Last summer, the men had been sent to make sure Harvath made it safely to a meeting deep in ETA territory. They weren’t supposed to be seen, but Harvath had picked up on them fifteen kilometers after leaving Bilbao. At a rest stop along the Autopista, he ambushed them and forced them to drive to a remote country road. After hog-tying the men, he dropped them in the trunk of the Peugeot and drove on to his meeting.
When they were cut loose and let out of the trunk in a tiny village called Ezkutatu, that was the last Harvath saw of them. Judging by the looks on their faces, they weren’t happy to see him again. He couldn’t care less. They were his ticket to where he needed to go.
Fishing the car keys out of his pocket, he tossed them to the tobacconist and walked over to the Peugeot. “Do I sit in back,” he asked Scarface, signaling with his hand, “or in the trunk?”
Neither of the men spoke English, but they understood when they were being insulted. They had little choice but to take it, since they had been told to go get Harvath and bring him back.
Eyebrows, who was driving, stared out the window and grunted in response. Harvath took that to mean that it was up to him and slid into the backseat, placing his pack next to him.
Closing the door, he leaned back and said, “Ready whenever you are, ladies.”
? ? ?
The drive up and into the mountains was longer than he remembered. It was also quite beautiful. It reminded him of Switzerland. The only difference was stone buildings with red-tiled rooftops that took the place of chalets.
They passed oxen pulling wooden carts and meadows filled with sheep. Every once in a while, Harvath caught a glimpse of the stout, wild Pyrenean horses.
After winding their way through several towns and villages, they finally drove through Ezkutatu. Harvath remembered the squat buildings and the tall church steeple, all untouched by time. No sooner had they entered the village than they had already left it behind.
What followed next was a drive Harvath had only done once and in pitch-black night. He would have been hard pressed to do it again without some sort of guidance.
The road rose and fell, bent and switched back as it climbed higher into the mountains. Harvath could feel the pressure changing in his ears.
They drove farther still until they came upon a small gravel road bordered by high rock walls. Had Harvath been driving and blinked, he would have missed it.
They turned onto the road and about three hundred yards later came to a gate. Beyond it was a pasture filled with livestock being watched over by several Basque shepherd dogs. As the car came to a stop, two of the dogs ran toward the fence and began barking.
Two large men stepped from behind a formation of tall rocks and approached the car. Each was carrying what the Italians referred to as a
One of the guards chatted with Eyebrows and Scarface, while the other silenced the dogs and swung the gate open wide enough for the vehicle to drive through. As the Peugeot rolled forward, Harvath saw the wooden guardhouse with its propane heater and additional manpower, all of them heavily armed and similarly attired in insulated down jackets and traditional black Basque berets.
Eyebrows and Scarface were the cousin and brother-in-law of the district ETA commander, and this was his ranch. But it wasn’t the district commander Harvath had come to see. It was another man, equally revered in the area, if not more so.
Eyebrows rolled to a stop in front of the stables and, grunting again, gestured with his chin toward the stairs. Harvath knew the drill.
Getting out of the car, he nodded at the two men and then watched as they drove off back toward the gate.
He stood for a moment and took in the view. The sun was dipping low on the horizon and the temperature, already considerably lower at this altitude, was beginning to drop. It was going to be a very cold night.
He climbed the stairs and opened the door to the small apartment above the stables. On the stove was the same traditional dish that had been left for him last time, Basque beans flavored with ham and chorizo. In the center of the kitchen atop an old wooden dining table there was a chipped glass and half a bottle of wine.
Though he’d spent less than four hours in the apartment last summer, the familiarity of it all helped to take the edge off of his tension. For the moment, he was safe.
Setting Riley’s backpack on the counter, he reached for the bottle and poured himself a glass of wine. The next step was going to be very dangerous. Before taking a sip, he offered up a silent prayer that the man he had come to see would be up to the task.
CHAPTER 9
TEXAS
There were very few people Nicholas would ever risk his life for, but Caroline Romero was one of them.
That didn’t mean, though, that he had thrown caution to the wind and gone rushing blindly to her aid. There were still precautions that he needed to take. First and foremost among them was selecting his base of operations.
Three Peaks Ranch spanned more than twenty thousand acres and belonged to a wealthy Texas family headed by Peter Knight. From cattle and aerospace to mining and biotechnology, Knight’s business interests spanned the globe, and Nicholas had facilitated multiple transactions for him over the years.
The ranch was the family’s primary retreat, maintained by a full-time staff. In addition to taking care of the Knights when they were in residence, the staff was expected to see to the needs of other guests who visited throughout the year. Before Nicholas showed up, they had had no idea what to expect. Mr. Knight had simply called and stated that a VIP guest was coming, that he’d be staying for an indeterminate length of time, and that the staff should see to any needs he had.
The man’s first request was waiting for him outside the guesthouse the next day: a black Yukon Denali that had been sourced from a leasing group in Brownsville catering to disabled drivers. It looked and functioned just like any other SUV, except that it also offered hand controls so that the driver could control the vehicle’s acceleration and breaking without touching the pedals. Per Nicholas’s instructions, the staff had tinted the windows and removed the rear seats in order to give the dogs as much room as possible.
Hopping into the front passenger seat with a Leatherman tool, he peeled back the headliner and snipped the wires that connected to the vehicle’s cell phone and onboard GPS/OnStar navigation system. After replacing the headliner, he then scoured the entire vehicle inside and out, making sure there were no other fleet management or tracking devices that might have been installed. It was a time-consuming exercise that required he get under the vehicle and use a step stool to poke around the engine compartment, but he had no intention of letting anyone follow his movements.
Once satisfied, Nicholas loaded the dogs inside and with the assistance of a booster seat he had brought along, took the Denali for a test drive to familiarize himself with the ranch.
The Knights had populated it with all sorts of wild and exotic game. If Nicholas hadn’t been awake for the entirety of his flight in, he could easily believe he’d been dropped onto a wildlife preserve in Africa. In the time it took him to drive across the game enclosure, he saw addax, oryx, kudu, impala, water buffalo, zebra, gazelle, and wildebeest. The dogs, their heads out the lowered windows, noticed them too.
Confident he could now handle the vehicle out on regularly trafficked roads, Nicholas eventually turned back to his guesthouse.
Sitting on the front steps was the Knights’ ranch manager, an attractive woman in her late thirties named Maggie Rose, who gave a friendly wave as Nicholas drove up.
