Page 14 of Dead Fall

Harvath followed, closing and locking the door behind him. The two men then warmly shook hands. “It’s good to see you, Nick.”

“You too,” the little man replied.

Standing under three feet tall, he had a condition known as primordial dwarfism. The dogs were not only constant, loyal companions, but also his protectors who zealously guarded him.

Known to intelligence agencies around the world simply as the “Troll,” to his friends the little man was known as Nicholas. He had started out as one of Harvath’s greatest foes, but over time, as he had backed away from trafficking in the purchase and sale of highly classified and sensitive information, he and Harvath had developed both a deep personal and professional relationship.

Harvath had personally brought Nicholas on board at the Carlton Group, vouching for him and giving him a fresh start; a chance to be part of something good, something bigger than himself. And while there had rightly been suspicion over the little man’s loyalties, he had more than proven his worth to the organization and to the United States government.

Now, here he was, in Warsaw. Harvath had more than a few questions. Pointing at the ceiling and other places as they walked into the living room, he asked, “Is it safe to talk?”

Nicholas nodded. “This is one of the few local safe houses the Russiansdon’tknow about. The CIA swept it this morning. Let me start out by saying, good job on Operation Boathouse. It was a solid hit. Everyone back home is pleased.”

“Glad to hear it,” he replied, then changed gears. “Since I’m using my own cell phone, credit cards, and rescheduled my flight back to Bucharest, I’m not going to ask how you found me, but I am going to ask what you’re doing here. We could have debriefed over secure video.”

“True,” the little man replied as he approached a brass liquor cart, “but I wanted to talk in person. Drink?”

“Why? Am I going to need one?”

Nicholas nodded. “I think so,” he said, opening a bottle of Polish brandy for himself and pouring some into a snifter.

Harvath was uncomfortable with where this might be headed, butaccepted his advice, filled a glass with two fingers of bourbon, and took a seat on the couch.

The apartment smelled like stale cigarettes and too many warm days with the windows never having been opened.

After giving the dogs the command to lie down, Nicholas joined him. Placing two folders on the coffee table, he climbed up onto the couch.

“Cheers,” he said, raising his snifter.

“What are we drinking to?”

The little man thought for a moment and replied, “To a strong stomach.”

Harvath didn’t like the sound of that, either, but clinked glasses with his friend anyway. “Cheers.”

Once they each had taken a sip, he returned to asking questions. “Let’s not pull any more punches. Why are you here? What do we need to talk about in person?”

“We need to talk about what’s in those,” said Nicholas, pointing at the folders.

“Do they have anything to do with why I’ve been cooling my heels in Bucharest?”

The little man nodded.

Okay, Harvath thought.At least we are getting somewhere. “Which one should I open first?”

Nicholas pointed to the one on the left.

Setting down his drink, Harvath picked up the folder, opened it, and began reading.

As he read, Nicholas filled in some background. “Since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, twenty-six American citizens have been killed. Fourteen of them have died fighting alongside Ukrainian forces, four have died of non-combat-related injuries, and the remaining eight—six aid workers, plus two journalists—were either tortured to death or summarily executed by Russian forces.”

The little man had been right to suggest they toast to strong stomachs. The photographs, especially those of the aid workers who had been tortured to death, were particularly hard to look at. Nicholas seemed to be reading his mind.

“Horrificdoesn’t even begin to cover it. That’s the reason you’ve been on hold in Romania,” he said. “The White House has been chomping at the bit to respond, but gathering any sort of actionable intelligence inside Ukraine has been next to impossible. An even greater problem are the diplomatic and political ramifications of putting any sort of boots on the ground.

“Contributing weapons systems, ammunition, and other types of matériel is one thing. If, however, the U.S. sends in troops, we’ll be in a hot war with Russia that’ll suck in our NATO allies and go global within weeks, if not days. The Pentagon believes China would use it as an opportunity to take Taiwan, Iran will move against Israel and possibly Saudi Arabia, while a multitude of other simmering conflicts would flare and the likelihood of nuclear weapons being unleashed would rise to levels not even seen during the height of the Cold War.”

“So, the answer is we do nothing else?” Harvath replied. “We wait until it’s over, hope Ukraine wins, and only then launch a global manhunt for those responsible and drag them to The Hague for war crimes tribunals? It took the Israelis almost fifteen years to hunt down Adolf Eichmann.”

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