Page 109 of Shadow of Doubt

They communicated, in English, through an encrypted messaging app that allowed Harvath to see both sides of the communication and script the station chief’s responses.

Posing as Powell, Harvath relayed the following: Of the five-man American tactical team, three had been killed in the ambush. Harvath and another surviving team member were seriously injured. They were receiving medical attention in Paris, from an off-the-books provider previously employed by the CIA. For five hundred thousand dollars, Powell would reveal their location.

After hitting send, Harvath sat back and waited for the military attaché’s response. It didn’t take long for the Russian to come back with a counteroffer.

The Kremlin, he claimed, was only interested in Harvath. He offered seventy-five thousand dollars, but Powell would have to snatch Harvath himself. Elovik wasn’t interested in launching another operation and potentially losing more men. He was already up to his eyeballs trying to figure out how the Russian ambassador was going to explain away a bunch of dead embassy employees in the Bois de Boulogne.

No deal,Harvath texted back.He’s wounded. This is your best chance to get him. Tell Moscow I get the full $500,000 or I walk.

It was a game of financial chicken. The Russians would expect Powell to play hardball. They also knew that Powell needed Harvath to be eliminated. If Harvath survived, Powell would never be safe.

Stand by,Elovik replied.

After what felt like an hour but in reality was twenty minutes, Powell’s phone vibrated with another text.

The embassy only has three hundred thousand dollars cash on hand,the military attaché texted.Moscow says take it or leave it.

Harvath sat back and let Elovik twist in the wind, wondering what Powell’s reply would be. Finally, he texted back,Deal.

The Russian’s response was immediate.Send me Harvath’s location, details on the doctor, etc. We’ll arrange your payment once we confirm his whereabouts and condition.

Harvath chuckled. They were either testing him or they really didn’t give Powell much credit. Only a fool would hand over prime intel hoping to get paid after the fact. Spies referred to it as the “prostitute principle.” In which the perceived value of services rapidly diminishes after said services have been rendered.

Negative,Harvath texted back.We do it in person. Café Apate. 13th arrondissement. One hour. Once the intel is confirmed, you hand over the money.

It was a ballsy move, but it backstopped the lie. It made Powell look nervous, perhaps even desperate. He had a good hand, and he was playing it for all it was worth. That was something the Russians would recognize and appreciate. Had the situation been reversed, Elovik and every one of his superiors would have done the same thing. When life gave you an opportunity, you took it.

Once the military attaché had confirmed the meeting, Harvath left Staelin in charge of Powell, exited the Clinique Saint-Raphael, and walked to Café Apate on the corner.

He took a seat at an outdoor table and ordered an espresso. When the waiter returned inside, he pulled out his own phone and texted Preisler, who had opened one of the clinic’s windows and was sitting behind Haney’s HK417 rifle.

Ready?Harvath’s text read.

Ready,Preisler replied.

Ok, then. Take your first shot. Light me up.

CHAPTER 62

Brunelle had ignored the first call from Gibert, as well as the second, letting them both go to voicemail. She was too busy and couldn’t be distracted right now. Whatever he was calling about could wait.

Then a text had come in telling her that it was urgent and that she needed to stop sending him to voicemail and to take his call.

Stepping out of the conference room she was in, she phoned him back. “What is it, Vincent?”

“I’ve got six dead Russians in the Bois de Boulogne. All embassy employees.”

“Jesus,” she replied, lowering her voice. “What happened?”

“A huge gunfight. Multiple calibers. Based on the corpses and the vehicles, our people are guessing hundreds of rounds were fired.”

“Who were the other shooters?”

“We don’t know yet. But get this, one of the Russians was found with a long gun, a couple of hundred yards away in the woods. We think he was a sniper of some sort.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Could be any number of things,” Gibert responded. “All the Russian diplomatic outposts are crime hubs. This might have been a drug deal gone bad.”

---