“Along with the additional troops NATO rotates through the Baltic States, as well as the standby force it maintains in Poland.”
“But what about air support?” she asked. “Couldn’t allied aircraft launch from Sweden or Finland?”
“Depends on whether they grant us permission, or whether they play the neutrality card and stay out of it. Finland, as you know, isn’t a member of NATO either. The U.S. has been doing a lot of training with them, weapons sales, and things like that. But until bullets start flying, you never really know what people are going to do.
“What’s more, NATO air superiority isn’t guaranteed. Russian attack fighters and antiaircraft systems could make it very difficult for our pilots.”
“Sounds pretty dire.”
“I deal in worst-case scenarios. Like I said, my job is to prevent an Article 5 from happening.”
“So why are we going to Sweden?”
Harvath took a sip of his espresso. “To see a man in a hat.”
Jasinski looked down the length of the luxury plane, studying all the players assembled aboard. “Must be one hell of a hat.”
“Second-best thing to ever come out of Sweden.”
“Really? What’s the first? And don’t say ABBA.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
The NATO investigator smiled. “Seriously, what’s in Sweden? Besides this man in a hat.”
Harvath took another sip of espresso. “Nicholas cracked three of the phones from the cabin in Norway. They led us to a person of interest on Gotland. We have a contact in Swedish intelligence. He has been running it to ground for us.”
“Is that what Nicholas meant by Sweden might hold very serious trouble?”
“He has a lot of history with the Russians. He doesn’t think they’d waste an anti-NATO cell here. What he does think is that they might place a deep-cover Spetsnaz team, highly trained in reconnaissance and sabotage, to harass and tie up Swedish troops during a Russian invasion.”
“What do you think?”
“I think it could go either way. But regardless, we need to find out.”
“Is that what all the Storm cases are about?” she asked. “What’s inside them?”
Harvath winked at her. “Pens, pencils, paper — that sort of thing. This is a fact-finding trip. We’re just here to learn.”
“Right.” She laughed. “And I’ve got a big, beautiful bridge to sell you in San Francisco.”
“Too dangerous.”
“Bridges?”
“No, San Francisco,” he replied.
She laughed again. He smiled back.
Slowly, he was winning her over. That was important, because he needed her. In truth, he needed a hundred more like her, a thousand.
The threats faced by Western Europe were rapidly changing, evolving. Unfortunately, Western Europe wasn’t.
By not leaning in, by not being aggressive, they were encouraging more acts of violence upon their nations and their citizens. They had forgotten that civilization lives, thrives, and survives only when it is willing to wield a very sharp sword. If you didn’t meet the barbarians out on the road, soon they’d be at your gates. And once at your gates, be they Islamic terrorists or Russian soldiers, they would soon be inside.
Simply put, Western Europe’s enemies did not fear them. They did not fear them because they did not respect them. And they did not respect them because the Western Europeans would not fight.
The Europeans, like any noble society, prided themselves upon what set them apart, what made them better than the barbarians — their laws. The barbarians didn’t care for laws. They only cared for brute force—What can I take, whom can I subjugate, what can I make mine through sheer force of will?
Law and civilization were supremely important things, but without strength, and a willingness to engage the enemy, they were worthless.
Harvath had always appreciated the maxim of an Army Lieutenant Colonel named David Grossman. In Grossman’s mind, there were just three categories of human beings — sheep, sheepdogs, and wolves.
To those three categories, Harvath had added another — wolf hunters. That was what the world needed more of.
The sheep had only two speeds — graze and stampede. They needed sheepdogs to keep them safe in case of an attack by the wolves. Wolf hunters, though, were needed to find and kill the wolves, whenever possible, before they attacked.
Harvath was a wolf hunter. His whole team was composed of wolf hunters. He saw the potential for Jasinski to be one, too. That’s why it was important that she experience what they did and understand why they were necessary. He and his team couldn’t be everywhere. There were too many hot spots, too many threats.
But when they did appear, only for the most serious of threats, they acted as a force multiplier. And in those situations, like now, the more wolf hunters they helped create, the more endangered the wolves became, and the safer the places the hunters protected.
“So,” she said, breaking into his thoughts, “what do I need to know before we land?”
Harvath thought about it for a moment. “You’re with an exceptional team that’s on the right side of this fight,” he replied. “No matter what happens, just remember that.”
CHAPTER 20
They landed at Visby Airport on the west side of the island. Seeing the town’s name emblazoned upon one of the hangars, Jasinski said, “Visby’s an interesting name. I wonder where it comes from.”
“It’s Old Norse,” Harvath replied. “It means the pagan place of sacrifices.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“What a delightful omen,” she stated.
Harvath grinned.
At one hundred miles long and thirty miles wide, Gotland was Sweden’s largest island and was known as the Pearl of the Baltic. It lay ninety miles from the mainland and was home to sixty thousand inhabitants, twenty-three thousand of whom lived in the main town of Visby.
Surrounded by the Baltic Sea, its coasts were craggy and windswept, covered with limestone pebbles, while its interior boasted lush pine forests, dramatic grass marshes, sprawling meadows, and fertile, verdant farmland.
As the jet rolled to a stop, a private aviation ground crew materialized and laid down a red carpet.
Looking out the window, Harvath didn’t see his contact. What he did see were two uniformed police officers — one tall, one short, along with a man in a leather coat, exiting the FBO building and walking in the direction of their plane.
“What’s going on?” Jasinski asked, as she looked out the window at the men who were approaching.
Picking up his cell phone, he dialed the man in the hat. It went immediately to voicemail. He tried again with the same result.
“Do me a favor,” he said, pulling out his Sig Sauer and handing it to her. “Hold this for me until I get back.”
“What’s up?” Sloane asked from the back.
Chase, who could see the cops approaching through his window, said, “Karma. I’ve got a hundred bucks that says Harvath dated at least one of their daughters.”
“Time to face the music, Norseman,” Barton joked.
Harvath ignored them as he grabbed his North Face jacket and moved forward. Sticking his head in the cockpit, he told the pilots, “Keep the engines hot.”
Then he disarmed the forward door, opened it up, and extended the airstairs. They hit dead center at the top of the red carpet. The chilly, salt-tinged ocean air blew through the open doorway.
As he zipped up his jacket and prepared to walk down to speak with the men, Jasinski changed seats so she could get a better view of what was happening. Sloane came up and joined her.