his plane. He had paid with a credit card. It took Nicholas less than ten minutes to get inside their system.
The assassin appeared to have a sweet tooth. He had purchased six bars of Belgian chocolate with a Visa card. The unassuming name on the card was Peter Roth.
With that name, he was able to set his sights on Belgium’s customs and immigration database. Two hours later, he had a full scan of Peter Roth’s German passport. Then he went to work on Lufthansa’s systems.
Lufthansa owned one of the largest passenger airline fleets in the world. They served nearly 200 destinations across 78 countries worldwide. Each year, they transported more than 100 million passengers.
Over 100,000 people worked for Lufthansa. Four of them were named Peter Roth. All were based out of Frankfurt, Lufthansa’s main hub of operations.
Once Nicholas had access to the employee files and their photos, he was able to narrow the four Peter Roths to the exact one they wanted—Sacha Baseyev. The noose had just tightened.
He appeared to be very part-time and flew only a handful of routes, mostly international.
What income Baseyev did earn from Lufthansa was direct-deposited into an account in Frankfurt. The address he gave as his residence was a match with five other Lufthansa employees. Nicholas passed it on to Harvath.
It was a crash pad, or “stew zoo,” as it used to be called. Having dated a string of Scandinavian Airlines flight attendants as a SEAL, Harvath had been in and out of several of them.
It was a house or an apartment rented by a group of flight attendants who either didn’t live in the city their flights were based out of, or who traveled so much they wanted to save money by spreading the rent across multiple roommates.
For Baseyev, though, it would have helped layer his cover and function as a quasi safe house.
According to Lufthansa’s scheduling system, he didn’t have another flight on the books until next month. Was he hiding out in the apartment until then? There was only one way to find out.
Parking his car at the end of the block, Harvath turned off the ignition and popped the trunk.
CHAPTER 13
A ccording to Nicholas, the other Lufthansa flight attendants who shared the apartment were all on active trips outside the country. None of them were expected back tonight.
Harvath had been given a street address and an apartment number. That was it. He had no idea what the interior layout looked like.
He did a discreet reconnaissance, noting the entrance, exits, and which apartments had lights on. When he was ready, he picked the lock of the rear door at the parking lot and snuck inside.
Pausing in the lobby, he checked the mailbox for the apartment. It was empty. Someone had recently picked up the mail.
He found the stairs and walked up to the second floor. Looking at the number plates, he figured out which one he wanted. The only units he had seen from outside with lights on were at the other end of the hall. But just because he hadn’t seen any lights didn’t mean nobody was home.
Jet lag was an occupational hazard for pilots and flight attendants. The airlines were also very strict about how many hours of sleep they were required to have before flights. Many employees invested in blackout curtains.
Approaching the door, Harvath used his right hand to adjust the .40-caliber Glock 22 tucked in the Sticky holster at the small of his back. The CIA had arranged for it to be left for him at a small hotel near the airport. In his left hand was a bouquet of flowers.
Looking at the flight schedules of the roommates, he noted one whohad been assigned at the last minute. After a quick review of her Facebook and Instagram accounts, it was obvious the attractive young woman liked to party and had a lot of male friends. It wouldn’t have been a stretch to believe that she had forgotten to cancel a date before leaving on a trip.
Standing outside the door, he listened for a moment. There were no sounds from
The assassin appeared to have a sweet tooth. He had purchased six bars of Belgian chocolate with a Visa card. The unassuming name on the card was Peter Roth.
With that name, he was able to set his sights on Belgium’s customs and immigration database. Two hours later, he had a full scan of Peter Roth’s German passport. Then he went to work on Lufthansa’s systems.
Lufthansa owned one of the largest passenger airline fleets in the world. They served nearly 200 destinations across 78 countries worldwide. Each year, they transported more than 100 million passengers.
Over 100,000 people worked for Lufthansa. Four of them were named Peter Roth. All were based out of Frankfurt, Lufthansa’s main hub of operations.
Once Nicholas had access to the employee files and their photos, he was able to narrow the four Peter Roths to the exact one they wanted—Sacha Baseyev. The noose had just tightened.
He appeared to be very part-time and flew only a handful of routes, mostly international.
What income Baseyev did earn from Lufthansa was direct-deposited into an account in Frankfurt. The address he gave as his residence was a match with five other Lufthansa employees. Nicholas passed it on to Harvath.
It was a crash pad, or “stew zoo,” as it used to be called. Having dated a string of Scandinavian Airlines flight attendants as a SEAL, Harvath had been in and out of several of them.
It was a house or an apartment rented by a group of flight attendants who either didn’t live in the city their flights were based out of, or who traveled so much they wanted to save money by spreading the rent across multiple roommates.
For Baseyev, though, it would have helped layer his cover and function as a quasi safe house.
According to Lufthansa’s scheduling system, he didn’t have another flight on the books until next month. Was he hiding out in the apartment until then? There was only one way to find out.
Parking his car at the end of the block, Harvath turned off the ignition and popped the trunk.
CHAPTER 13
A ccording to Nicholas, the other Lufthansa flight attendants who shared the apartment were all on active trips outside the country. None of them were expected back tonight.
Harvath had been given a street address and an apartment number. That was it. He had no idea what the interior layout looked like.
He did a discreet reconnaissance, noting the entrance, exits, and which apartments had lights on. When he was ready, he picked the lock of the rear door at the parking lot and snuck inside.
Pausing in the lobby, he checked the mailbox for the apartment. It was empty. Someone had recently picked up the mail.
He found the stairs and walked up to the second floor. Looking at the number plates, he figured out which one he wanted. The only units he had seen from outside with lights on were at the other end of the hall. But just because he hadn’t seen any lights didn’t mean nobody was home.
Jet lag was an occupational hazard for pilots and flight attendants. The airlines were also very strict about how many hours of sleep they were required to have before flights. Many employees invested in blackout curtains.
Approaching the door, Harvath used his right hand to adjust the .40-caliber Glock 22 tucked in the Sticky holster at the small of his back. The CIA had arranged for it to be left for him at a small hotel near the airport. In his left hand was a bouquet of flowers.
Looking at the flight schedules of the roommates, he noted one whohad been assigned at the last minute. After a quick review of her Facebook and Instagram accounts, it was obvious the attractive young woman liked to party and had a lot of male friends. It wouldn’t have been a stretch to believe that she had forgotten to cancel a date before leaving on a trip.
Standing outside the door, he listened for a moment. There were no sounds from
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