Harvath’s chain of thought was broken as the BlackBerry at his hip vibrated with an incoming call. “Harvath,” he said as he raised the device to his ear.

“Scot, it’s Ron Parker. We’ve got something you should see.”

“What is it?”

“How quickly can you get over to the San Diego Marriott?”

“The one on the bay?” asked Harvath as he looked at his mother. The doctors had told him that though she was stable, they planned on keeping her sedated for at least the rest of the evening. “Probably about fifteen minutes. Why?”

“You’ll see when you get there. One of my contacts from the SDPD will be waiting for you. Ask for Detective Gold.”

In the dead of night, the San Diego Marriott Hotel amp; Marina was an eerily beautiful composition of metal and curving glass. The slashes of red and blue from the strobes atop the various police vehicles parked at its base only added to its dramatic façade.

After having to flash his creds and get in the face of a rather obstinate patrol officer who didn’t want to let him by, Harvath eventually found the detective named Gold. For some reason, Parker had failed to mention the detective’s first name, which was Alison. Not that Harvath had any problem with female detectives, it just seemed an odd detail to leave out.

Knowing Ron as well as he did, Harvath figured Gold had been a guest at Valhalla and that she and Parker had probably had some sort of affair. Not mentioning that she was a woman was probably Ron’s way of trying too hard to paint her as a competent cop and one whom Harvath could trust. It wasn’t necessary. The fact that Gold was all right with Parker made her all right with Harvath. Very quickly, the tall, attractive redhead, whom Harvath placed somewhere in her late thirties, proved that she was very worthy of both Parker’s and Harvath’s respect.

After introducing herself and apologizing for the patrol officer, Alison Gold led Harvath to a windowless, white Chevy Express cargo van. The rear doors were open and inside a team of specialists from the department’s Forensic Science Field Services Unit was collecting evidence.

“According to a witness who was walking her dogs near your mother’s home shortly before the attack, there was a white commercial van parked on the street. We’ve already found magnetic signs in the van that come pretty close to matching the witness’s description of the lettering she saw.”

Gold rapped on the side of the van to get the attention of one of the techs and had him show Harvath what she was talking about. “Anyone who saw the van would assume your mother had a pipe burst or something and that it was being repaired. Coronado police have already checked with all of the Servpro franchises in the area, and none of them had any requests for service even remotely near your mother’s home.”

Harvath wasn’t surprised. “And the van?”

“It was rented from a fleet leasing company in Los Angeles. We’re checking into that now, but don’t expect to come up with much.”

Harvath didn’t either.

“As far as prints and fibers, the vehicle is cleaner than clean. The Coronado PD hasn’t found anything in her house either.”

“And I doubt they will,” replied Harvath.

“Why is that?” asked Gold.

“This guy’s a professional.”

The detective raised her eyebrows in response.

“I don’t know how much Ron told you, but a friend of mine was shot outside my home in D. C. a few days ago, and we believe it’s the same person who attacked my mother,” said Harvath.

“Yeah, Ron explained that much. He also told me not to ask what you did to piss somebody off so bad that he’d attacked people you know on both coasts.”

Harvath looked at her, but didn’t say anything.

“That’s okay,” replied Gold, acknowledging his silence. “I’ve been to Elk Mountain. I understand.”

She didn’t know the half of what went on there, but Harvath let it slide. Parker was every bit the patriot Finney was and would never spill items of national security just to create engaging pillow talk. Changing the subject, Harvath asked, “How’d you find the van?”

“Based on our witness’s description, we rolled back the footage from the cameras on the bridge. We saw the van going over and coming back from Coronado. Using our traffic cams, we were able to track the vehicle here.”

It was good police work, but all Harvath had to do was gaze out toward the marina and the hundreds of boats parked along the docks to know that this guy was already long gone. He had a good idea how, but he still had to ask. “So he dumped the van here, and then what?”

Gold tilted her head in the direction of a hotel surveillance camera. “We’ve already pulled the footage. Like you said, this guy is a professional. He knew we were going to pull the tapes. He never looks directly into the camera. I’ll make sure you get a copy of everything, but I don’t think it’ll do much good. He’s wearing a baseball cap pulled down so tight you can’t see his face. He’s also wearing baggy clothes and is walking hunched over so that we couldn’t get a good gauge of his height or his weight either.”

“Did he have a car waiting for him or did he go down to the docks?”

“He went down to the docks,” replied the detective. “The marina people are pretty strict about logging what boats are in what slips, registration numbers and all of that, but-”

“But by now he’s probably already in Mexico.”

Gold agreed. “If it was me I’d have a car waiting in Ensenada, if not someplace farther up the coast, and from there I’d just disappear.”

She was right. It was exactly what Harvath would do, and it pissed him off. They were only hours behind the man who had shot Tracy and had attacked his mother, but it might as well have been days. With a boat and nearly two thousand miles of coastline on the Baja Peninsula, this guy could be anywhere.

The only thing Harvath knew for sure was that he had not disappeared for good. He’d turn up again, and when he did, it wasn’t going to be over a cup of Constant Comment and a sob story about how he was misunderstood as a child.

At some point the two of them were going to have to square off, and when they did, only one of them was going to walk away from it alive.

ANGRA DOS REIS, BRAZIL

The Troll looked at the list again and then pushed the pad of paper away. In a word, he was stunned.

Getting hold of the list had been as close to impossible as he had ever come. The Troll had precious little to bargain with and was forced to call in the favor of a lifetime from someone extremely well placed whom he knew was sitting on a piece of information so hot, it was practically radioactive.

Once he had that information, he had enough currency to go after what he was really looking for. Though Harvath had taken almost everything from him, the Troll still had a couple of aces up his short sleeve, and he played them masterfully.

Picking up his empty coffee cup, he slid down from his chair and padded into the kitchen. A cold breeze moved through the house carrying upon it the promise of rain. That had been one of the few drawbacks of this private island paradise. On the infrequent occasions when it rained, it poured. This meant that all of his satellite transmissions had to be suspended until after the storm had passed.

The pots of sobering Turkish coffee were burning a hole in his stomach. Removing the remnants of a half-eaten baguette, a wedge of Camembert, and a bottle of mineral water, he set them on a tray and returned to the table, where he looked at the list once more.

A million different things were floating around his mind, and he found it hard to stay focused. With each piece he uncovered, the puzzle only grew bigger.