another sip, he gazed at all of his supplies. They didn’t seem to be nearly enough, but they were much better than nothing. He was alive, and aside from the beatings he had suffered, he was walking away from a major plane crash unscathed. For all intents and purposes, he was ahead in this game. But for how long?
It was the number-one question in his mind at this moment. Had the pilot’s Mayday been received? How long until the plane was missed? And after that, how long until a search was launched? That was the equation Harvath was most concerned with. How long should he stay with the wreckage, getting warm and assembling his escape kit, before fleeing?
The light was completely gone now and the storm was howling outside. If he struck off before morning, he was as good as dead. The only thing he had going for him was that there was no way the Russians would launch a rescue operation in weather like this. They wouldn’t risk losing more aircraft. They would wait until the storm had passed.
For the moment, Harvath was safe. But the sooner he got moving the better.
After stoking the fire, he wrapped himself tighter in the blanket, his pistol in one hand, his flashlight in the other. Closing his eyes, he told himself he was only going to grab a few hours of sleep.
He was exhausted and instantly drifted off.
CHAPTER 12
* * *
* * *
GOVERNORS ISLAND
GILFORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE
“Pause it,” Bob McGee said, pointing at the TV screen. “Right there.”
They were at the house across the street, reviewing security footage.
“Whose vehicle is that?” he asked.
“The caretaker’s,” said Chief Tullis.
“And he’s the one who found the bodies?” Militante asked.
The police officer nodded. “The lease your man Harvath signed requires the owners to maintain the property. We’ve had a lot of weather up here, so he was bringing by extra salt for the driveway. According to his statement, he was checking the gutters around the house for ice damming when he saw the victims through one of the windows.”
“Which is when he called 911?”
Tullis nodded. “Six-eighteen this morning,” he stated, reading from his notebook.
“Okay,” replied McGee. “Keep rewinding.”
They watched footage from the past two days. Only a handful of cars passed the security camera. None of them drove into or out of Reed Carlton’s driveway.
Then a silver four-door Chevrolet was seen leaving the property.
“Stop,” said the CIA Director.
The Police Chief complied, pressing the Pause button once again. Checking his notes, he read off a series of letters and numbers.
McGee peered at the screen and studied the car leaving Carlton’s driveway. “I can’t make out the plate.”
“Or the driver,” Militante added.
Tullis rewound and advanced the footage, pausing at different spots, trying to get a good view. From the vantage point of this camera, shooting across the street, the image just wasn’t sharp enough. “Maybe they can enhance this at the lab in Concord. For now, though, what we can see is that the make, model, and color of the vehicle we’re looking at are a match for the one Harvath registered at the hotel.”
“Keep going backward,” the CIA Director ordered. “Slowly.”
Chief Tullis activated the remote. Based on the condition of the corpses, they were looking at footage from the day of the murders.
“Stop!” McGee ordered.
Onscreen, they could see that the driver’s window of the silver sedan had been rolled down and the driver’s arm was sticking out.
“Roll it back a few more frames and then push Play.”
Tullis did as he was asked.
From across the street, they could make out only the bottom of Reed Carlton’s driveway. But it was enough.
As the Police Chief hit Play, they all watched as the car appeared in view, the driver thrust his arm out the window, and then snapped it back in.
“What side of the driveway did they find the cell phone on?” asked Militante as Tullis paused the feed again.
The Chief walked up to the TV, rewound the video, and pressed Pause. Everyone could see the driver throwing something. Tullis put his finger on the object and drew a line from it into the trees.
Leaning in, the CIA Director saw that the driver was wearing what appeared to be a chunky, rubber-strapped diver’s watch, similar to the one that Lara had given Harvath for his birthday. Sport watches were common among military types and fitness buffs, but Harvath’s was different. Made by Bell & Ross, it was square with a blue face and a thick blue strap. But at this distance,