SAINT-MALO, FRANCE
The jet that touched down at Aviano to fly them to France was a variant of a Gulfstream IV, known in U.S. Air Force parlance as a C-20H. It was part of the 86th Airlift Wing, but for all intents and purposes—from crew uniforms to the aircraft’s registration—it appeared to be a private civilian aircraft.
Harvath and Sølvi had had just enough time to grab a shower and scrounge something to eat before it was time to leave. Over microwaved breakfast burritos and coffee in Styrofoam to-go cups, he explained everything he had learned about their assassin. He also explained his decision not to involve French authorities.
He had multiple connections to get any help he needed. The American and French presidents had an excellent relationship. CIA Director McGee worked very well with the head of French Intelligence. Even Gary Lawlor had extremely solid connections throughout French law enforcement. In the end, though, Harvath had thought it best to operate under the radar.
There was no telling what kind of tripwires Aubertin had in place, nor whom he might have paid off and in what area of the government. One word that the Americans were looking for him and he would vanish. For the first time, Harvath felt like he had the advantage. He didn’t intend to waste it.
When they landed at Dinard-Pleurtuit-Saint-Malo Airport, Nicholas had bad news again. NormandyGuides.com did have a phone number for Aubertin, but it was no longer in service. Strike one.
Though it was first thing in the morning, Aubertin had already responded through the website to their request for a guide. Unfortunately, he explained, he was booked up and could not help them. Strike two.
He did, however, suggest a colleague whom he felt would take exceptional care of them and provide a terrific tour of the D-Day beaches or any other sites in the Normandy area they might want to see. He included her name, cell phone number, and a link to her bio on NormandyGuides.com.
It wasn’t a home run, yet they hadn’t struck out entirely. They were still in the game, but now with a degree of separation between themselves and their target. Until they developed a better lead, this new guide—Dominique Loiseau—was the best shot they had.
While Sølvi deplaned and went into the private aviation building to pick up their rental car, Harvath remained on board and wrapped up the list of things he needed from Nicholas. Once it was complete, he disconnected the call and deplaned as well.
It was an absolutely perfect morning—sunny and warm. They were less than ten kilometers away from the coast; close enough that he could smell the salt of the ocean carried on the breeze. Along with it came the scent of grasslands and apple orchards. There was a reason why Winston Churchill, Picasso, and even T. E. Lawrence had so romanticized this part of France.
As the crew off-loaded the gear, Harvath stood on the tarmac and turned his face up toward the sun. It felt good to be outside. It also felt good to breathe.
He enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the smell of the ocean for as long as he could. He didn’t know when he’d get another chance to close his eyes and simply be.
The moment didn’t last long. A few seconds later, he heard a vehicle approaching. Opening his eyes, he saw Sølvi drive up in a black Land Rover Discovery.
“Don’t even say the words Norwegian girl or upgrade to me,” he stated as she put the vehicle in Park and hopped out.
She winked at him and then gave him her thousand-megawatt smile of perfectly straight white teeth, before popping the rear hatch and showing the aircrew where to place everything. Harvath just shook his head.
After loading the gear, he climbed into the passenger seat and they left the airport.
“Where to?” Sølvi asked.
Harvath checked his watch. “Let’s head toward Omaha Beach,” he said, pulling up the vehicle’s navigation system and selecting their destination. “I’ll call the guide and see when she can meet us.”
As soon as the GPS system had mapped out the two-hour-and-eleven-minute drive, Sølvi sped up and merged into traffic.
Looking at his messages, Harvath opened the recent email from Nicholas and downloaded the attachment.
He then opened WhatsApp, checked his new profile, and confirmed that it showed both the assumed name and alias phone number he had asked for.
On NormandyGuides.com, Dominique Loiseau had listed her cell phone number, email address, and had also advertised that she was available via WhatsApp. Entering her number in the app, Harvath gave her a call. She answered on the second ring.
“Madame Loiseau,” he said. “My name is David Owen. Sorry to call you so early, but we wanted to catch you before the day got going. Monsieur Aubertin thought you might be able to be our guide for a tour of Utah and Omaha beaches?”
“Yes, he texted me that I might be hearing from you,” she replied. “You and your wife are from Canada, correct?”
“We are. Ontario, to be exact. We were hoping that we could meet you at Omaha Beach in a couple of hours and start there. How does that sound?”
“Unfortunately,” the woman replied, “I am already committed to a tour this afternoon at Mont-Saint-Michel. I couldn’t do the beaches with you and still be back in time.”
Damn it, thought Harvath.
“If, though,” she added, “you would like to see Mont-Saint-Michel instead, I could take you on a private tour this morning and if I’m able to move some things around, we could do Omaha and Utah beaches tomorrow. Would that work for you?”
In the driver’s seat, Sølvi was nodding.
Harvath smiled and said into his phone, “Is Mont-Saint-Michel worth a visit?”
He could almost see the guide rolling her eyes as she replied, “Trust me, it’s worth it. If you don’t agree, it’s free. I won’t charge you. How about that?”
“Can you hold a moment, please? I need to ask my wife.”
Muting the phone, he looked at Sølvi and smiled again.
“You’re terrible,” she said.
“I don’t want to seem too eager.”
“You seem like an idiot. Thank her, accept her offer, and ask where she’d like to meet.”
Harvath stifled a laugh and did as he was told.
After setting up their rendezvous with Dominique Loiseau, he hung up and plugged the new destination into the GPS system. Mont-Saint-Michel was less than an hour away.