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T he Ambassador’s driver was also, in fact, a security agent. His name was Christoffer. Or, as he had instructed Harvath to refer to him, “Just Chris.”

As it turned out, Just Chris was only being polite earlier and appreciated that Harvath had brought a coffee out to him.

The two men stood in the driveway, leaning against the car and chatting as they enjoyed their coffee.

A consummate spy, Harvath probed in an attempt to learn more about the young man, as well as his role back at the embassy.

He came from a village of less than eight hundred people called Isebakke, along Norway’s southeastern border with Sweden.

He had briefly served as an infantryman in the Norwegian Army before beginning a career in the Norwegian Police Service, when the opportunity to sign on with the Foreign Service had presented itself.

Until last night, it had been an amazing experience with nothing but upside. Having two colleagues gunned down inside the residence, however, had changed all that. Everyone back at the embassy was understandably in shock.

When the younger man shared how grateful the team was that Harvath had responded so quickly, Harvath brushed it aside. Leaning in, the young man pressed on, confiding that every single embassy employee was grateful that he had not only saved the Ambassador, but had also ended the gunman’s life.

Harvath thanked him and expressed sympathy for the loss of his colleagues.

Just Chris nodded and changed the subject as he took another sip of coffee. “It’s very peaceful here. You have all of these beautiful trees. The water. It reminds me of Isebakke.”

Harvath nodded back and was about to ask him another question when the front door opened and S?lvi and Ambassador Hansen stepped out of the house.

“Everything good?” he asked as they approached.

“Everything is excellent,” Hansen replied as she shook hands with S?lvi. “We’ll talk soon I hope.”

S?lvi nodded and said something in Norwegian. Harvath noticed that it didn’t have her normal, playful spark. It was serious. Official.

After the Ambassador said goodbye to Harvath, the young man thanked him for the coffee, and the pair got back in their car and disappeared down the drive.

Once they were out of sight, he turned to S?lvi and said, “That was a little bit of a strange goodbye. What was it all about?”

“I don’t want to talk about it standing here,” she replied.

“No problem. Where should we talk?”

“Let’s go down to the dock.”

Harvath nodded and let her lead the way.

Passing through the house, she grabbed a bottle of cold water from the fridge while he topped off his coffee. They then headed out through the French doors off the living room.

Walking in silence, they made their way down the gravel path to their long white pier. At the end was a storage box that doubled as a bench, along with a small teak table and four teak chairs.

Harvath retrieved his American flag from the storage box, ran it up the flagpole, and then sat down at the table with S?lvi.

Looking out over the water, she said, “They want me to come back.”

If there was one thing Harvath had learned in his life, it was that some conversations are ones in which your partner just wants you to listen to their troubles. In others, they want you to help them find solutions.

He wasn’t yet sure what kind of conversation this one was, so he erred on the side of caution. “Interesting,” he responded, acknowledging that he had heard her. “How do you feel about that?”

“I’m not sure. What’s that famous line from The Godfather ?”

“Ambassador Hansen ‘made you an offer you couldn’t refuse’?”

S?lvi turned her gaze from the Potomac back to her husband. “That’s the one. Except it wasn’t Hansen who made me the offer. She’s just the messenger.”

Harvath took a sip of his coffee as he waited for her to continue.

“The good news is that it’s only a temporary assignment,” she finally stated.

“And the bad news?”

“I have to start right away.”

None of this was doing anything to tamp down his concern. “What’s the assignment?”

She took a deep breath and said, “The Norwegian Prime Minister wants me on her security detail for the NATO Summit.”

Harvath’s hand tightened around his mug. He used to do this exact same job and knew exactly what it entailed. Not only could it be extremely dangerous, but this request was completely unnecessary. Norway would be sending a full detail of its own protection agents with the Prime Minister.

What’s more, the moment they touched down on U.S. soil, they would be augmented by a full complement of Secret Service agents. Adding S?lvi made no sense at all.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “Your special forces background more than qualifies you, but dignitary protection isn’t your field of expertise. Why do they want you working halls and walls?”

“Do you want the short answer or the long?”

Almost out of coffee, he answered, “Short.”

“Prime Minister Stang doesn’t trust the U.S. Secret Service.”

That didn’t exactly come as a surprise to him.

The Secret Service had experienced some highly publicized failures recently, not the least of which were assassination attempts in the run-up to the general election.

While no one, thankfully, had been killed, dramatic, inexcusable mistakes had been made.

Though he had only worked with the Secret Service for a short time, he felt compelled to mount some sort of a defense on their behalf.

“I am not going to argue that there haven’t been some screwups recently.

But presidential elections open up a whole Pandora’s box of threats.

I highly doubt anyone is going to be gunning for the Prime Minister of Norway.

And even if someone was, the United States Secret Service remains the best protection agency in the world. ”

“Really?” S?lvi asked. “What about what happened in Dublin two years ago?”

“ Dublin? ” Harvath replied, trying to jog his memory.

“As the presidential motorcade was leaving the U.S. Embassy?”

He had almost forgotten about the incident and winced thinking about it.

The president’s backup limo, which always traveled with him, was identical to the bullet- and bomb-proof Cadillac known as “The Beast.” It was in the motorcade, ahead of the actual limo carrying the President and First Lady.

When it reached the top of the concrete ramp leading out to the street, it scraped its belly, high-centered, and became stuck.

The rest of the vehicles behind it, including the limo with the President and First Lady, were forced to reverse into the parking garage and leave via an alternate exit.

Normally, the Secret Service agent responsible for the Beast is supposed to drive every inch of every possible route before the President arrives. Whether or not the agent practiced exiting the embassy properly was never publicly revealed.

It was extremely embarrassing for America and the previous president. It became a metaphor for the United States being bloated, overweight, and unable to maneuver. It was also catastrophically embarrassing for the Secret Service.

Video and still photographs of the teetering limo, with its American and Irish flags above the fenders and presidential seals on the doors, made headlines around the world. And in so doing, they made America and the Secret Service a laughingstock.

“Dublin wasn’t good,” he agreed. “But like I said, the Secret Service is still the best at what they do, bar none.”

“Do you want me to cite the other examples the Prime Minister is concerned about?”

He shook his head. “No organization is perfect. Not even the Norwegian Intelligence Service. Let’s not forget that your people had a Russian mole in the center of everything who almost got you killed.”

It wasn’t a card he was eager to play, yet it felt necessary to inject a modicum of perspective into the conversation.

S?lvi, however, wasn’t happy being reminded. The experience was still too raw; too painful.

While debriefing a Russian defector at a top-secret NIS safe house in Oslo, she and her team had come under attack.

Every protective agent on-site was killed.

S?lvi and her defector were the only two to make it out alive.

And even then, just barely. She had been betrayed from within her own organization.

“I haven’t forgotten,” she replied. “How could I?”

Harvath knew he was going to strike a nerve, and now that he had, he regretted it.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You’re not wrong about what happened.”

“All I care about is you. Which is why I’m trying to understand this. What does the PM not trusting the Secret Service have to do with you?”

“She wants me on her detail to protect her from the Secret Service.”

Harvath’s eyes widened. “She thinks the Secret Service is going to try to harm her?”

S?lvi shook her head. “No, not intentionally.”

“Then what are we talking about?”

“After the assassination attempts, your government launched a sweeping investigation; top to bottom. They found a lot of things that were wrong in the organization. Inadequate training, too much time on, not enough time off. It was a pretty damning report. A report, which my government read in earnest, looking for any takeaways that could make our agents better at their jobs.”

“As they should.”

“One of the key findings was that the Secret Service needed a significant boost in its budget in order to revamp training and hire new agents. The problem, however, is that none of that money has been appropriated, much less released.”

“So in other words,” said Harvath, “nothing has changed.”

With a solemn expression, she nodded. “That’s the PM’s fear. She wants me on her detail not as another gun, but as another set of eyes. She wants to make sure there are no mistakes.”

“She can’t add another person from Oslo to do that?”

“I asked Ambassador Hansen the same question.”

“And?”

“The PM thinks that my involvement in countering the attack last night will give me some celebrity status with the Secret Service. They may decide to assign better, more experienced agents to the Norwegian delegation.”

“Norway is one of our most important allies. They’re going to put exceptional agents on the PM’s detail.”

“The Prime Minister also believes that with me on board, the Secret Service will work twice as hard. And if anything is amiss, will get it fixed immediately.”

“That explains why the PM wants you,” he said, not fully buying the argument. “What was her offer? The one you couldn’t refuse.”

Opening her water bottle, S?lvi took a deep drink before responding.

“A long time ago, when I was in a very dark place, I made a promise to someone. That promise created a debt. Prime Minister Stang has now come to collect.”