Path Of The Assassin

“Okay, Claudia, you’re right. You have your life here and I have mine back in D.C. As much as we might have wanted it to, it won’t work. But will you do one last thing for me?”

“Scot, I told you I cannot grant you access to Miner.”

“No, forget that. How are you transporting Miner?”

“I can’t tell you that. Not over the phone.”

“Tell me this, then. Will you be part of the team that transports him to the courthouse?”

“Of course.”

“Then I want to ride along with you.”

“You want to what? That’s ridiculous. Besides, I told you I don’t trust you to be anywhere near Miner.”

“Claudia, this isn’t about him. I don’t care who you have doing security; they can’t possibly know half the things that I do. Call me arrogant, but when it comes to this stuff, no one does it better than the U.S. Secret Service. Think about it as a free security consultation. There’s plenty of countries that pay big money for this kind of review.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I just want to know your route and the courtroom are safe. That’s all. You have my word. I promise. Miner won’t even know I’m there. I am doing this out of concern for you.”

“For me? Why?”

“Because someone wanted Philip Jamek dead. I’m convinced it wasn’t the Chinese. They were going to kill him, all right, but he would have been given at least some semblance of a trial beforehand. Somebody else wanted Jamek dead, and it may or it may not have to do with Miner, but at least I can go home knowing you’re safe.”

“Okay, Scot, you win. I’ll call a cab to bring you to the office. I just hope this is not a mistake.”

6

An hour and forty-five minutes later, Harvath was seated in the passenger seat of Claudia’s VW as they headed out of Bern on the short trip to the prison. The convoy consisted of eight vehicles. Two police motorcycles led the way, followed by two police cars, the transport van, two more marked police cars, and finally Claudia’s car, bringing up the rear.

Even in a country like Switzerland, where the inhabitants prided themselves on their obsession with organization, things could go amiss. Bern was constantly plagued with traffic jams, and today was no exception. Harvath didn’t enjoy being in the last vehicle of the convoy, and repeatedly asked Claudia to translate the dialogue with the lead vehicles that was going back and forth over her radio. Claudia assured him it was nothing more than normal Bernese traffic and that the motorcycle police were complaining that people weren’t responding quickly enough to their sirens. In all fairness to the people of Bern, it wasn’t easy to “hop to” when you heard a police siren, especially when you were stuck in traffic on a narrow, one-way medieval street with cars parked on both sides.

“We’re close now,” said Claudia, who then spoke rapid-fire Swiss German into her walkie-talkie before peeling off from the convoy.

“What are you doing?” asked Harvath, who immediately sat up straighter in his seat as Claudia broke formation.

“The courthouse is just down a little further. The press has gotten wind that Miner is appearing today, and they are out in full force. I don’t want anyone to see you going in the front, so I will take you in another way. You still want to check out the courtroom, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, but how did the press get wind of the proceeding being changed to today?”

“How do they find things out in America? People talk.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Of course it does, but that’s the way the press is. They pay everybody and have sources everywhere, but what can I do about it? Listen, including the personnel in that van, Gerhard Miner is being guarded by over twenty-five of some of the meanest and most heavily armed members of the police and Swiss military. Whether you have noticed it or not, there has been a military helicopter shadowing us the entire time Miner has been outside the prison’s walls.”

Scot had noticed the helicopter. He was impressed that Claudia had thought so far ahead, but he was still concerned.

“There are additional men posted within the courtroom itself, throughout the building, and even in plain clothes outside among members of the press. Now, Agent Harvath, how would you rate my security?”

“So far I’d have to say you’ve been pretty thorough-”

“It would take an army to get to Miner.”

Scot knew she was wrong. It was dangerous to believe that you were fully prepared. If one person was determined to do harm at any cost, there really was nothing any organization could do to stop him or her. This was the fear the Secret Service lived with twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Scot was about to share this with Claudia when her radio crackled to life with frantic shouts from one of the lead vehicles.

“What’s going on?” Scot asked.

“Some sort of accident,” she replied.

“Accident? What kind of accident?”