remained quiet as he removed the foil and the cage. Releasing the cork, there was only the faintest hiss. Like a lover’s sigh, as they used to say in France.
He poured, she tasted, and then nodded again. Once their glasses were filled and he had left the table, she raised hers in a toast. “To Carl,” she said.
“To Carl,” Hayes replied.
They clinked glasses and took a long sip of champagne. It was cold and popped on their tongues. Not too sweet, not too dry. In fact, it was as it had always been—perfect.
How many times had they gone through this ritual? How many lunches, or brunches, or nights had they gotten together after work to split a bottle, or just grab a glass because they were racing to something else?
As NATO allies, they were expected to work together, but their friendship had gone beyond a work relationship. They enjoyed being together. Jogging, working out, movies, shopping, they had been tight. Very tight.
It was all the more reason that Holidae going to Carl with suspicions over her drug use had felt like such a betrayal. Friends didn’t turn each other in.
In fairness—and if pressed—Sølvi would likely be forced to admit that friends also didn’t sit idly by and watch their friends descend into a narcotic pit there was little hope of climbing out of.
Nonetheless, Holidae could have come to her first. She didn’t need to go over her head to her boss. It was something, right or wrong, she still was struggling to forgive.
It felt as if they’d had this great friendship, but the moment something had gone wrong, something that potentially could have impacted work, Holidae had been all business.
It had made their friendship feel false, hollow. It had also made Sølvi feel betrayed. Having just lost her husband, the betrayal of such a close friend had been even more bitter and difficult to absorb.
“What is it you say in English?” Sølvi inquired. “I’d like us to bury the hatchet?”
Hayes smiled. “Interesting choice of idioms. I didn’t know we had been at war. I thought we just weren’t on speaking terms.”
The Norwegian smiled back. “I’m a Viking. Å grave ned stridsøksen is what we say. I think burying war axes sounds better than offering olive branches. Peace?”
The CIA operative raised her glass. “To peace.”
CHAPTER 14
“So,” said Hayes, once their oysters had arrived, “you want me to tell you what I can about Scot Harvath.”
Sølvi smiled and, after setting an empty shell down on the platter, replied, “Actually, I want you to tell me what you can’t.”
“Can’t or shouldn’t?”
“It’s the same thing in English, isn’t it?”
Hayes nodded. “Usually. But why are you asking me? I told Ivar everything we know.”
“Ivar Stang. The NIS Director?”
Hayes nodded. “When Harvath’s name was discovered in the searches on Carl’s devices, he asked me to come in and meet with him.”
“And?”
“And I spoke to Langley. Out of a spirit of cooperation, they prepped a presentation, which I gave in Ivar’s office.”
“Who else was there?” asked Sølvi.
“Ivar’s number two, Norvik.”
“Lars Norvik.”
“Yes,” said Hayes. “And then someone I had not previously met before. A woman named Holst.”
“Hella Holst?”
“She didn’t give a first name.”
“Heavyset woman?” Sølvi asked. “Late fifties? Short brown hair? Greenish eyes that bulge out just enough to make you wonder if she has a thyroid condition?”
Hayes tapped her index finger against the tip of her nose and then pointed it at her friend. “Maybe we can help each other. Tell me about Holst and I’ll share a couple of things about Harvath that weren’t in my presentation. Deal?”
Sølvi nodded. “Hella heads a new division at NIS. In English, it roughly translates to Strategy Section.”
“What’s it responsible for?”
“As you know, when it comes to population, Norway is a relatively small country. We have less than five and a half million citizens. But despite our size, bureaucracy is a growing problem—as it is for most advanced Western nations.
“Like a person with heart disease, the arteries of our agencies are calcifying, making it impossible for blood to efficiently flow. In the case of the NIS, our blood flow is information. Cut it off, or even reduce it partially, and not only does our agency risk atrophy and even death, but our greater body, the country of Norway, is susceptible as well. Does this make sense?”
“Of course,” said Hayes.
“Good, because now it gets tricky. Strategy Section,” Sølvi continued, “was designed, in part, as a heart bypass, if you will. If NIS was ever severely compromised, or shut down—say in the