“I’ll add it to my list,” the little man replied, without looking up from what he was doing.
Harvath could tell he was distracting his friend, so he stopped talking and paged through the rest of the reports. DHS, TSA, and law enforcement at every airport across the country had gone on high alert. Based on the information they had been supplied from the attack at LAX, they had known what to look for and had been able to move quickly to take the terrorists down. It was a win for the United States, one it desperately needed. It had also saved thousands of lives.
Setting aside the last report, Harvath leaned back and watched Nicholas work. Regardless of how rapidly his fingers moved across his keyboard or how many times he clicked and double-clicked his mouse, the man’s expression was tranquil.
In this he resembled the multitudes of counterterrorism operatives Harvath had worked with over the years. No matter how dangerous the situation, they approached each mission with an icy resolve. Though they all felt strongly about what they were doing, it was as if they were completely devoid of emotion, which was probably true. As things heated up, they calmed down and became completely focused. Essentially, each was in his or her own particular zone. That was exactly what he saw in Nicholas at the moment.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Half an hour after he had begun, Nicholas turned from his computer. His expression reminded Harvath of that of a doctor stepping out of a difficult surgery to update an awaiting family.
“There’s a lot here,” he said.
“If you’re talking about loan sharking and racketeering, I’m not interested. We can leave that for the Feds. Is there anything damning on Ashford or not?”
The little man tilted his head to the side. “By name, no. Everything so far is coded. Everyone appears to have a different designator. It’s filled with random strings of letters and numbers.”
Harvath wasn’t surprised. Yatsko had been a professional spy, and some old habits died very hard. “So we’ve got nothing.”
“Not exactly,” said Nicholas. “There’s one remaining file. I think it’s a Rosetta stone that might explain all the other data, but it’s heavily encrypted.”
“Can you crack it?”
“Given enough time, I can crack anything. But all things considered, why don’t we just crack Yatsko instead.”
“I think they took him to the house in Maryland. I’ll have the Old Man call the interrogators.”
“The Old Man is Yatsko’s interrogator,” said Nicholas.
“Reed? Really?”
“Really. I think the two of them have a history. Don’t ask me what it is. Reed Carlton has more secrets than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Harvath didn’t know if he should like the sound of that. From what Ralston had said, Yatsko was a tough son of a bitch. The Old Man, though, was the toughest son of a bitch Harvath had ever met. If the two men had a history, it could result in a very successful interrogation. There was also a flip side. History could also result in an extremely regrettable interrogation.
“Did they take Yatsko to the farm in Maryland?”
“Maryland?” replied Nicholas. “Why bother? They wanted to get started right away, so they brought him and Sarhan here.”
“They brought them here?”
“Yeah, Carlton has them downstairs on twenty-four.”
There was a stairwell near Nicholas’s SCIF that Harvath knew led to the twenty-fourth floor. Access was via a keypad next to the door. Harvath punched in his code and waited. The tiny light above the pad remained red.
He tried it again. Nothing.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
Finally, Harvath decided to try the code he’d seen the Old Man use on multiple occasions. He punched the numbers into the keypad and watched as the little light turned green and he heard the sound of the locks releasing.
Pulling open the door, he stepped into the stairwell and headed down to twenty-four. It had always been characterized as “empty office space” to him. It was a buffer between their offices and the rest of the building. It had also been explained as future space that the Carlton Group could grow into. As Harvath descended the stairs, though, he wondered if maybe he hadn’t been told the whole truth.
In fact, as he neared the landing for twenty-four he was reminded of something Robert Ashford had told him the first time they had met. The MI5 man had picked Harvath up at the airport, and after whisking him through customs and passport control, he had inquired as to the Old Man’s well-being. Of course, as they were about the same age, he hadn’t referred to him as the Old Man. That was what his employees referred to him as. But Ashford hadn’t referred to him as Reed or Carlton either. He had called him Peaches.
When Harvath had jokingly asked if it was because his boss was so sweet, Ashford had laughed and flatly stated, “No.”
The two men had worked together many times over the years and Ashford explained that Carlton was anything but sweet. No matter how unsavory a tactic the enemy employed, Carlton would always one-up them. According to Ashford, the Old Man had never shied away from doing whatever needed to be done. He was apparently a very aggressive interrogator. Bloody ruthless, in Ashford’s words. Hence the nickname Peaches-the antithesis of the man’s operating style.
Ashford was one of the few people Harvath had met who had worked with the Old Man in the field. He found his stories about Carlton fascinating. He also found some of them very disturbing. Allegedly, he had pushed a handful of interrogations way too far. Prisoners had died, or so the rumors went.
Though the Old Man had never been charged, some of the whispers cited his tactics as a prime reason he and the CIA had parted company.
Harvath knew not to put a lot of stock in rumors, especially Washington rumors, but nevertheless, as he plugged Reed Carlton’s code into the keypad at the door for twenty-four, he couldn’t help but wonder what he would find on the other side.
There was a particularly nasty rumor about the Old Man’s beating a prisoner with an electrical cord. Harvath had overheard several staffers talking about it when he first came on board at the Carlton Group. He’d made the mistake of asking the Old Man about it and had been put firmly in his place. Harvath hadn’t asked him again.
As he stepped onto twenty-four, he didn’t know what he would find, but when it came to Carlton and his reputation, he figured nothing would surprise him. Harvath’s mind, though, was about to be changed.
CHAPTER 60
Harvath moved from one empty office and conference room to the next. Finally, on the west side of the building, he located Reed Carlton and his “prisoner.”
They were in a small suite of tastefully decorated rooms that looked as if they had been plucked right out of the Four Seasons. Propped up on a hospital-style bed was Yaroslav Yatsko. His wounds had been cleaned and dressed, and an IV had been started. Each of his legs was in a straight-leg brace with a large ice pack atop each knee. Sitting in a chair next to him, drinking a glass of wine, was Reed Carlton.
The Old Man looked up when Harvath stuck his head into the room. “What are you doing down here?” he asked.
“I heard the housekeepers forgot the mints for the pillows,” replied Harvath.
The Old Man set his glass on the table and stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Yatsko and motioned for Harvath to follow him into the hall.
Once they were in the hall and the door to the suite of rooms was closed, Harvath asked, “What’s all of that in there? Extra-extraordinary rendition?”
“Yaroslav is an old acquaintance.”
“That’s a pretty nice room you’ve got him in. Do we have a spa around here, too, that I don’t know
