Foreign Influence

“No. And just so we understand each other, we were never here.”

“Understood,” replied Harvath as he followed the man into the hall and down a flight of wooden stairs.

When they stepped outside, two horses were saddled and waiting for them. It was cold and their breath rose into the air.

Peio offered him a pair of leather gloves. “I assume you are comfortable around horses.”

Harvath walked up to one of the animals and patted it on the neck. “I like all animals, Padre. It’s people I usually have problems with.”

“Is Nicholas one of those people?”

“Nicholas is a thief.”

“And yet you have come halfway around the world to help him.”

“I’ve come for answers.”

“We’re all searching for answers.”

“I think you and I have different questions, Father.”

“You’d be surprised, Mr. Harvath.”

After a cup of coffee, Harvath tucked the thermos into his pack, swung into the saddle, and fell in behind the priest as he led the way further up into the mountains.

The trail was narrow and didn’t allow for them to ride abreast, so they rode in single file. It made conversation difficult, which was fine by Harvath. There was still something about the priest that didn’t fit. Until he had him better figured out, he preferred not to get too chummy with him.

Harvath’s mount followed the horse in front and didn’t need much guidance. Either the animal was used to following the priest’s, or it had made this journey before. He suspected both answers were probably correct.

The trail was covered in scree and large rocks that had tumbled down from above. They passed precipitous drop-offs where he had serious concerns about the narrowness of the eroded trail combined with the weight of his horse. Twice, the animal lost its footing and scrambled nervously.

Two hours into their journey, the trail widened and they emerged from a high mountain pass. Beneath them was a lush valley bisected by a wide stream. Near the stream was a burned-out stone farmhouse.

“That was where Nicholas was staying when he was attacked,” said Peio as Harvath drew alongside him.

“Was the fire set on purpose?”

“I don’t think so. His bedroom had apparently been filled with candles. In the struggle, one fell over and ignited the draperies.”

Perched upon a steep cliff across the valley was a small hermitage or priory of some sort. “And that?”

“That is where Nicholas is now,” said the priest. “The monastery of Saint Francis Xavier.”

They descended into the valley and rode past the charred farmhouse. Harvath noticed the remnants of a diesel generator as well as multiple solar panel fragments. There were also cables coming from the stream and he assumed that they led to some sort of hydro-electric turbine.

They crossed the stream and rode to the other side of the valley where they were met by one of the monks, who saw to their horses. Peio then led Harvath up a lengthy switchback on foot to the monastery itself.

Though the architecture was simple, Harvath marveled at the amount of work it must have taken to construct this refuge in this hidden valley deep in the Pyrenees. All of the materials looked as if they probably came from the valley itself.

The interior had a solidity and a solemnity to it. It was like being inside a vault. The only sound came from their footfalls. The air of the little monastery smelled of wood smoke and spices.

At the end of a short hallway, Peio came to a closed door and softly knocked. When dogs began growling on the other side, Harvath knew he had arrived at their destination.

The door was opened by a young monk, whom the priest conversed with briefly in Basque and then excused. After the monk exited the room, Peio stood back and held the door open so Harvath could step inside.

The two enormous dogs immediately got to their feet and came to Peio. They then recognized Harvath and came to him. He scratched both of the Caucasian sheepdogs behind their ears and crossed the threshold.

The little man was lying in bed beneath an old wool blanket and looked like he had run face-first into an airplane propeller. Someone had sewn him up, but the stitches were thick and uneven.

“Cut yourself shaving?” asked Harvath as he drew a chair alongside the bed.

Nicholas looked up at his visitor and smiled. “I assume I won’t be wi

“No, but you weren’t exactly a stu

“Too true,” said the little man with a laugh. “Thank you for coming.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank the United States government. Which reminds me. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an-”

“Are you actually Mirandizing me?”

Harvath shrugged. “It’s a service we provide everyone now.”

“Even suspected terrorists?”

“You’ve been living in the mountains too long, my friend. We declared defeat in the war on terror about two years ago. We don’t even use the word terror anymore. There’s only ‘man-made disasters’ caused by disenfranchised groups who are really just ‘misunderstood.’

“In fact, I’ve undergone intense training so that I can better relate to your feelings. If, and I’m not promising we’ll get there, but if you can assure me you will repent of your evil ways, I’ll be able to let you go with only a warning.”

Nicholas studied him. “You don’t believe I had anything to do with the bombing in Rome, do you?”

“Hell, no,” said Harvath, who turned and apologized. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“Don’t worry. He’s heard much worse than that. Haven’t you?”

The priest bowed his head slightly and backed out of the doorway. “I think I’ll give you two some time to catch up. If you need anything, please let me or one of the brothers know.”

“Thank you,” replied Harvath.

“How about some more bandwidth?” said the Troll as he tapped the laptop lying on the bed next to him.

“Patience, Nicholas. The brothers are doing the best they can with what they were able to salvage from the farmhouse.”

The little man threw his hands in the air as the priest left the room. They were covered in bandages and wrapped with gauze. “We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere and I’m all but cut off. Before the fire, I had a halfway decent uplink. Now I’m lucky to have any signal at all. Secretly, I think they prefer me cut off. I think they’re worried that if I co

“So what did happen to you?”

“A woman tried to kill me.”

“You do have an unusual proficiency for pissing people off.”

Nicholas’s face was like stone. “She was not just some woman, she was a professional. She knew exactly what she was doing.”

“She couldn’t have been that professional. You’re still alive.”

“Call it a higher power, but at the very last minute I sensed something and moved as she swung at my throat. But the real credit goes to the dogs. If they hadn’t broken through the door, I’d be dead. They’re the ones who stopped her and dragged me outside, away from the fire.”

Harvath examined the wounds a bit closer. “What did she use? A knife?”

“Straight razor.”

“Why would you let anyone near you with a straight razor?”

“I thought I could trust her. I was wrong.”

“So who was she?” asked Harvath as he pulled the thermos from his pack and offered Nicholas a cup of coffee.

“She was a courtesan,” he said, declining the coffee.

“You mean a prostitute.”

“We’re splitting hairs here. Call it what you want. She was a very expensive woman for hire, an escort.”

“How did you find her?”

“Through an agency.”

“What’s the name of this agency?” asked Harvath as he took a sip of coffee.

“I don’t know what it says on their bank statements, but to its clients it’s known as the Academy.”