thatmultiple teams had to have been used. That was a plus, as far as Harvath was concerned. The more people involved in any plot, the greater the chances were that one of them would screw up. The challenge, however, was allocating enough assets to a case in order to see the screw-up the moment it happened, jump on it, and leverage it to your advantage.
The Carlton Group, though, didn’t have many assets, much less extra ones they could move from project to project, as they’d been forced to let most of their people go. At the moment, Harvath was it, conducting the entire investigation himself out of his house, with his study acting as ground zero and the overflow spilling into the hall.
Even the Old Man was limited by how much time he could spare. He had spent a few hours with Harvath on the assignment before having to leave to deal with the fallout from the Sienna Star operation.
Though he didn’t come right out and say it, Carlton had also been troubled by Claire Marcourt’s murder. Harvath could see it in his face and by how much time he had spent with the file. He’d scanned all the contents onto his laptop and uploaded them onto a secure FTP site before walking outside to place a lengthy phone call. When he came back in and announced that he was leaving, he handed Harvath a slip of paper with the address for a warehouse and WWII written on it.
The initials stood for William Wise II. “He’s expecting you,” the Old Man had said on his way out the door.
“Expecting me for what? Who is he?”
“He used to work for the Agency, brilliant guy. Knows something about everything. I gave him the file. He might have some insight.”
Harvath tried to ask what kind of work Wise had done and what made him so special, but Carlton was in a hurry and gone before the conversation could go any further. He figured he’d learn soon enough.
Walking up to the front of the building, Harvath noticed several low-visibility security precautions. While they may have been in response to the neighborhood’s crime rate, Harvath suspected there might be another, much more realistic reason. Whoever this Bill Wise person was, he had some very dangerous enemies.
CHAPTER 16
B ill Wise looked like Santa Claus crossed with one of the toughest bikers the Hell’s Angels had ever produced. He had white hair, a thick white beard, and towered over Harvath by a good five inches and an additional seventy-five pounds.
He wore dark jeans, a pair of black Frye boots, and a faded Dallas Cowboys jersey. On his right wrist was a copper bracelet—the kind used for warding off arthritis, and on his left was an expensive Panerai diver’s watch.
As Harvath stepped inside, Wise stole a quick glance toward the street, closed the door, and then offered his hand.
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Wise.”
“First of all, it’s Doctor Wise and second of all, give me a break with all the formalities,” he replied with a smile. “If Peaches says you’re okay, then that’s good enough for me.”
Peaches was the nickname the Old Man had been known by back in the day. According to legend, he was one of the roughest interrogators the Central Intelligence Agency had ever produced. He had a reputation for taking the hardest cases, the worst of the worst, and could be absolutelybrutal with the enemy. It was said that if lives hung in the balance and time was of the essence, Reed Carlton was the man you wanted on the job. The fact that he was willing to go to some pretty extraordinary lengths in his interrogations had earned him the amusing and also chilling sobriquet of Peaches. He was anything but sweet.
Signaling for Harvath to follow, Wise led him into the warehouse. They passed through a small reception area, its walls covered with pictures. In addition to noticing that Wise had traveled the world, often heavily armed and in the presence of indigenous fighters, he discerned that the man was a scuba diver, private pilot, Eagle
The Carlton Group, though, didn’t have many assets, much less extra ones they could move from project to project, as they’d been forced to let most of their people go. At the moment, Harvath was it, conducting the entire investigation himself out of his house, with his study acting as ground zero and the overflow spilling into the hall.
Even the Old Man was limited by how much time he could spare. He had spent a few hours with Harvath on the assignment before having to leave to deal with the fallout from the Sienna Star operation.
Though he didn’t come right out and say it, Carlton had also been troubled by Claire Marcourt’s murder. Harvath could see it in his face and by how much time he had spent with the file. He’d scanned all the contents onto his laptop and uploaded them onto a secure FTP site before walking outside to place a lengthy phone call. When he came back in and announced that he was leaving, he handed Harvath a slip of paper with the address for a warehouse and WWII written on it.
The initials stood for William Wise II. “He’s expecting you,” the Old Man had said on his way out the door.
“Expecting me for what? Who is he?”
“He used to work for the Agency, brilliant guy. Knows something about everything. I gave him the file. He might have some insight.”
Harvath tried to ask what kind of work Wise had done and what made him so special, but Carlton was in a hurry and gone before the conversation could go any further. He figured he’d learn soon enough.
Walking up to the front of the building, Harvath noticed several low-visibility security precautions. While they may have been in response to the neighborhood’s crime rate, Harvath suspected there might be another, much more realistic reason. Whoever this Bill Wise person was, he had some very dangerous enemies.
CHAPTER 16
B ill Wise looked like Santa Claus crossed with one of the toughest bikers the Hell’s Angels had ever produced. He had white hair, a thick white beard, and towered over Harvath by a good five inches and an additional seventy-five pounds.
He wore dark jeans, a pair of black Frye boots, and a faded Dallas Cowboys jersey. On his right wrist was a copper bracelet—the kind used for warding off arthritis, and on his left was an expensive Panerai diver’s watch.
As Harvath stepped inside, Wise stole a quick glance toward the street, closed the door, and then offered his hand.
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Wise.”
“First of all, it’s Doctor Wise and second of all, give me a break with all the formalities,” he replied with a smile. “If Peaches says you’re okay, then that’s good enough for me.”
Peaches was the nickname the Old Man had been known by back in the day. According to legend, he was one of the roughest interrogators the Central Intelligence Agency had ever produced. He had a reputation for taking the hardest cases, the worst of the worst, and could be absolutelybrutal with the enemy. It was said that if lives hung in the balance and time was of the essence, Reed Carlton was the man you wanted on the job. The fact that he was willing to go to some pretty extraordinary lengths in his interrogations had earned him the amusing and also chilling sobriquet of Peaches. He was anything but sweet.
Signaling for Harvath to follow, Wise led him into the warehouse. They passed through a small reception area, its walls covered with pictures. In addition to noticing that Wise had traveled the world, often heavily armed and in the presence of indigenous fighters, he discerned that the man was a scuba diver, private pilot, Eagle
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