Near Dark (Scot Harvath #20) - Brad Thor Page 0,117

they got out to the site. It didn’t take long to get an answer.

According to a sign they passed, only purses and small backpacks were allowed on Mont-Saint-Michel. Before you could enter through the fortifications, there was an inspection station. All bags were subject to search.

There was no mention of wanding or any other body-scanning technology, though knives were listed as a prohibited item. Drones were also prohibited and a red circle on a map showed the large exclusion zone around the island where nothing was allowed to be flown.

The only things they’d be able to take along were those they could conceal beneath their clothing.

Harvath tried to console himself with the fact that this was a reconnaissance operation and not a tactical engagement. Even so, he had always believed that you could never be too prepared.

Back at the Land Rover, he and Sølvi took turns keeping watch while the other covertly geared up. When they were done, they once again locked the vehicle, and headed toward the shuttle bus.

Once the Passeur arrived, the ride out to the island only took a few minutes. The views were amazing. Of all of the places around the world he had been, and all of the things he had seen, Mont-Saint-Michel was one of the most beautiful and most dramatic. He could understand why it had been referred to as the Eighth Wonder of the World. If a company of knights had come thundering out of the gates, and had galloped past them across the marsh, it wouldn’t have seemed odd at all.

When the bus came to a stop and they got off, Sølvi hustled Harvath to the side, before the other tourists got the same idea, and had him pose for a photo with her. Though not usually a selfie kind of guy, he indulged her. After all, they were supposed to be a married couple on vacation. The unobstructed view of the fortified medieval stone town with its soaring abbey atop the hill was breathtaking. She had a great eye.

As warned back on the mainland, there was indeed a bag check. There were so many people in line that it took longer to get through than the shuttle ride out.

Thankfully, there was no wanding or body scan of any kind. Had that been the case, he and Sølvi had agreed that she would feign having left something important in the Land Rover that they had to go back for.

Waiting just past the bag check, as promised, was Dominique Loiseau. She was a stylish, petite Frenchwoman in her sixties, with platinum hair and a red and gold scarf. The scarf, she had explained over the phone, was to help her clients identify her. Though Harvath would have recognized her anyway, it was probably a good idea. The profile photo she had posted on the website was at least twenty years out of date.

“Is that her?” Sølvi asked.

“That’s her,” said Harvath.

As soon as Sølvi waved, Loiseau smiled, waved back, and walked over to them. She couldn’t have been a more delightful woman.

“Monsieur and Madame Owen,” she said, extending her hand. “How lovely to meet you. Bienvenue à Mont-Saint-Michel.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” replied Sølvi, shaking hands.

“Madame Loiseau,” said Harvath, taking her hand next. “Thank you for accommodating us on such short notice.”

Her English was excellent. “It is my honor,” she stated. “And please, Madame Loiseau was my grandmother. Call me Dominique.”

She was a charmer, which was why Harvath instantly liked her. Charmers were some of the easiest people to build rapport with.

“Okay,” she energetically continued. “Have either of you ever been to Mont-Saint-Michel before?”

Harvath and Sølvi shook their heads.

“How about Normandy?”

Again, they shook their heads.

“France?”

This time, both nodded.

“Okay,” said Dominique, as she motioned for her clients to follow. “Why don’t we start walking, I’ll tell you a little bit about the region, and then we can begin to learn how Mont-Saint-Michel came to be.”

Dominique Loiseau was an absolute pro. Having confirmed that her clients were indeed hungry, their tour ended two and a half hours later, on the dot, at Mont-Saint-Michel’s La Mère Poulard hotel and restaurant.

As they entered the dining room, the manager was already standing at the door and whisked them off to one of the best tables in the house. It was so well choreographed that Harvath had to subtly tip his hat. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a kickback she received for bringing in high-end patrons.

There was a pleasant back-and-forth between Dominique and the manager