Blowback

The introductions out of the way, two of the club’s members began unpacking their gear, while Enzo gave Harvath and Alcott a thorough preflight briefing, explaining how tandem paragliding worked and what would be required of them as passengers. Though Harvath had extensive parachute experience, he understood the key to safe paragliding was in knowing your terrain. As he listened to Enzo go over what to expect during launch, flight, and landing, it was obvious the man was intimately familiar not only with the sport of paragliding, but with Monte Generoso and its surroundings as well. Marco had chosen very well. They would be in good hands.

Harvath and Jillian next climbed into special nylon flight suits, slipped on gloves to help guard against the cold, and then were each outfitted with a helmet and a harness. Once Harvath’s technical pack was securely attached to his chest, Enzo clipped into him from behind and a man named Paolo did the same with Jillian.

With one last look to check the brightly colored canopy laid out on the grass behind them, Enzo gave the command, and he and Harvath began running full-steam down the sloping meadow toward the edge of the mountain. After about twenty steps, Harvath began to feel his feet coming off the ground, but just as Enzo had instructed, he didn’t stop running until he was told. When the paraglider finally took flight, Enzo let Harvath know that he could sit back into his harness, relax, and enjoy the view. And what a view it was.

With the Swiss city of Lugano and its sparkling lake far below them, Harvath realized this was probably one of the most enjoyable, stress-free insertions he had ever conducted. He looked back to make sure Jillian had gotten off the mountain okay and saw Paolo’s canopy floating not too far behind them.

Enzo had explained that depending on the winds, it would take them only about fifteen minutes to reach their landing site, which was a soccer field in the lakeside village of Capolago. Privately, Harvath wished they could stay aloft as long as possible. Up here, gliding through the brisk mountain air, there was no sound but the wind as it rushed past his ears. It was easy to forget, if only for a moment, all of the troubles he was facing back on terra firma. It was as if in soaring weightless, a figurative weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He would have given a year’s salary to keep floating and never have to touch the ground again.

Because of his parachuting experience, Enzo soon offered to let Harvath take control of the paraglider, but Harvath politely declined. He wanted to enjoy his respite from responsibility until the very last possible moment.

Ten minutes later, the red-tiled rooftops and soccer field of Capolago materialized beneath them and Enzo brought them in for a landing. They had already unclipped from their harnesses and were folding up the canopy when Paolo and Jillian touched down mid-field.

Jillian and Scot stripped out of their flight suits and then helped the men pack up the rest of the gear. By the time they were finished, they were met by a small van sporting the Volo Libero Ticino logo, which drove them the fourteen kilometers into the city of Lugano. Per Marco’s instructions, Harvath and Alcott were dropped at a parking structure on the Via Pretorio, near the Piazzetta della Posta.

The silver Mercedes coupe had been left exactly where it was supposed to be, along with its key, a detailed map of Switzerland, and a full tank of gas. Taking the A2, they headed north until they ran out of highway and then turned west toward the Swiss Canton of Valais, Timothy Rayburn, and hopefully a very much alive Emir Tokay.

FIFTY-EIGHT

ALBANTOWERS APARTMENTS

GEORGETOWN

It had been a long time since Gary Lawlor had conducted a black-bag job. With FBI surveillance teams keeping an eye on Brian

Turner, he knew he’d have plenty of time to get out of the man’s apartment if need be.

Entering the extravagant Gothic Revival lobby and passing the grand piano on the way to the elevators, Lawlor remarked that either Brian Turner had a hidden trust fund no one knew about, or the young CIA employee was living way above his pay grade.

On the third floor, Lawlor exited the elevator and turned right, down the long carpeted hallway. At Apartment 324, he set down his briefcase and removed a lockpick gun from his suit pocket. Seconds later, he was inside. The former deputy director of the FBI had not lost his touch.

A by-the-book guy, Lawlor had gone over the warrant one final time before getting out of his car. He knew exactly what he was allowed to look for and what he wasn’t-which didn’t amount to much, considering the Department of Homeland Security had secured the warrant under the Patriot Act and had, with Neal Monroe’s reluctant testimony, been able to make a very compelling case that national security interests were at stake.