Foreign Influence by Brad Thor

a spook?”
    Nicholas nodded. “With the Centro Nacional de Inteligencia.”
    Harvath was familiar with Spain’s official intelligence agency, also known as the CNI. “How did he end up making that kind of career change?”
    “You can ask him on the way.”
    “On the way where?”
    “France. He’s offered to make sure you get across the border. I just hope you can get to Fournier in time.”

CHAPTER 15
 
    C HICAGO
F RIDAY
    When John Vaughan met Paul Davidson at a health food restaurant under the “L” tracks in Chicago’s River North neighborhood, he thought he had the wrong guy. Davidson was a barrel-chested man in his late forties who looked more like a narcotics officer or a Hell’s Angel than a cop from Public Vehicles. He had long hair pulled back in a ponytail, a goatee, and even an earring.
    Vaughan, who had dropped off his daughter at school and bypassed the Starbucks in order to get to this meeting on time, hadn’t been expecting this.
    “We’ve only got one type of coffee,” said the waitress after he had joined Davidson at the table. “But I’ve got tons of teas. I can bring over the box if you want to choose.”
    “No thanks,” said Vaughan. “Just coffee, please.”
    “Anything to eat?”
    “Their turkey sausage is off the hook,” replied Davidson.
    Vaughan shook his head. He hated health food.
    Davidson rattled off an order that sounded like it was straight from acraft services table for some Hollywood movie. Vegan this and tofu that. It was disgusting.
    “Why do you eat that stuff?” asked Vaughan.
    “Because I’m too stubborn to go on Lipitor.”
    “I’d rather take a bullet.”
    “No you wouldn’t. Trust me. It’s not fun.”
    “You’ve been shot?” asked Vaughan.
    “I didn’t move to the Public Vehicles Division for the action.”
    “When did it happen?”
    “Four years ago. I was a patrol officer. My partner and I were doing a traffic stop. Some thug pulled a gun, and my partner and I both got capped. I took it through the shoulder and my partner got a round in the leg. I shot the offender in the head and killed him.”
    “So you decided to hang it up being a patrol officer?”
    “No. My wife decided. No mas patrol.”
    “How did you wind up at Public Vehicles?” asked Vaughan.
    “Due to my heroism and valor , blah, blah, blah, the department let me have my pick. There was a slot at Public Vehicles and the rest is home-by-six-every-night history.”
    Vaughan was amazed by how the man downplayed what had happened. “Is your partner still a patrol officer?”
    Davidson laughed. “He is and he’s been shot two more times since then. I’m glad I got away from him. The guy’s a bullet magnet.”
    Vaughan laughed. “Listen, I’m sorry again for bothering you on vacation.”
    “Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you pay for breakfast and we’ll call it even.”
    “I was going to offer to pay anyway.”
    “In that case, I’ll think of something else.”
    Wiseass , thought Vaughan. “You’ve already got something for me?”
    “You sound surprised.”
    “I only called you the day before yesterday.”
    “I can hold on to it for a day or two if it’d make you appreciate it more.”
    “No. What have you got?”
    Davidson pulled a blue notebook from his jacket pocket and set it on the table. “Are you familiar with how the cab system works in Chicago? I don’t want to bore you with a bunch of stuff you already know.”
    “I know the basics. You’ve got the actual cab owner who purchases a license to operate from the city office of Consumer Services. It’s also called a medallion. You can’t legally operate a cab without one. Usually, the medallions are worth more than the cabs themselves.”
    “Correct.”
    “Each cab is required to have a meter. The meter is turned on when a fare gets in. The meter has set rates, et cetera.”
    “Exactly. Drivers then lease the cab for a short period of time from the owner. The most common lease is for a week for