Page 31 of Spymaster

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

GOTLAND, SWEDEN

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.

“Any idea what this is all about?” the NATO investigator asked again.

“I don’t know,” Sloane replied. “The man in the hat was supposed to meet us. Apparently, he’s not here.”

“Why do you keep calling him that? Doesn’t he have a name?”

Sloane smiled. “Lars Lund. He works for Sweden’s Military Intelligence and Security Service.”

“MUST,” Jasinski replied, using its acronym. Part of the Swedish armed forces, MUST was the country’s main foreign intelligence service and reported to both the government and the military.