had been trained to check all of his equipment before taking it into the field. Just because the CIA Director had personally handed everything to him didn’t mean Harvath was absolved of making sure each item was topped off and in perfect working order.
He was not going to be able to leave the drone on station overhead the way he had at Landsbergis’s. There just wasn’t enough power in either battery. He had just lost an incredibly valuable tool.
The best he was going to be able to do was to conduct an overflight now and hope to get a feel for the inner courtyard, as well as a look at the rooftop—along with the adjacent buildings—and maybe a peek in a few of the windows.
It would all be good reconnaissance material, more than he was normally used to having. But being blind while they were inside, just because the damn battery hadn’t been charged, galled him. That was the kind of simple mistake that could end up getting people killed.
Launching the drone, he got back into the Land Cruiser so that they could all watch the feed together.
Nicholas was also watching from his perch back in the U.S. It was more out of loyalty to Harvath than anything else. He knew the drone didn’t have enough juice to be part of the next phase, but on the off chance that he might notice something during the reconnaissance, he wanted to be there for his friend. Anything, no matter how small, that might lend Harvath an advantage was valuable.
The cameras around the building were way out of date—more for show than anything else. None of them had infrared capabilities. The only areas they’d be able to pick up were those that were strategically lit by security lamps bolted to the structure’s façade. As long as the drone stayed out of the light, it would likely go undetected.
The small embassy compound, with its crumbling rooftop antenna array and rusted, oversized satellite dishes, looked like it had been frozen in time at the very height of the Cold War. If, at that moment, a couple of Soviet apparatchiks had stumbled into the courtyard for a smoke and a hit from a bottle of vodka hidden in the bushes, it would have looked absolutely normal.
Instead, all they saw were cobblestones, chipped plaster, and peeling paint. If real estate was all about location, location, location—that was definitely all that this place was about.
Harvath had the drone increase its altitude so they could get a better look at the roof. Beyond the aforementioned radio antennas and satellite dishes, there wasn’t much to see.
The adjacent rooftops were steep and clad with smooth red-clay tiles. If things went wrong and that was their only means of escape, they were going to be in a lot of trouble.
Carefully directing the drone, he had it begin peeking in the windows. All of them, though, were covered—either by aluminum blinds in the office areas or shades or draperies in the residential portions. There was nothing left to see and so he recalled it.
The drone set down in the middle of the street, just next to the Land Cruiser. Harvath hopped out, repacked it in its case, and secured it in the cargo area.
Closing the hatch, he looked up at the sky that only minutes ago had been a deep purple. Much like his mood, it was transitioning rapidly from dark blue to black. This wasn’t going to be an easy night. There was a lot they were about to do that he didn’t like.
For starters, both the CIA Director and the President had told him—in no uncertain terms—that he was absolutely forbidden from doing it. Lawlor, whose call he had ignored because he was too busy talking with Landsbergis on the drive in, had also sent him a series of angry texts telling him to stand down. Only Nicholas had been on board.
Getting back into the driver’s seat, Harvath looked at Sølvi, then Landsbergis, and said, “Let’s go over the plan one last time.”
CHAPTER 33
Harvath didn’t need to speak Lithuanian to understand that Andriejus Simulik was pissed off. Really pissed off.
As Director of the VSD, he expected all of his people—even one as high-ranking as Landsbergis—to strictly follow agency protocols and, at the very least, to practice basic tradecraft. Bringing an American intelligence operative, unannounced and uninvited, to his home violated every rule in the book.
Bring him to the office, bring him to a restaurant, use a safe house—hell, set up