded and hot, they took turns on watch. Harvath went first.

As everyone else settled in to sleep, he found a spot that allowed him to observe the dirt road outside. Settling into a comfortable position, he reached into his med kit, grabbed several anti-inflammatory pills, and swallowed them down.

HALO jumps were always painful. It didn’t matter how much he tried to slow down by flaring his wingsuit. When the canopy unfurled and the drag kicked in, there was an instantsnapthat shocked the body. Like a dog who decides to chase a cat and doesn’t know he’s on a tether until he reaches the end of it. It hurt like a son of a bitch.

Outside the barn, Staelin had rigged a perimeter of IR security cameras that would alert them to any approach. The feeds were accessible via a tablet that Harvath was using to review their limited mission intelligence.

From an information perspective, this was an incredibly bare-bones operation. Kuznetsov had told them where Tretyakov lived and worked. He had also provided some information about his routine and potential likes and dislikes. Very little of it was actionable. But what there was, Harvath had decided to act upon.

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