ELK MOUNTAIN RESORT

MONTROSE, COLORADO

“You’re positive he saw the link?” asked Harvath.

Morgan nodded. “We loaded the icon with a program designed to ping us back once he clicked on it and then erase itself. He saw it. Believe me.”

“I still don’t like how long this is taking,” said Ron Parker as he paced along one side of the long table. They had all gathered in the Sargasso Intelligence Program’s conference room, which also doubled as its War Room when sensitive operations required monitoring. “We should have set a time limit on him.”

Tim Finney held up his hand. “Gentlemen, he’ll come. Don’t worry. He doesn’t have a choice. He’s taking his time because he can. Making us wait is the only power he has at this point, and he knows it.”

Parker stopped pacing and poured himself a cup of coffee from the machine on top of a low-slung credenza. Above it was a large oil painting of a bugling elk in a lush mountain valley. “He could also walk away.”

Harvath had always appreciated Parker’s keen, tactical mind. Only fools refused to consider retreat when it was the best option. But in this case, Harvath knew his opponent better than Parker did. The Troll might try to double-cross them, but he wasn’t going to simply disappear.

“There’s too much at stake for him here,” said Harvath, signaling to Parker that he wanted a cup of coffee too. “He can’t afford to walk away. He’ll want to get back what we took from him.”

“Fat chance of that happening,” replied Parker as he handed Harvath a mug and sat down next to him. “Have you got any idea what you’re going to say when he does appear in that chat room?”

“How about, In addition to your data and your bank accounts, we also revoked your membership in the lollipop guild, asshole?” offered Finney as he bellied up to the credenza.

Though he didn’t much feel like it, Harvath smiled. “I hadn’t thought of that one. I’ll throw it in the pot and see what moves me when the time comes.”

“It’s come,” said Tom Morgan as he punched a button on his laptop and pushed it across the table to Harvath.

Flat-panel monitors at the front of the conference room sprang to life with a real-time view of the chat room. A message indicated that a new chatter had entered. As this was a private chat room that had been created solely for this exchange, they all knew they were looking at the digital presence of the man known only as the Troll.

Harvath’s fingers hovered above the keyboard, but Finney shook his head, no. “He made us wait. Now let’s return the favor. We’ve got the upper hand here. Let’s make it clear.”

Though he wasn’t sure he agreed with his friend, Harvath waited. Moments later, the Troll fired the opening shot.

You have taken things that do not belong to you, he typed.

Harvath didn’t need any coaching. So have you, he replied.

I want my bank accounts and my data restored, immediately.

And I want to know who shot Tracy Hastings, Harvath responded.

There was a long pause. Finally, the Troll responded, So that is what this is all about? There was another pause before the dwarf added, Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.

Finney looked ready to make a suggestion, but Harvath held up his hand to stop him. He knew what he was doing. If you cooperate, I’ll let you live.

The Troll typed:) followed by, I have been threatened by more powerful men than you and yet here I am. You will have to offer me something more.

You killed a very good friend of mine in New York, replied Harvath. You are lucky that I am offering as much as I am.

You are referring to Master Sergeant Robert Herrington. His death was most regrettable, but it should be noted that it was Al Qaeda who killed him. I was nowhere near New York when the attack took place.

The Troll knew way too much about Harvath, and it made him very uncomfortable. How did you find out where I lived?

It was not difficult.

Humor me, Harvath fired back.

I conducted a simple credit check.

My name is not on my new house. None of the utilities are in my name. I don’t even receive mail there.

I know you don’t, answered the Troll. It all goes to a local pack-and-ship store in Alexandria. Your last known address before you got smart and switched to the pack-and-ship was an apartment several blocks away. I hired someone to ascertain whether you still lived there. The day my source showed up you were moving to the house. He simply followed you to your new domicile. From what he tells me, Bishop’s Gate is quite lovely.

Harvath was done dancing. Did you order the hit on Tracy Hastings?

The Troll took his time. Finally he typed, No. I did not.

Do you know who did?

Maybe.

It took everything Harvath had to keep his temper in check.

Moments later, the Troll responded, Agent Harvath, you have taken everything I have. Unless you put something more than threats against my life on the table, there really isn’t anything in this for me and I don’t see any point in continuing our conversation.

Harvath had expected this and was prepared to bargain. I’m prepared to purchase the information from you.

Using my own money, of course.

Of course.

I want it all, stated the Troll. Half as a show of good faith now, the rest upon delivery of the information.

Harvath typed slowly and deliberately. You’ll get one million if and when you provide me proof of the shooter’s identity. And as far as good faith goes, you’re going to demonstrate yours by giving me the name of the person who followed me to Bishop’s Gate.

I never reveal my sources, replied the Troll. Not even for one million dollars, which by the way is a mere pittance considering what you took from me.

Then there is no deal.

Agent Harvath, what happened to Ms. Hastings was indeed unfortunate. When I heard about it, I questioned my source, in detail, but he neither saw nor heard anything that could be of value to you. He followed you and early the next morning he placed my gift upon your doorstep.

Harvath had figured whoever it was had been nothing more than a courier, probably some cut-rate private eye the Troll had hired on the cheap. It was a concession he was willing to make, and he let it drop.

Before he could type a response, the Troll added, I heard they found lamb’s blood above your front door.

The man’s sources were scarily good. It sickened Harvath that such a person could worm his tentacles in wherever he pleased, even a highly sensitive federal investigation. So what?

So, very biblical, wouldn’t you say?

Can you help me or not? asked Harvath.

I want a show of good faith from you first.

I already told you I’ll let you live.

A rather empty threat considering that you have no idea where I am.

Harvath nodded to Tom Morgan and then typed, Just so you know, I don’t make empty threats.

A fraction of a second later, an infrared surveillance image appeared on the screen and Harvath narrated. This satellite footage was taken over your location in Angra dos Reis less than ten minutes ago. From what I can tell, that’s you near the front of the structure, and the two hot spots on your left would be the dogs. Am I correct?

The Troll didn’t respond. Harvath figured he had to be shocked. Having an adversary discover where you live is an incredibly unsettling violation. It was nice to be able to dish out a little of the Troll’s own medicine.

So now you have my show of good faith, added Harvath. I’m a man of my word. If I had wanted you dead, you’d be dead.

Minutes passed as the Troll tried to piece together how they had tracked him down. Finally, he typed, It was the wire transfer to the property management company.