It was midmorning when Ron Parker called Harvath and told him to meet him in the dining room.

Harvath grabbed a quick shower, throwing the temperature control all the way to cold at the end to help wake him up and shake off the remnants of the horrible nightmare that had visited him every night without fail since Tracy ’s shooting.

He dressed in the spare clothes Finney had arranged for him and then called both hospitals to check on how his mother and Tracy were doing.

In the restaurant, Parker already had breakfast waiting for them. Harvath poured himself a cup of coffee and asked, “Where’s Tim?”

“He’s glued to the markets this morning. There’s a stock in South America he has his eye on.”

Harvath got the picture and didn’t ask any more questions. Once he had gulped down his breakfast, Parker drove him out to Sargasso.

When they entered the conference room, Tim Finney and Tom Morgan were waiting for them.

“The weather’s almost cleared,” said Morgan as Harvath poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down. “We should be hearing from our friend shortly.”

“How’s your mom doing?” asked Finney as he took the chair next to Harvath.

“Awful.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How about Tracy?”

“No change,” he replied. Wanting to steer the questions away from his series of misfortunes he posed one of his own. “Has that sawed-off little shit bag moved at all?”

“Nope,” replied Parker as he stood in front of his laptop and took a sip of coffee.

“Has anyone been out to the island to see him?”

“Negative.”

Harvath leaned back in his chair and massaged his face with his hands. “So we’re back to waiting.”

Finney tapped his pen against the conference table. “Yep.”

The screens around the room were all illuminated and showed the chat room with the last message from the Troll indicating that he had information for Harvath but that it would have to wait until the rain had passed.

“How’s Alison look?” asked Parker, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the room. “Good?”

Harvath smiled. No matter how luxurious the surroundings, lying in wait was still lying in wait, and cops as well as soldiers always talked about the same thing. “Yeah,” Harvath replied. “She looks very good.”

“If I could convince her to move here full-time, maybe we could have something.”

Finney snorted derisively. “And deprive all the resort’s female guests of your attention? Not on your life.”

Parker laughed. “It doesn’t matter. San Diego is where her career is. She’s not going to leave that. Not even for me.”

Harvath was going to respond when Tom Morgan snapped his fingers and pointed to one of the screens. The Troll was back.

It seemed an odd request at first, but Harvath wasn’t the world’s fastest typist either, and Morgan had assured him that they wouldn’t be putting themselves at risk.

With his headset on and a nod from Morgan that it was safe to proceed, Harvath said, “Okay, I’m here.”

“Agent Harvath, how nice to hear your voice,” replied the Troll over their encrypted voice-chat link.

“Yours, too. It’s a lot deeper than I expected.”

The Troll laughed. “All the better to prevent you from building an accurate voiceprint of me. That Echelon listening program your government has is quite good, you know.”

Harvath tried to place the man’s accent. He spoke the Queen’s English with an exceptional British accent, but there was something beneath it. Czech, maybe? Or was it Russian? Harvath spoke passable Russian and knew many native Russian speakers. This man sounded more like he came from outside mother Russia proper. Perhaps Georgia.

That fact notwithstanding, Harvath still had no desire to make small talk, so he got to the point. “Your last transmission said you had something for me. What is it?”

“Through a couple of sources I still have access to, I was able to secure a list of names. Four, to be exact,” lied the Troll. “All released en masse from the U. S. naval detention facility at Guantanamo Bay.”

“And why would I be interested in them?” asked Harvath.

The Troll paused for effect and then said, “Because one of those men is the person you’re looking for.”

Harvath looked at Finney, Parker, and Morgan, who were all quietly listening in on the exchange. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

The Troll laughed. “As it turns out, Agent Harvath, there is quite a bit your government is keeping from you. Quite a bit they do not wish for you, or anyone else, for that matter, to find out.”

“Like what?” asked Harvath.

“Like the fact that these four men released from Guantanamo were very nefarious characters. All of them bona-fide terrorists with multiple confirmed kills against American soldiers, as well as intelligence operatives and private contractors.”

A million questions raced through Harvath’s mind, not the least of which was why the hell four bona-fide terrorists would have been released. It didn’t make any sense. “Your information must be off.”

“I thought so too at first,” replied the Troll. “But there’s more. The four men had their blood tainted with a radioactive isotope shortly before they were released. It was part of a top-secret project your government uses occasionally to track operatives who are going into dangerous areas, as well as prisoners it wants to release back into the wild.”

At that moment, a series of realizations began crashing down upon Harvath.

“The only problem,” continued the Troll, “was that whoever sent the plane to pick the men up knew about the top-secret program. The aircraft had been outfitted with equipment capable of conducting full blood transfusions.”

As Harvath tried to focus his mind, he asked, “How do you know all this?”

“It was part of a report filed after your government lost track of these four men when the plane landed overseas. Containers with their tainted blood were taken in four different directions and discarded. They were eventually recovered by the Central Intelligence Agency.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with-”

“The blood painted above your doorway,” interrupted the Troll with impatience. “It contained the same unique radioisotope used on the four men released from Guantanamo.”

“We don’t have much choice,” offered Finney, trying to be the voice of reason in the group. “If you say no, or if you miss his deadline, he’ll bolt. I know it.”

“So what?” replied Parker. “If he runs, we’ll find him. It may take a while, but we’ll track him down eventually. Besides, he’s got zero bank balances across the board. Maybe he’s got some hard currency stashed here and there, but how long is that going to last him? Not long.”

“And if he decides to use the money to take out a contract on Scot?”

It was a scenario Parker had considered, but didn’t deem plausible. “Then he’d really be in trouble. If he killed Scot he’d never get his data or his money back.”

“But he could start over,” said Finney. “Maybe he could even extort protection money from the four men on his list. He could offer to get rid of Harvath for them.”

“He’d have to find them first, and based on what we’ve been told,” countered Parker, “that’s not something even the United States government has been able to do. Right?”

Parker was speaking to him, but Harvath had only half heard him. His mind was still replaying the conversation he’d had with Gary Lawlor shortly after hanging up with the Troll.

Everything the dwarf had told him made sense. He had been right about the radioisotope program and the fact that the blood over Harvath’s doorframe had been tainted with it. He had little reason to suspect the information about the men released from Guantanamo was anything but accurate as well.