Near Dark (Scot Harvath #20) - Brad Thor Page 0,116
perfect morning—sunny and warm. They were less than ten kilometers away from the coast; close enough that he could smell the salt of the ocean carried on the breeze. Along with it came the scent of grasslands and apple orchards. There was a reason why Winston Churchill, Picasso, and even T. E. Lawrence had so romanticized this part of France.
As the crew off-loaded the gear, Harvath stood on the tarmac and turned his face up toward the sun. It felt good to be outside. It also felt good to breathe.
He enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the smell of the ocean for as long as he could. He didn’t know when he’d get another chance to close his eyes and simply be.
The moment didn’t last long. A few seconds later, he heard a vehicle approaching. Opening his eyes, he saw Sølvi drive up in a black Land Rover Discovery.
“Don’t even say the words Norwegian girl or upgrade to me,” he stated as she put the vehicle in Park and hopped out.
She winked at him and then gave him her thousand-megawatt smile of perfectly straight white teeth, before popping the rear hatch and showing the aircrew where to place everything. Harvath just shook his head.
After loading the gear, he climbed into the passenger seat and they left the airport.
“Where to?” Sølvi asked.
Harvath checked his watch. “Let’s head toward Omaha Beach,” he said, pulling up the vehicle’s navigation system and selecting their destination. “I’ll call the guide and see when she can meet us.”
As soon as the GPS system had mapped out the two-hour-and-eleven-minute drive, Sølvi sped up and merged into traffic.
Looking at his messages, Harvath opened the recent email from Nicholas and downloaded the attachment.
He then opened WhatsApp, checked his new profile, and confirmed that it showed both the assumed name and alias phone number he had asked for.
On NormandyGuides.com, Dominique Loiseau had listed her cell phone number, email address, and had also advertised that she was available via WhatsApp. Entering her number in the app, Harvath gave her a call. She answered on the second ring.
“Madame Loiseau,” he said. “My name is David Owen. Sorry to call you so early, but we wanted to catch you before the day got going. Monsieur Aubertin thought you might be able to be our guide for a tour of Utah and Omaha beaches?”
“Yes, he texted me that I might be hearing from you,” she replied. “You and your wife are from Canada, correct?”
“We are. Ontario, to be exact. We were hoping that we could meet you at Omaha Beach in a couple of hours and start there. How does that sound?”
“Unfortunately,” the woman replied, “I am already committed to a tour this afternoon at Mont-Saint-Michel. I couldn’t do the beaches with you and still be back in time.”
Damn it, thought Harvath.
“If, though,” she added, “you would like to see Mont-Saint-Michel instead, I could take you on a private tour this morning and if I’m able to move some things around, we could do Omaha and Utah beaches tomorrow. Would that work for you?”
In the driver’s seat, Sølvi was nodding.
Harvath smiled and said into his phone, “Is Mont-Saint-Michel worth a visit?”
He could almost see the guide rolling her eyes as she replied, “Trust me, it’s worth it. If you don’t agree, it’s free. I won’t charge you. How about that?”
“Can you hold a moment, please? I need to ask my wife.”
Muting the phone, he looked at Sølvi and smiled again.
“You’re terrible,” she said.
“I don’t want to seem too eager.”
“You seem like an idiot. Thank her, accept her offer, and ask where she’d like to meet.”
Harvath stifled a laugh and did as he was told.
After setting up their rendezvous with Dominique Loiseau, he hung up and plugged the new destination into the GPS system. Mont-Saint-Michel was less than an hour away.
CHAPTER 46
The tidal island of Mont-Saint-Michel was connected to the mainland via a man-made causeway. The causeway, though, was closed to all but official traffic.
Visitors were required to leave their vehicles in one of the official parking areas and then were allowed to cross the causeway on foot, via a cart drawn by draft horses, or on a free shuttle bus known as a “Passeur.”
Harvath didn’t like being cut off from their SUV, but he didn’t have a choice. Finding a spot for the Land Rover, they locked it and headed over to the nearby Tourist Information Center, hoping to gather some intelligence.
One of his biggest questions was what security would be like once