of something bigger and more important than himself. Scot Harvath had provided him with that opportunity.
Descending the airstairs, Nicholas was accompanied by two enormous white dogs—Argos and Draco. Weighing more than two hundred pounds each, the twin beasts stood over three and a half feet tall at the shoulder. They were Caucasian sheepdogs, better known as Russian Ovcharkas, a favorite of the East German border patrol, as well as the Russian military. Fast, fiercely loyal, and ferocious when threatened, they were the perfect guardians for a man who counted among his enemies some of the most powerful and dangerous people in the world.
The dogs were as wary as their owner. Like a pair of devout sentinels, their eyes scanned everything and everyone in the private hangar. When they lighted on Harvath, they trotted over to him and placed a head beneath each of his hands.
As a sign of trust and affection, they leaned against him. It was like being pressed between two pickup trucks. He patted both of them until Nicholas clucked with his tongue against the roof of his mouth for them to return to him. Immediately, the dogs obeyed his command.
Harvath took in the sight of the little man. He looked healthy. He was tan and though he had spent the summer letting his hair grow longer, his beard was still neatly trimmed. It was a sign of his virility and something he was very proud of. Sufferers of Primordial Dwarfism were not known for being able to grow beards. He had spent a small fortune attempting to beat his ailment, trying all sorts of remedies and scientific treatments. He liked to think that the facts that he had outlived his life expectancy and had managed to grow a beard were signs that he was actually winning the battle.
Harvath had never seen Nicholas as engaged and as positive as he had been since coming to work for the Carlton Group. In addition, Nicholas now had a woman in his life. Something to do, someone to love, and something to look forward to. The man had discovered the three keys to happiness. Harvath was happy for him.
The large, private hangar the jet had taxied into had been converted into a gargantuan war room. The filing cabinets from the office were all lined up, boxes and piles of paper sat on folding tables, and desks had been brought in with power strips connected to long extension cords that ran across the floor of the hangar to various outlets.
Nicholas’s eyes focused on all of it. Taking in a deep breath, he sighed and said, “Paper. How provincial.”
Harvath understood. Nicholas preferred to work in the digital realm. He did, too. Even so, if there were answers in those files or on the computers, between the two of them, they would find them.
“Are those my research assistants?” he asked, pointing to an older couple sitting in the glassed-in hangar office.
Harvath nodded. “Mr. and Mrs. Logan. They own the self-storage company. I’ll be helping out, too.”
The little man shook his head. “It’s going to be a long night.”
• • •
While Nicholas had been in flight, Harvath had interrogated the Somali cab driver. Bao Deng had indeed been his customer, there was no question about it. But other than what he had already told the police, the Somali didn’t know anything else. He was a dead end, so Harvath had decided to focus on the storage facility. Now that Nicholas had arrived, they were able to get to work.
Where Nicholas was mathematical, Harvath was visual. Thus, they came at the problem from two different directions. Like two teams tunneling through a mountain from opposite sides, they hoped to meet in the middle and find their answer there. Mrs. Logan worked with Nicholas and her husband worked with Harvath.
Harvath had a lot of questions, starting with the CCTV footage. According to the Logans, they used an inexpensive, wireless camera system. It came with an Internet app that allowed them to remotely check in on their facility from home. From time to time it was known to drop offline and could be fixed only by someone in the office rebooting it manually. Despite those facts, Harvath had doubted it was a coincidence that it had picked tonight to go down again.
His next question had to do with the specific layout of the self-storage facility. Mr. Logan located an old survey of the property in one of the file cabinets, brought it over, and laid it on the