Brunelle nodded. “By recruiting spies in our government, Moscow bragged that they could get their hands on any classified NATO intelligence it wanted, particularly as it applied to Ukraine. And, post-Brexit, with Britain out of the EU, the Russians are very nervous about the leadership role they see France growing into. The Kremlin about lost its mind when President Mercier suggested French troops could soon be sent to Ukraine.”

  “So Jadot was poised to expose everything, but made the mistake of turning to Powell, who was on Russia’s payroll and sold him out.”

  “Correct,” she replied. “But as you wisely said, the best thing about this was that we got the list. Without it, we never would have known who the traitors were.”

  “And without you,” the cop said, “the government might never have come up with such a clever plan to bring them all in at once, get as many as possible to confess, and control the fallout.”

  “I don’t know how much fallout we contained. It’s still a massive scandal.”

  “Don’t undersell what you did. It could have been much worse. Playing to their egos and gathering them up in one fell swoop was a stroke of genius.”

  “We got lucky,” Brunelle admitted.

  Raising his glass, Gibert proposed another toast. “To luck.”

  Clinking her glass against his again, she took another sip.

  “How’s MoMo?” he asked after swallowing his champagne.

  “He’s good.”

  “What about his buddy, Amir?”

  “Still pissed-off, but he’ll get over it,” said Brunelle. “Which brings us to why we’re here. Outside of Amir’s apartment, when you agreed to log the flash drive into evidence for me, you said you wanted a favor in return. Your text said that meeting you for lunch today would be that favor. What does that mean?”

  “It means that I want to apologize. Properly apologize. I am sorry for lying to you. I should have told you the truth about my wife. I didn’t. That was wrong. I still think you’re a little bit crazy, Karine, but you are the most intriguing woman I have ever known. I wish our circumstances had been different. Someday, I hope you can forgive me.”

  “Thank you,” said Brunelle. “I was very hurt. Still am to a degree. But as long as we’re apologizing, I’m sorry if I caused you any unnecessary pain.”

  Raising their glasses, they clinked. There was no toast. There didn’t need to be. It was an act of détente; of something very painful, for both of them, finally being laid to rest.

  CHAPTER 76

  MCLEAN

  Of all her grandmother’s extraordinary accomplishments, that remarkable woman had never welcomed a United States President into her home. Maggie knew that if she could see her now, she would be incredibly proud of all that her granddaughter had achieved.

  Maggie also knew that she had only reached these heights by standing on the shoulders of all the women who had come before her. It may have been a shopworn expression, but there really was no better way to phrase it.

  “How’s your recovery coming?” President Porter asked as he joined Maggie in her den.

  “It only hurts when I laugh,” she replied. “And lately, there hasn’t been much to laugh about.”

  “That’s why I came. I wanted to give you the latest Russia update myself.”

  “I’m impressed, Mr. President. Normally I get the information before you do.”

  Porter grinned. “That’s true. After all, it is your job. But seeing as how you’re convalescing, I think I can give you a pass. Just this once.”

  Maggie smiled back and gestured to the President to help himself to some of the appetizers Paul had prepared. She had no idea how he had done it on such short notice. One minute the White House was calling on the phone, the next minute President Porter was standing at their door. Maggie had barely had time to make herself presentable.

  “Thank you,” he replied, helping himself to a few buckwheat blinis with smoked trout, crème fraiche, and red grapes. “And thank you for all of your help throughout this situation.”

  “Of course, Mr. President. As you said, that is my job and I take it very seriously.”

  “I know you do, and the country owes you a sincere debt of gratitude.”

  Maggie was deeply honored. “Thank you, sir.”

  Porter paused to take a bite of the smoked trout and when he closed his eyes in enjoyment, Maggie knew Paul had scored a direct hit. The president was an avid fly fisherman and had probably eaten more trout, more ways, than any other politician in D.C.

  “This is amazing. Maine smoked trout?” he asked.

  The man’s palate was impeccable. “Indeed. Very good, Mr. President,” she responded.

  “Tell Paul that if he can come up with any more recipes like this, I’ll fast-track him for a Medal of Freedom.”

  Maggie chuckled. “He’s going to be insufferable, but I’ll let him know how much you enjoyed it.”

  “My love of your husband’s cooking notwithstanding, let me get to the reason why I came. Putting the generals on all the Sunday shows a few days ago played very well. Not just here in the U.S., but around the world. It was an absolute home run.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “But where you really shined,” Porter continued, “where you went supernova, was in the recommendations you followed up with. And yes, they ticked a lot of people off. That’s how I knew you were on the money. If you’re taking flak, it’s probably because you’re over the right target.

  “When the secretary of state arrived in Moscow in the wake of the Sunday shows, the Kremlin was already agitated—as you had said they would be. But when he informed them of the new Patriot missile systems being deployed to the Baltic states, the temperature in the room really started to rise.

  “Next came the ‘courtesy’ announcement that all restrictions against Ukraine using Western weapons systems to strike inside Russia were being lifted. In fact, the SecState asked me to give you a special thumbs-up for suggesting that we inform the Russians that the Ukrainians were going to be encouraged to target Russia’s own equivalents of J-Town: Belgorod and Rostov-on-Don.”

  “They didn’t like that, did they?” Maggie asked with a smile.

  Porter smiled back. “Not at all. But what finally tipped them over was the assurance that if Moscow detonated a nuclear device in Ukraine, Ukraine would automatically be admitted to NATO and NATO would be at war with Russia.

  “Additionally, the SecState informed Moscow that any nuclear device that landed in NATO territory would be treated as if it came from Russia. It didn’t matter if it was launched from Belarus or was ridden in on a moped from Chechnya. Russia would face the West’s full wrath and bear the brunt of the consequences.”

  “And?” Maggie asked hopefully.

  “And, we just learned that Russia is going to announce their withdrawal of tactical nuclear weapons from Belarus. Naturally, they’re spinning it as a show of good faith and an effort to reduce tensions in the region, but here at home, we know it’s because Maggie Thomas scares the hell out of them.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  Porter looked at her. “No, Maggie,” he said. “The thanks go to you. You’ve been right every step of the way. This was exactly how we should play it. I’d throw you the world’s biggest parade, but I think it’s better to celebrate this a little closer to home.”

  Standing up, the president walked to the doors of Maggie’s study and opened them wide. Standing on the other side was the entire National Security Council, Maggie’s closest colleagues from Russia House, and Paul, holding up her favorite bottle of champagne.

  CHAPTER 77

  OSLO

  Since all of the people Sølvi would have invited to the wedding were already on this side of the Atlantic and almost everyone Harvath would have invited were also here, they had decided to go through with it and get married in Oslo.

  Even Haney with his bad wing, which he kept blaming Harvath for, and Johnson, who had just been cleared for travel, had been willing to fly up from France. Preisler and Staelin had come too.

  For everyone on the other side of the Atlantic, the Carlton Group had generously offered up its private jet.

  Having the wedding in Oslo had made everyone happy, especially the men in Sølvi’s family, who Harvath was convinced would have strapped him to a sinking Viking longboat had he attempted to go through with an elopement.

  Nicholas and Nina were thrilled to be able to show off their new baby. Gary Lawlor, interim director of the Carlton Group, had shown up with a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle that was so expensive it had to be kept under armed guard. Even Holidae Hayes was in attendance.

  Shortly before the big day, she had reached out to Sølvi with an early wedding gift. The CIA didn’t have a spy inside the Norwegian Intelligence Service. They had learned about Grechko’s defection through a series of intercepted Russian communications, all of which she turned over, in full. It was a first step in mending fences—both professional and personal.

  Sølvi had gotten to know and love Lara’s beautiful little boy Marco, as well as Harvath’s wonderful former in-laws, but a snap wedding wasn’t in the cards for them. They had just been to Oslo for a fabulous visit several months ago. Pulling Marco out of school in Boston and coming back so soon was too overwhelming. Harvath had figured as much. Nevertheless, he had extended the invitation, but with a nice get-out-of-jail-free card, which they had politely availed themselves of. As far as everyone was concerned, they were there in spirit.

  The ceremony had been officiated at the palace by the king of Norway, who had recently recognized Harvath for bravery.

  The reception took place atop the Thief hotel, where Harvath had originally proposed to Sølvi. Twice, the exceptional staff had to put the call out for more champagne and more oysters.

  When it was time for the newlyweds to depart, they said goodbye to their beloved guests and headed down to the water, where Harvath’s same boat was waiting at the swim platform to take them to the cottage out on the fjord.

  Tired of doing anything that smacked of responsibility, Harvath had arranged for a captain to transport them.

  As he and Sølvi relaxed in the open air of the stern, a wool blanket keeping them warm, he pulled out the bottle of Krug that had been sitting in her refrigerator.

  “Right here?” he asked, echoing his lurid invitation of several nights ago, “or up in the cabin under the bow?”

  Sølvi smiled. “Per Viking law, I’m not yours until we’ve fully crossed one body of water together.”

  “Good thing I’m patient,” said Harvath, as he peeled away the foil, loosened the cage, and removed the cork.

  He handed Sølvi a pair of glasses, poured the champagne, and then offered up a toast. “I love you. Thank you for not subjecting me to any of those weird Norwegian traditions like cheese, wooden shoes, or ribbons.”

  Feigning offense, Sølvi slapped his chest and said, “What kind of oddballs do you think we are? The Dutch are the ones with the wooden shoes.”

  “Okay,” Harvath said with a smile. “Then thank you for not making me do anything weird with ribbons or cheese.”

  “You’re welcome, but we’re going to revisit all of this at midsummer.”

  He loved pulling her chain and loved even more that she pulled his right back. They really were a wonderful pair. First they kissed and then they clinked glasses.

  “So,” she said, loud enough that Harvath could hear over the engines but quiet enough that the captain couldn’t, “what’s next? Any loose ends?”

  His mind had already been spinning back in Eze about how he and Nicholas could hide his money once he had gotten it away from the U.S. Treasury. Now that it was safe, he had space to breathe, relax.

  “Part of me,” he replied, “wants to go after the guy at the CIA who blackmailed me.”

  “And the other part?” Sølvi asked, leaning in closer.

  “Now that I have it all back? I guess the other part of me wants to take the money and run.”

  Leaning the rest of the way in, she kissed him; long, hard, and deep. When she finally pulled her lips away, she asked, “Do you trust me?”

  Harvath didn’t even need to think about his answer. “Without a doubt.”

  “Then let’s run,” she said, kissing him again. “Let’s run as fast and as far and for as long as we can.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The idea for Shadow of Doubt came from a fascinating article I had read about a French spy scandal in the 1960s known as the “Sapphire Affair.” Much like Jean-Jacques Jadot discovers, many of the corridors of power in Paris at that time were alleged to have been penetrated by the Russians. Thriller author Leon Uris based his 1967 novel Topaz on a fictionalized version of these events, which Alfred Hitchcock turned into a terrific film.

  As I do with every novel, I want to begin these acknowledgments by thanking you, my magnificent readers. Each year, it is an honor and a delight to take you on a new adventure with Scot Harvath. I hope this has been one of your favorite books yet!

  To all the superb booksellers—thank you. I simply couldn’t do what I do without you. The joy of reading that you help instill in people every day makes our world a better place.

  One of my oldest and dearest friends, Sean Fontaine, was once again a fabulous resource. He has not only a wonderfully dark sense of humor, but also a depth of knowledge developed over an impressive career in some of the most dangerous corners of the globe. Thank you, Sean. I hope to see you for some brown water soon.

  I also need to thank another very good friend, Knut Grini of the Norwegian Police Service. I was supposed to spend part of the writing of this novel as his guest, in a particularly special location. I blew it. I will not make that mistake again and hope that I can get a rain check this summer. Takk for hjelpen, min venn!

  Ex-CIA analyst and thriller author David McCloskey is not only a terrific writer (Damascus Station, Moscow X, The Seventh Floor), he’s also an all-around great guy and helped me with some CIA-related material. If you haven’t read his books yet, do yourself a favor and start. Thanks, David.

  Of all the research I did for this novel, discovering geopolitical strategist Peter Zeihan was my favorite part. His assessments of world events, particularly as they pertain to Russia, are absolutely fascinating. I cannot recommend his excellent, easy-to-digest YouTube videos, or his bestselling books, including The Accidental Superpower and The End of the World Is Just the Beginning, highly enough. When you hear Maggie Thomas discussing Russia, that is me attempting to channel some of Mr. Zeihan’s positions. The concept of Russia trying to solve its geographic problems with military solutions was something I had not previously considered and found both intriguing and highly compelling. Go check him out. You will be much more knowledgeable as a result. Thank you, Mr. Zeihan.

  It is impossible to list all of the excellent research materials I uncovered, but I do want to call out the following, which were invaluable for helping me understand key elements of the conflict and the role played by nuclear brinksmanship: “Russian Nuclear Calibration in the War in Ukraine” by Heather Williams, Kelsey Hartigan, Lachlan MacKenzie, and Reja Younis as published by the Center for Strategic & International Studies; “The U.S. Should Store Nuclear Weapons in Poland” by John Vandiver as published in Stars & Stripes; “U.S. Nukes in Poland Are Truly a Bad Idea” by Steven Pifer as published by the Brookings Institution; “By Sending Nuclear Weapons to the United Kingdom, Could the United States Be Fueling Nuclear Proliferation” by Janani Mohan as published by the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists; and “Petraeus: U.S. Would Destroy Russia’s Troops If Putin Uses Nuclear Weapons in Ukraine” as published in The Guardian.

  Jon Karp, President and CEO of Simon & Schuster, is the spectacular captain of our ship. I was honored when he asked me to speak at the S&S hundredth-anniversary celebration this year. What an incredible run our publishing house has had. Thank you, Jon, for all that you do for each and every one of us. Here’s to a hundred more years of success!

  My extraordinary editor, publisher, and friend, Emily Bestler, has been such a critical force in all my books. She has been with me since Day One and her sage counsel is felt in every line and on every page I have ever written. Thank you, Emily—especially for your patience. Where would I be without you?

  All of the incredible people at Emily Bestler Books, especially Lara Jones and Hydia Scott-Riley, are invaluable when it comes to getting my books published from start to finish. There are so many elements that need to be anticipated, attended to, and accomplished. This team nails all of them, every single time. Thank you!

  The dynamic duo formed by my Atria publisher, Libby McGuire, and my associate publisher, Dana Trocker, is unbeatable! These two terrific pros work around the clock to help me bring my books to more and more readers every year. I am always so grateful to be working with you both. Many, many thanks.

  A new year, a new book, and another 365 days with the best damn publicist in the business, David Brown. As an author, you can write the best book in the world, but without an incredible publicist like David, no one is going to hear about it. Thank you, DB, for everything you do for me!

  One of the greatest things about being an author at Simon & Schuster is all of the remarkable people I have been blessed to become friends with. Chief among them, I am very thankful for the marvelous Gary Urda, senior VP of sales for Simon & Schuster. He and his superb team are the engine that keeps everything humming. Thank you, Gary!

  If you have read me in paperback or have seen me on a store shelf in paperback, that’s thanks to the phenomenal Jen Long and her astounding team at Pocket Books, who are always hard at work. I cannot fully express how much I appreciate all of you. Thank you.

  I dedicated this book to Al Madocs who, along with Christine Masters, Jason Chappell, and the rest of the Atria/Emily Bestler Books production departments, are absolutely brilliant. Any mistakes in my books are mine, but there are a lot fewer of them because of the dedication and professionalism of these amazing people. Thank you all.