sideboard had been loaded with soft drinks, bottled water, a samovar of coffee, and an array of snacks.
As Harvath talked, Lawlor paced. In one hand he carried a green dry-erase marker, and in the other a mug of coffee. When a new name was mentioned, he added it to the whiteboard.
Once Harvath had finished speaking, Lawlor stood back, and looked at their list. He read it aloud, hoping that they had missed someone.
“Admiral David Proctor—NATO’s Supreme Allied Commander Europe, Monika Jasinski of Polish Military Intelligence, and Filip Landsbergis of the VSD—Lithuania’s State Security Department. That’s it? That’s the entire cast of characters?”
“That’s it,” Harvath responded. “Those are all the people who knew about the op Carl and I ran.”
Lawlor referred to a file on the table. “Proctor is a distinguished graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy and, among his many achievements, he has commanded Destroyer Squadron 21, as well as the Enterprise Carrier Strike Group, has served as a special assistant to the Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and ended up heading the Special Operations Command before taking over at U.S. Central Command. He was nominated for the SACEUR position by President Porter two years ago, and was unanimously confirmed by the U.S. Senate. Impressive résumé.”
Harvath agreed. “I knew him back when he was at SOCOM. He’s solid. President Porter spoke to him once. After that, only I spoke with the Admiral. No staff were allowed to listen in, nor were any brought into the loop.”
“Did Carl’s name come up?”
“Once or twice, but solely in the context of the mission.”
“Any chance that–”
Harvath held his hand up and cut him off. “Zero. The man is a bank vault.”
“Vaults can be cracked.”
“Not this one, and especially not over the name of an allied Intelligence officer. The Admiral was a fanatic about operational security. You can ask anyone he worked with at SOCOM or CENTCOM. He oversaw some of the biggest post-9/11 ops we have undertaken. Not a word ever leaked to the press or to our enemies. Like I said, he’s solid. Full stop.”
“And he recommended Jasinski?”
“Correct,” said Harvath. “She had been billeted to NATO’s terrorism intelligence cell in Belgium. Admiral Proctor had tapped her personally. She legitimized my cover so I could be part of the raid on the cell in Norway. Afterward, Jasinski and I met up with Carl at Værnes Air Station in Stjørdal and debriefed him on the operation. There were some things with the cops and the Norwegian military that needed to be mopped up, but Carl told us he’d take care of them.”
“Do you think he may have mentioned you to them by name?” Lawlor asked.
“Carl? Not a chance. I was traveling under an alias and it had been provided to him. He wouldn’t have given me away.”
“What about once he returned to Oslo? Do you think he told anyone at NIS?”
“The Norwegian Intelligence Service knew better than to ask Carl too many questions—especially ones they didn’t want the answers to.”
“That’s not what I asked you,” said Lawlor. “Do you think he revealed your presence in Norway to anyone at NIS?”
“Officially?” Harvath replied. “No.”
“What about unofficially?”
“Unofficially, he could have been running an all-male review out of the NIS parking lot. The point is that the Old Man trusted him and so did I. Carl understood that our relationship functioned best as long as knowledge of it was kept limited. If he brought someone into his confidence, I have no reason to doubt his judgment. More importantly, if the killer we’re looking for came from inside NIS, why would they need to torture Carl in order to access his files, his phone, and the NIS database?”
It was a sensible argument and though Lawlor could come up with some thin reasoning as to why someone might, it would have been a waste of their time to pursue. So, he moved on. “Okay, let’s focus on Jasinski then,” he stated. “Do you think she spoke to anyone about you or Carl?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Harvath replied, “she was working on direct, classified orders from the SACEUR himself. Admiral Proctor had directed her not to discuss the operation with anyone else, not even her colleagues back at Polish Military Intelligence.”
“And you trust her?”
“Fully.”
“Based on what? A couple of operations in the field with her?”
Harvath shook his head. “She hates Russia with a passion. Her number one pastime at NATO headquarters has been rooting out their spies. It’s personal for her.”
“Why is it personal?”
“Because the Russians killed her