“I did? What are you talking about?”
“I heard a recording of your call to him this morning. It didn’t sound like the musings of a sane person. You’re really throwing around some far-fetched notions.”
“Yeah, well, if I’m so far off base with my theories, why did I get hallmarked today?”
“‘Hallmarked’? What do you mean?”
“You know, when you care enough to send the very best?”
“Are you trying to tell me somebody tried to put a hit on you?”
“Twice. Once at Union Station and then again outside my bank on Twelfth Street not long after that. They must have been tracking my credit card because I used it to pay for cabs to both locations.”
“Hit men? Tracking your cards? Scot, this is pretty serious stuff. If you come in, I promise I’ll help you.”
“No thanks, Gary. That’s the second time I’ve had that offer today, and I feel a whole heck of a lot safer on my own for the time being.”
“Scot, I swear I don’t know anything about a hit being put out on you. That’s not how we do business and you know it. Tell me where you are, and we’ll send a car for you right away. I’ll put you in protective custody while we debrief you, and then-”
“Yeah? And then what? Shaw had told me he was doing the same thing with Natalie and Andre Martin, and look what happened to them.”
“Scot, how well did you know Andre Martin?”
“He was a friend of Natalie’s. I just met him last night. Why?”
“When was the last time you checked your bank statements?”
Harvath looked at his watch. “You’re running out of time, Gary, and you’re wasting it with questions that don’t make any sense.”
“The Secret Service has discovered that you received several large deposits to your bank account in the past month, the most recent being the day after the president was kidnapped. The money came from an account in the Caribbean. A little digging revealed a series of shell corporations, which eventually led to Andre Martin, D.C. attorney and international finance specialist.”
“What are you saying?”
“It’s not what I’m saying, Scot; it’s what everyone else is. The way it looks is that Andre Martin somehow used his relationship with Natalie Sperando to get to you and buy you off.”
“Buy me off? What the hell for?”
“The Secret Service and the Justice Department figure you were the inside leak and helped the kidnappers in grabbing the president.”
“Me? That’s insane.”
“Is it? Look at it from their point of view. You had the means as head of the advance team, money’s as good a motivation as any, and you had the opportunity.”
“You can’t believe that I-”
“You were the only Secret Service agent to survive the avalanche. You then interfered with three separate crime scenes resulting in the corruption of evidence in at least one of them; you were the last person seen with Sperando and Martin alive-”
“Yeah, at a bar in D.C.”
“No. A desk clerk at the Radisson in Alexandria said that Martin and Sperando were picked up by a Secret Service agent who identified himself with credentials as Scot Harvath and perfectly fit your description.”
“And my gun was found near the scene of the murders. Well, someone thought of everything, didn’t they?”
“Scot, if you are innocent, running is not going to help your case. Let me bring you in. I swear nothing will happen to you.”
“Do you believe I’m innocent, Gary?”
“I need to hear your side first.”
“I’m not coming in. Not now. Somebody has gone to a lot of work to set me up, and it looks like they’re hedging their bets by trying to bump me off. I’m sorry, but I think I stand a safer chance on my own right now.”
“Scot, I can help you, but this has got to be done by the book. You have to come in.”
“Sorry, Gary. No way. You’re not going to hear from me for a bit, but I want to leave you something to think about. If someone could put this whole elaborate plan together to silence me, what could that same person do to keep the whereabouts of the president secret? You’re barking up the wrong tree with the Abu Nidal and the FRC. It’s a red herring. I’m sure of it. Widen your nets. I’ll be in touch.”
Harvath hung up the phone, went back through the lobby, and told the doorman he was going to Union Station. Once there, he found another cab and told the driver to take him to Dulles International Airport.
45
“Yah, dis is a problem ven you are a businessman, no?” said Harvath in his German-accented English.
“But it is so sweet. Your wife will be thrilled,” said the Swissair ticket agent as she checked the passport of Herr Hans Brauner.
“Yah, I hope zo. I also bought her a little zomething zpecial,” said Harvath, putting the women’s Pamper Yourself gift basket from Crabtree amp; Evelyn on the counter between himself and the agent. “Do you think she will like it?”
“I think she will love it. You are so sweet to drop everything and rush home to be with your wife when she has the baby. Some things are more important than jobs, aren’t they?”
“Unfortunately, my boss doesn’t approve, and I am forced to use my traveler’s checks to pay for zee flight. I vas supposed to be here for another three veeks, but now vis zee baby coming early, vee do vat vee can, no?” said Harvath as he counted out almost six thousand dollars in American Express traveler’s checks.
It was a risky proposition. He knew airlines were very wary of customers who paid in cash, especially for same-day reservations, but he could not use any of his Scot Harvath credit cards, even if he hadn’t broken them all into pieces and flushed them back at the Georgetown Park mall, because whoever was watching would be able to track him right away. At least disguised and paying cash, he would be harder to trail. Winning the ticket agent over would definitely help him. Had she or another agent been the slightest bit suspicious, they could have created a lot of trouble for him before he even got away from the desk. It had been an expensive gamble, but it looked as if it would pay off.
Harvath continued to smile as the agent asked him the standard questions about who packed his bag and whether it had been out of his sight at any time. With a final glance at his passport, she thanked him, gave him his ticket, wished him and his wife good luck, and directed him toward the business-class lounge, where he could wait until his flight was called.
So far he had lucked out. Harvath’s German was relatively limited, and he would be extremely hard-pressed to carry on more than a brief conversation with anyone, but that wasn’t a problem with the American-born Swissair agent. He knew these agents would converse with him in the language he chose to use. Swissair was a thoroughly professional outfit, and that’s why he had chosen to fly with them. This airline would respect his privacy. To them he was another harried businessman, torn between work and family, and trying to get back home to Europe. Because of Zurich’s close proximity to the German border, there was no reason a German businessman returning home wouldn’t choose to fly into Zurich rather than Munich, especially if time was of the essence and Swissair’s was the next flight out.
Harvath hadn’t eaten anything since his bagel and orange juice that morning. While he could have picked something up at the mall, he hadn’t wanted to waste time. He was thankful for the food in the Swissair lounge and discreetly loaded up while he waited for his flight to be called.
When the 5:40 flight to Zurich was called in the lounge, Harvath stood with the rest of the businessmen and made his way to the plane. A German newspaper tucked under his arm and walking slowly, almost wearily with his bag in tow, Hans Brauner blended in with the rest of the business travelers and boarded the plane without
