“Is that what this is all about? You think Gashi is Russian? Not Kosovar?”
“Yes. In fact, we think he’s GRU.”
Ingesson’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Russian military intelligence? Gashi? That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“It just doesn’t fit.”
“Really?” replied Harvath. “You were K4. You were trained to conduct reconnaissance and sabotage behind enemy lines. If you were Russia, and you were going to place a deep-cover operative on Gotland, exactly what type of person would you choose?”
“Probably a man just like Dominik Gashi,” he finally admitted after several moments of thought. “I’d take advantage of Sweden’s soft spot for immigrants, especially from conflict-torn countries. And I’d place him in an industry few people want to know anything about, much less be part of, like animal processing.”
“There you go,” said Harvath.
“Of all people, I should have seen it.”
“If there was nothing suspicious about him, there’s no reason you should have suspected anything.”
“So you think he’s here as part of some GRU operation. To do what?”
“We think he’s running a cell responsible for gathering intelligence and conducting sabotage, in advance of a Russian invasion.”
Again, the big man shook his very big head. “I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“I always suspected the Russians had operatives here. It just makes sense. Strategically, they need Gotland. Nobody, though, has ever been able to catch them.”
“Well, they’re here,” said Harvath. “And part of the cell includes a contingent of Spetsnaz soldiers.”
“I’m not surprised,” he replied. “That’s exactly the kind of thing K4 would do. But if you know all this, why hasn’t Anders arrested them?”
“That’s why I came to see you,” said Harvath. “How do I put this appropriately? The way some of the intelligence was gathered makes it difficult for the Chief Inspector to use in court.”
Ingesson nodded knowingly. “I am assuming, based on how it was gathered, that it would be difficult for any Swedish authorities to use this intelligence as well.”
“Correct. That’s one of the reasons I was brought in. My team and I allow Sweden to keep its hands clean.”
“I think Americans call it plausible deniability.”
“Correct again,” replied Harvath.
“What do you wish to do with Dominik Gashi?”
“We just want to talk with him.”
Ingesson laughed and repeated the word “talk,” with air quotes.
“He may not want to talk with us,” said Harvath, “but he doesn’t have a choice. We believe he is part of an overall operation to weaken NATO and prepare the battlefield for an ultimate Russian invasion of the Baltic States.”
“Which is why they would need Gotland. To control the Baltic Sea.”
“Exactly,” Harvath stated, relieved to be speaking with someone who understood the big picture. “America doesn’t want to go to war and we’re certain that Sweden doesn’t want to either. In our opinion, all that matters—”
“Is stopping the Russians — no matter what it takes.”
Harvath nodded. “That is our position.”
“It is the right position,” replied Ingesson. “What can I do to help you?”
“Do you have a picture of Gashi?”
“Sure. I can pull his file from the company server. What else?”
“I have spoken with two of his associates, neither of whom has ever been to his home. Can you give me some idea of where he lives?”
“I can do better than that,” the big man replied. “I’ll take you right to him.”
CHAPTER 47
Gashi lived in a crappy, run-down cabin on a poorly maintained piece of land in the middle of nowhere. Ingesson knew it because he had driven the man home after he’d had too much to drink at the company Christmas party.
Gashi allegedly augmented his income from the processing plant by acting as a caretaker. He worked for several mainland homeowners who rented out their beach houses to the tourists who flocked to Gotland in the summer.
Off-season, he simply dropped by once a week to make sure pipes hadn’t frozen and nothing had been stolen.
It was easy money. What he did with it, though, was anyone’s guess. He definitely wasn’t putting it into where he lived.
Haney assembled the drone and got it up overhead. Harvath told him to take his time. He definitely didn’t want a repeat of Norway.
Slowly, Haney conducted a reconnaissance of the property. In addition to the cabin, there was a detached garage, a woodshed, and an old, decrepit outhouse.
Harvath, as usual, stood next to him, watching the feed on the tablet.
“Looks pretty quiet,” said Haney.
“I know,” Harvath replied. “That’s what bothers me.”
“Maybe the guy’s just inside sleeping.”
Harvath knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that was so. Johansson had already admitted that Nikolai had called Gashi, filling him in on everything that had happened at O’Learys, and that Gashi had then called him. There was no way that Gashi would just roll over and go to bed at that point. He’d want to know what Johansson had uncovered. And when Johansson failed to report back in, Gashi would be forced to assume the worst.
If Gashi was inside that cabin, he’d probably be sitting behind the front door with a shotgun, ready to blast the first person who showed up. More than likely, he had already taken off. But to where? Unless he had a boat or a plane, there wasn’t much he could do besides go to ground. Harvath decided he needed to see the cabin for himself.
Looking at Sloane, he said, “You’re with me. Haney stays on the drone. Staelin and Palmer will come in via the woods to the south. Barton’s had the longest day of all of us. He’ll watch the vehicles. Jasinski, you can stay with Barton, or come with us. It’s your call.”
Jasinski hadn’t expected to be in a position where she had to decide whether to opt in or opt out. “I’m in. I’ll go with you.”
“Okay,” said Harvath, pleased with her answer. “You’re with us.” Then, addressing the team, he said, “Everyone should absolutely be expecting booby-traps. Is that clear?”
“Roger that,” they all replied.
Ingesson had wanted to be part of the raid. He had even volunteered to carry his own weapon, a short-barreled tactical rifle he kept, in violation of Swedish law. By the looks of him, he was no stranger to dodging bullets and kicking serious ass, but Harvath had politely said no.
The former K4 Army Ranger was too valuable a find. A pro-Western local, with elite military training, skilled at surviving behind enemy lines, was something Harvath would rather keep as a future asset, already in place.
In short, as formidable as he was, fortunately, they didn’t need him. Harvath’s team was more than well-equipped to handle this.
Taking the lead, Harvath cut across the adjacent property and approached the cabin from the east with Ashby and Jasinski tight behind him.
They moved as one unit, each covering their respective pieces of the pie, weapons up and ready to engage. They were carrying a new close-quarters weapon called the Sig “Rattler,” a compact tactical rifle in the .300 blackout caliber. It was a nice fat round that packed high speed and an incredible punch. Theirs had collapsible stocks and were outfitted with suppressors. They were super smooth and returned almost zero recoil.
Two hundred meters out from the target, Harvath slowed down. They needed to be very careful now. As good as their goggles were, any trip wires would be basically invisible.
Step by careful step, they moved forward. Every tree, every rock, every pile of leaves might hide a Claymore-style antipersonnel device.