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being.
    That phone number had saved his life. And even though The Carlton Group had its own private jet, they must have moved heaven andearth to get to him as fast as they had. A few seconds later and he would have been dead. At the very least, he owed his teammates a thank-you.
    “Thank you,” he said.
    “You’re welcome,” Haney replied. “No more funerals.”
    Harvath nodded. It was a noble ambition, but he didn’t know how realistic it was. Death was an occupational hazard in their line of work. It came with the territory.
    The goal,of course, was to make sure the bad guys were the onesdoing the dying. But, as evidenced by Lara, the Old Man, Lydia, and now Carl Pedersen, that wasn’t always possible.
    Gesturing toward the body bag again, Harvath stated, “This has got to be the same guy. There must be something that ties him to Carl.”
    Haney agreed. “This is priority one for the Norwegians. Who knows what evidence they’vedeveloped since we last heard from them. We’ll take prints, a retinal scan, and photos for facial recognition on the flight home.”
    Home . The term didn’t resonate with him the way it once had. Home used to be a place he longed to return to after dangerous assignments abroad. It was what he had been building with Lara and Marco—a life, a family—something worth living for and coming back to. Now,he had nothing.
    As he teetered on the edge of an all-consuming darkness that threatened to swallow him whole, he needed to face his demons—in his time, in his own way. If he survived, great. If not, then so be it. It wasn’t time for his self-imposed exile to end.
    “Drop me off at the next corner,” he ordered.
    Sloane caught his eyes in the rearview mirror and then flicked her gaze to Haney.
    “Scot,” said Haney. “It’s not safe for you to stay here.”
    “I don’t plan on staying. But I’m a big boy and can handle myself. Maybe I’ll follow in Hemingway’s footsteps. Head down to Cuba. Do some fishing.” And a hell of a lot more drinking.
    “That’d be a bad idea,” Staelin interjected.
    “Why’s that?”
    “Besides Cuba being a communist dictatorship and you being one of the most anticommunist peopleI’ve ever known?”
    “Yeah, besides that.”
    Staelin glanced at Haney as if seeking permission to answer the question. But before he could, Chase jumped back in. “There may be more than one assassin out there looking for you.”
    Harvath turned to him. “What are you talking about?”
    “We have a piece of information that the Norwegians don’t.”

CHAPTER 6
    N ORWEGIAN I NTELLIGENCE S ERVICE
    O SLO , N ORWAY
    S ølvi Kolstad was tall, very good-looking, and had made a lot of bad choices. She was lucky to have been allowed back.
    Standing up, she stretched her long legs. It felt good to get the blood flowing. She was exhausted and her mind worked better with movement.
    Outside, beyond the thick forest of pine and the clear, cold lake, she couldfeel the thrum of the city. It was always worse late at night. The pull of the different neighborhoods. Places like Grünerløkka, where she used to go for MDMA, or Brugata for cocaine, as well as Hausmanns gate for heroin, and Grønland for meth.
    She could feel them all calling out to her as sure as she could feel her lungs inflating as she breathed, and the beating of her heart in her chest. Itwas a struggle. Day by day. Hour by hour.
    The treatment counselors had told her that if she didn’t give in—if she remained strong—that over time the powerful longing would fade. Fade, but never completely disappear.
    The closest thing she had found to the euphoria of illicit drugs was intense, lung-searing, muscle-burning exercise. The flood of endorphins released into her system transportedher, albeit all too temporarily, to another plane of existence. The only thing better was a mind-blowing orgasm. But for those, she needed a partner—and ever since her divorce, which had sent her spiraling, she couldn’t be