Page 29 of Shadow of Doubt

He hadn’t realized until halfway through the summer that the village had played an important role in the Norwegian resistance movement during World War II.

A small, clandestine radio station had been hidden in one of the cottages. It was manned by three brave undercover agents who belonged to the main Norwegian resistance organization, Milorg.

In April 1944, the Nazis finally zeroed in on it and launched an ambush, killing the resistance operatives and leaving their bloody bodies behind as a warning to the rest of the village.

A brass plaque, which Sølvi translated for him, had been placed to commemorate the station and the valiant men who lost their lives.

The whole story had only endeared the village even more to Harvath’s heart. It was full of good, neighborly people who were happy to engage in conversation, while at the same time respecting boundaries and not being too nosy. They were solid.

The stockboy at the grocery store remembered him from over the summer and, after checking with his assistant manager, agreed to give him a lift back to the cottage. This allowed Harvath to buy not only the groceries he wanted, but also a couple of bundles of firewood, and to hit the government-owned liquor store known as the Vinmonopolet, or Polet for short. Eschewing his credit card, he paid for everything in cash.

Back at the cottage, he tipped the stockboy two hundred kroner, about twenty bucks, thanked him for the ride, and told him he didn’t need any help getting the groceries inside.

Once the young man drove out of sight, Sølvi stepped outside to give Harvath a hand. But before she could touch a single bag, he pulled her in tight and just held her.

They stood there in their embrace without saying a word. Neither needed to speak. He had made it back from his string of operations without being killed only to almost lose her today. And in downtown Oslo of all places. They both knew how lucky they were to be holding each other.

He could feel some of the stress leaving her body as her musclesrelaxed. After a few more moments, however, he sensed a shift. The tension had returned. She had clicked back into work mode. He gave her an extra squeeze and let her go.

Tucking a lock of her long blond hair behind her ear, she looked down at all the groceries.

“You even went to the Polet,” she remarked.

“After the day you’ve had, I thought you might need a drink.”

“You have no idea.”

Together, they carried the bags inside, where Harvath slid the bottle of vodka into the freezer and then helped unpack everything else.

Once they were done, he got a fire started in the fireplace and suggested they sit down and debrief about what had happened at the safehouse while it was still fresh.

CHAPTER 13

The details of the assault were brutal. The knowledge that Martin, a man Harvath had known, had been ripped in half by one of the explosions was gut-wrenching. Every part of the attack was terrible. It had been an absolute bloodbath.

Once they had each shared their version of events, Harvath had walked them back through, probing for even the smallest of details. Nothing in a situation like this was ever inconsequential. The smallest clue could have the biggest of impacts, but only if it was surfaced and brought to light.

Unfortunately, what Sølvi and Grechko remembered were the explosions, the fire, the smoke, and the gunshots. These were the strongest, most overwhelming elements of the nightmare they had just been through.

To her credit, Sølvi could also remember some of the details about the assaulters and their equipment. It was all top-of-the-line gear. The men themselves were disciplined and well trained. Rappelling in through broken windows suggested an advanced military or special police unit background. Not carrying phones or ID further suggested the attackers were professionals. In the end, these were not a handful of thugs rounded up at a local biker bar.

The exceedingly indiscriminate use of force, coupled with the audacity of an attack in broad daylight, also told him something. Subtlety was not their calling card. The entire operation had “Russia” written all over it. It had probably been planned and carried out by a team of Russian Special Forces Spetsnaz soldiers.

Regardless of who the assaulters were, there was no question inHarvath’s mind as to what their objective had been—Grechko.But was their assignment to kill or to capture him? As far as Harvath was concerned, the answer was probably either.

Detonating high-grade explosives outside the curtained windows of the safehouse meant they could not know who would be killed or injured inside. The van waiting down in the parking garage, while providing exfiltration for the attackers, could have also been used to spirit Grechko away. If the assaulters could have taken him alive and interrogated him, it would have allowed Moscow to learn how much top-secret information he had already revealed to Norwegian Intelligence.

Which brought Harvath to the next piece of this entire debacle—how thehellhad they found the safehouse?

It was a discussion he didn’t want to have in front of Grechko. Grabbing a blanket, they left the Russian inside and walked out onto the deck, where Harvath poured them each a glass of wine.

“I have no idea how they found us,” said Sølvi, after taking a long sip and closing her eyes for a moment. “The only answer is that we must have a leak somewhere.”

“How many people knew about the safehouse?”

“To be honest, I don’t know the exact number.”

“Approximately,” Harvath replied. “Five people? Fifteen? Twenty?”

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