if it meant securing the Russian’s cooperation. As the team saw it, there really was no way to pull this off without him.
Upon confirmation from Nicholas that Harvath was alive and they had a location for him, the team had been flown to the border on Army Aviation MD500 “Little Bird”–style helicopters.
The Jaegers had sent one of their intelligence specialists, Aleksi, along to help manage the meeting with Pavel and to make sure that the Americans didn’t “screw it up.”
Pavel was one of many cooperators the Finns had within Russia. They functioned not only as human trip wires, alerting Finland to Russian troop movements, but also as guerilla fighters ready to harass the Russian military and provide assistance to Finnish soldiers and intelligence officers should war ever break out.
Pavel, though, was more than just a prized agent-in-place for Finland. He had highly specialized training that made him invaluable in the effort to recover Harvath. It was training the United States was willing to pay top dollar for.
And to that end, Haney opened his backpack and removed multiple bricks of U.S. currency and set them on the table. “In addition to President Porter, we also bring salutations from another notable American, Mr. Benjamin Franklin.”
The Russian and the Jaeger soldier watched as Haney continued pulling money out and stacking it on the table.
“He wants to know how much that is,” said Aleksi.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” Haney replied. “He gets half now and the other half when we get back.”
It was a fortune, especially in this part of Russia, and the old Russian’s face lit up as the Finn translated. He had his hands around the throat of a golden goose that could lay diamond-encrusted eggs. He wasn’t about to let go.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for his help,” the Jaeger soldier translated. “How much in reparations? For the loss of his brother at the hands of an American shoulder-fired missile?”
Haney had known that was coming, and he smiled. “Please explain,” he stated, “that my country doesn’t pay reparations in situations like that.”
As soon as the words had been translated into Russian, Pavel began to put on a show of shock and dismay. His lousy acting was akin to that of a soccer star who had been tapped by another player’s foot and who fell down on the field, writhing in phony agony.
“But,” Haney continued, “because we value his cooperation and want to have a good relationship, we’re willing to negotiate something.”
“How about we don’t kill him?” Staelin asked, so that only Haney could hear. “How about that for a counteroffer?”
Staelin hated dealing with people like this. It was part of the job, but he had never liked it. The moment you opened your wallet, they wanted everything and more from inside. The fact that they were negotiating with the United States only made people greedier. They figured the U.S. could afford to give them whatever they asked for.
Aleksi listened to Pavel and then said, “He wants $10 million for the loss of his brother.”
Haney had been ready for an opener like that and simply replied, “No.” He didn’t offer a counter.
The old Russian sat there trying to figure out what to do. If he wasn’t careful, his golden goose would slip out of his grasp and leave him with nothing.
He dropped quickly down to “$5 million” and passed the request on through Aleksi.
Haney continued smiling and tried to keep his tone respectful. “Mr. Pavel, I am authorized to offer you an additional $250,000. It will be delivered to you once we are safely out of the country. That’s my best offer.”
The Russian listened to the translation and stared at his American counterpart long and hard. Finally, he blinked, and the blink was followed by a smile.
He leaned over and spoke to Aleksi, who replied, “He’ll take it.”
Pavel then got up from the table and walked over to his kitchen. Assembling a tray, he returned with glasses for everyone and a bottle of vodka.
Haney looked at the Jaeger soldier. “Should we be doing this?”
Aleksi shrugged. “It’s tradition. It’s how they seal the deal. Plus, he’s a pretty serious alcoholic.”
“He’s what?” Haney asked, taken aback. That was a part of Pavel’s history that hadn’t been shared by the Finns.
“Alcoholism is quite common in Russia, especially in Murmansk Oblast. If you attempt to stop him from drinking, it could blow your entire operation.”
“Are you nuts?” he asked, careful not to raise his voice. “The American government can’t agree to pay some drunk