“And yet you didn’t have any trouble pulling Ragusa, his girlfriend, and the two bodyguards off the street for a little while.”
“Because he had already given up Vottari,” Argento replied. “He’s never going to admit to what happened. He’ll scare the woman into silence and his men have no clue what went on in the apartment. Even if they did, they wouldn’t say anything or he would have them killed. I don’t have to worry about him running to the press or trying to file an action against me.”
“Let’s figure out then,” said Harvath, “how to put La Formícula in the same position.”
“There is no getting to La Formícula, though, if you and your team cannot agree to abide by the ground rules.”
“Every operation has to have rules of engagement. I understand that. I also understand that your ass is on the line with this. But so is mine. I am responsible for my team. I can’t put them in a situation where they are unable to protect themselves. That’s just not going to happen.”
Harvath was at his wit’s end.
“May I?” Lovett asked, pointing at Argento’s computer.
The Italian nodded and slid it the rest of the way toward her. Turning to Harvath, he said, “You understand that this is not personal. I have much discretion in the execution of my missions. But this is one area in which I do not.”
Harvath did understand. If their situation were reversed, he’d probably be taking the exact same position. Unless you were operating completely on your own, absolutely unaccountable, there were going to be restrictions you had to deal with.
These, though, were a little extreme, if Harvath did say so himself. With these rules of engagement, they were never going to make any headway against the Mafia. They’d always be left behind, trying to catch up.
Glancing over at Lovett, he saw that she had pulled up a bunch of additional photos from Vottari’s file and had them side by side.
“What are those?” he asked.
“Pictures from his Facebook account,” she replied.
“The Ant is on Facebook?”
“Yup. Even uses his real name.”
Harvath shook his head. Everybody was on social media. Why not a mobster in his thirties?
The pictures showed Vottari partying with friends and pretty women, having a good time.
Looking closer, he noticed something. “Do the couches in these photos look similar to you?”
Lovett increased the photo size. “They do actually.”
The photos had not been full screen captures. Harvath wanted to see them in their original state—the way Vottari had posted them.
Turning to Argento, he asked, “Do you have Facebook on your computer?”
“I don’t do Facebook,” the Italian replied.
“Done,” Lovett replied, handing her cell phone to Harvath. She did do Facebook.
Via the app on her phone, she had pulled up Vottari’s account. Harvath scrolled through the photos until he found the one he wanted. La Formícula had even been kind enough to tag the location in his post.
“Ever heard of a place called The Beach Club in Reggio Calabria?” he asked.
Argento nodded. “It’s a big disco, not far from where we were at the airport.”
Harvath handed the phone back to Lovett. “That’s where we’re going to nail him.”
“How do we even know when he’ll be there?” the Italian replied. “There’s nothing in his surveillance that suggests a pattern.”
“We’re going to bait a shiny hook and put it right in front of him.”
“How?”
Harvath smiled. “Don’t worry. I have the perfect guy for it.”
CHAPTER 70
* * *
* * *
NORTHERN VIRGINIA Nicholas had just climbed out of his vehicle when Lydia Ryan pulled into Reed Carlton’s driveway behind him. Following her was a blacked-out van.
Walking around to the gray Mercedes’s cargo door, he let the dogs out and grabbed his backpack. Even from where he stood, he could tell not only that something was wrong, but that Ryan was very angry.
“What’s going on?” he asked as she stepped out of her car and began giving orders to the team in the black van.
“This,” she responded, handing him a tiny surveillance camera. “They were all over my fucking house. My car was wired too. There was even a tracker on it.”
“Not good,” he exclaimed. “Who do you think is responsible?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as we do a full sweep inside. Until then, do me a favor and wait out here.”
Nicholas nodded and Ryan escorted her personnel inside.
Forty-five minutes later, the team re-emerged. After sweeping Nicholas’s vehicle, as well as those of Carlton’s security detail, they packed up their van and drove off.
Giving his dogs the command to walk with him, he entered the house and found Ryan and Carlton at the dining room table. Scattered across it were all of the surveillance devices that had been found in the house.
“Really not good,” Nicholas remarked, setting down his bag. “Are any of those still hot?”
Ryan shook her head. “All the power sources have been removed. None of them are transmitting.”
“Even so,” he said. “Wait here.”
Moments later, he returned with a trash bag. With her help, they cleared the table. He then tied a knot in the top of the bag, tossed it in the garage, and returned to the dining room.
“FYI,” stated Ryan, “your vehicle was clean.”
“Thanks for having them check. What about the security team?”
“Their vehicles had been compromised. Trackers and wired for audio.”
Nicholas shook his head. “What tipped you off?”
“As CIA Deputy Director, I get swept on a regular basis. Something didn’t feel right, so I asked them to move up my next appointment. Call it intuition.”
“How’d they get into your place?”
“Same way they got in here. They waited for me to go to work or for Reed to go to a doctor’s appointment, and that’s when they acted. They could come back and do any vehicles overnight. Judging by the sophistication of their equipment, they know what they’re doing.”
Reed Carlton glanced at her. “Somebody is obviously very interested in what we’re up to.”
“The same somebody,” she replied, “who put the bounty on our email accounts.”
“Speaking of which,” said Nicholas. “I have an update on that. But I don’t want to say anything if we’re not safe to talk here.”
Ryan nodded. “I had my team install some active countermeasures. We’re safe, but your cell phone isn’t going to work inside.”
“I don’t bring mine to these kinds of meetings anyway.”
“Good. Then let’s get started,” Carlton ordered. “What do you have?”
The little man pulled some papers out of his backpack and spread them across the table. “Whoever is behind all this is smart. Really smart. In fact, I’m more than a little upset that I didn’t think of this myself.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Ryan.
“Per the agreement,” he continued, “I was instructed where to upload all of your emails, once I had accessed them. The site is a dark web version of DropBox. Anyway yesterday, once I had the strings of Malice code I needed, I got right to—”