“How’d she get the information onto the laptop?”
Jordan shook his head. “No clue. And to tell you the truth, I don’t really care.”
“So what did she come up with?”
“The personal email accounts for Reed Carlton and Lydia Ryan.”
Page was impressed. “That was quick.”
“Like I said, she’s the best. The emails go back quite a way, and there’s lots of them.”
“Did you also hire her for the rest of the surveillance?”
Jordan nodded. “That, though, didn’t go as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ryan wasn’t scheduled to have her place swept for another two weeks. The plan was to get in and get out before the CIA came through, but for some reason, she had them come in early. They found everything.”
Page was not happy. He was even less happy when Jordan added, “They found all the surveillance at Carlton’s too.”
“Son of a bitch,” he cursed. “Now they know we’re on to them.”
“They know someone is on to them. They don’t necessarily know who.”
Page looked at his partner. “The Deputy Director of the CIA and Reed fucking Carlton found out their homes were wired. You don’t think they’re going to move heaven and earth to get to the bottom of it?”
“Viscovich has assured me that absolutely none of the equipment she used can be traced back.”
“Well she wouldn’t be the best,” he replied, making air quotes with his fingers, “if it could. But I’m not worried about the equipment giving her away. I’m worried about whoever installed it. She does tons of fucking contract work for the Agency. If word gets out about this, her installers may start spilling what they know.”
“She has assured me that won’t happen.”
“Well that’s fucking great, Andrew. I’m glad you’re willing to gamble everything on a promise from Susan Viscovich.” Page paused and then added, “Are you fucking her?”
Jordan laughed, “Now that would be worth risking everything over.”
Page was pissed off and didn’t like his cavalier attitude. “She’s a weak link. You need to fix this.”
“Fix this?” Jordan said, with another laugh. “Fix it how?”
“Kill her.”
“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”
“Kill her,” Page instructed, “and kill the installers.”
“Is that all?”
“You don’t seem to understand how serious this is.”
Jordan looked at him. “And you don’t seem to understand how insane you sound.”
“What exactly do you think is going to happen when Reed Carlton comes after us for this? Have you thought about that?”
“Frankly, Paul, he’s your obsession. Not mine. I was just trying to do you a favor. And apparently, no good deed goes unpunished.”
“We’re both going to get punished if we don’t get out in front of this.”
“I’m not killing anybody,” Jordan stated. “Full stop. Not going to happen.”
“That’s too bad,” said Page, as he removed the suppressed .22 Walther pistol mounted under his dining room table and fired into his partner’s left temple, killing him. “Now, I’m going to have to do all the work.”
CHAPTER 80
When the teams arrived back at the safe house, Harvath’s VIP was already set up and waiting for him.
As the vehicles pulled into the courtyard, Dr. Vella stood in the doorway. In his hand was a very special black hood. He wanted to get it on their subject as quickly as possible.
Once Naldo had backed their SUV in, Harvath opened the hatch and waved Vella over. No one said a word. They operated in total silence.
Using his flashlight to blind Vottari so he couldn’t see where he was or what was going on, Harvath yanked the pillow covering off Vottari’s head and Vella replaced it with the hood he had brought from the Solarium in Malta.
Morrison and Staelin then dragged the Mafioso into the house.
In the room that had been outfitted for his interrogation, they patted Vottari down, relieved him of all his personal effects, and secured him to a chair. All of the other furniture had been removed.
Heavy black moving blankets had been affixed over the windows, halogen lights rested on adjustable stands, and three video cameras sat atop tripods at different angles. The room looked like it had been set up for a terrorist video.
There was also a large medical bag and five plastic Storm cases of varying sizes that contained the rest of Vella’s equipment.
It was now time for the doctor to take over.
After making sure Vella had everything he needed, Harvath stepped into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
Because of the nature of the operation, Harvath and Argento had agreed to a very specific division of labor. Argento and his men would be responsible for the security of the safe house and Harvath and his men would be responsible for securing Vottari. This way, the Italians could ostensibly deny knowledge of what had taken place. Technically, none of them had even seen La Formícula’s face outside the nightclub.
While Barton pulled security outside the interrogation room, Staelin and Morrison had already turned in. Most of Argento’s men had too.
Filling a mug, Harvath grabbed his backpack and headed upstairs to the roof. He wanted to get some work done. Back at Langley, McGee would be expecting an update.
Stepping outside, he saw Argento sitting at a table. He had lit a few of the Citronella candles to keep the mosquitos away, had his feet up, and was smoking a cigarette. When he saw Harvath, he motioned for him to join him.
Setting his backpack on the table, he pulled out a chair and sat down. The view of the town, all lit up at night, reminded him of a lot of the time he’d spent in Greece.
The Italian offered Harvath a cigarette. Harvath declined.
“So, how long will the interrogation take?” Argento asked as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.
“Hard to say.”
“Does he always travel with a hood?”
Harvath nodded. “It’s a designer hood.”
“What’s so special about it?”
“There’s a pocket in the front that holds strips of cloth soaked in a unique chemical. It’s supposed to make subjects more cooperative.”
“Does it work?”
“Vella thinks so.”
“Have you ever tried it?” Argento asked.
“I watched him do one interrogation with it and it worked. The one time I tried to do it in the field, it didn’t work.”
“What happened?”
“The subject had a heart attack. I haven’t tried it again since then,” said Harvath. “That’s why I wanted to bring Vella in to do this.”
The Italian nodded and took another drag on his cigarette. When he exhaled, he asked, “Your tech people blocked La Formícula’s phone, correct? None of his people can trace it here?”
“Correct. I texted my guy as soon as we grabbed him. There’s no trail. It’s as if Vottari’s phone never left The Beach Club,” replied Harvath.
“And there will be no marks on him, correct? No needle punctures. No bruising.”
“Just as we agreed.”
Argento seemed content and had no further questions. He went back to smoking his cigarette and looking up at the stars. Harvath took out his laptop and began typing up an update for McGee.
After it was complete, he powered up his encrypted satellite phone, attached it to the computer, and sent the update back to the United States.