Near Dark (Scot Harvath #19)(82)

“Very good. How about someone who speaks two languages?”

“Bilingual.”

“And someone who only speaks one language.”

“I give up.”

As the smile broke out and spread across her face she said, “American.”

It was a good joke. Not completely accurate, but a good joke nonetheless.

“Du er s?t,” he responded, in his limited Norwegian, “men du skal ikke skue hunden p? h?rene.” You’re cute, but you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

“Well, look who speaks Norwegian. What else can you say?”

He knew only a handful of words and phrases. Some of them were absolutely useless.

“? st? med skjegget I postkassa,” he replied. The rough translation was standing with your beard in the postbox. It usually referred to ending up in a dumb situation that you had cheated or snuck your way into.

“? st? med skjegget I postkassa?” she repeated, with a laugh. “Not bad. I’m glad to see at least one SAS flight attendant taught you something.”

Harvath looked at her.

She glanced back at him with a glint in her eye before returning her attention to the road. “Carl may have told Reed about my tattoo,” she responded, “but you should know that Reed told Carl some personal things about you too. Remind me, where does the call sign Norseman come from?”

Touché, thought Harvath. She knew exactly where it had come from. “Why do you think they never introduced us?”

It was a good question, but one for which she really didn’t have an answer. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Carl was protective. He had a thing about compartmentalization.”

Maybe, thought Harvath. But he had a growing feeling that it might have been something else.

Maybe their mentors knew their protégés all too well. Maybe they knew that once they had been introduced, they wouldn’t be able to pry them apart.

They chatted the rest of the way to ?iauliai, asking lots of questions, but being careful not to go too deep or too personal. Each wanted to know more about the other, but instinctively they knew there was pain on the other side and they moved cautiously.

At the air base, they unloaded their gear, grabbed something to eat, and stepped aboard their plane. This time, there weren’t any earplugs. The ride was loud and cold. Even Harvath, who was a pro at falling asleep anywhere, failed to get much shut-eye.

When the C-130 touched down at the NATO air base at Aviano in northern Italy, both Harvath and S?lvi were exhausted. A vehicle was waiting for them, and though they had been offered showers and a hot meal, Harvath wanted to get moving. S?lvi had agreed.

Hopping into their boxy brown Jeep Renegade, they had gotten on the road. It was a three-plus-hour drive to Lake Garda and Montecalvo the “information broker” Kovalyov had confessed to working with. Returning the favor from earlier, Harvath had taken the wheel.

There was no small talk, no witty back-and-forth during this drive. No sooner had they loaded the Jeep and discreetly rolled off the base than S?lvi was asleep in the passenger seat.

She had turned onto her right side, facing the window. He kept stealing glances at her, though knowing he needed to pay attention to his driving.

As his eyelids got heavier, he cracked his window and turned on the radio—not too loud, just loud enough that he could hear the music in order to help himself stay awake.

Nicholas had made a reservation for them at a hotel in Sirmione overlooking the lake. Judging by all of the cars, he hadn’t been kidding when he had said he had found them the last room in town. Tourist season was in full swing.

Lake Garda was the largest lake in Italy and Sirmione was a narrow promontory that jutted two miles out into the crystal-blue water from the lake’s southern shore. It was known for the thirteenth-century castle and winding cobblestone streets of its Old Town. It had been a refuge of tranquility for opera singer Maria Callas decades ago, before it had become such a mega destination.

As he eased to a stop in front of the hotel, S?lvi slowly opened her eyes and asked, “Are we here?”

“We’re here,” said Harvath.

She wanted to help him with his gear, but he told her not to worry. Checking in, he accompanied her to the room to make sure everything was okay, then came back downstairs, found a luggage cart, and, after parking, unloaded all his stuff, and headed back up to the room.

He had been gone only ten minutes, but she was already in bed, sound asleep. Grabbing the spare pillow and blanket from the closet, he made himself comfortable on the couch.

He texted Nicholas to give him a SITREP, then plugged his phone into its charger. Lying back on the pillow, he closed his eyes. Moments later, he was asleep as well.





CHAPTER 38


TUESDAY

Harvath awoke to the sound of the doorbell ringing. Sitting up, he looked at the time. It was after nine a.m.

Wearing a white bathrobe, her hair still wet from a shower, S?lvi had stepped out of the bathroom and had already answered the door.

A room service waiter in a white jacket and black tie was standing in the hall next to a cart adorned with silver cloches, baskets of bread and pastries, a carafe of ice water and one of juice, a large pot of coffee, glasses, cups, linens, and other assorted breakfast accoutrements.

The waiter thanked S?lvi for opening the door, and with a polite bow offered for her to go first, and stated that he would follow her into the living room.