Chapter 92

Harvath ran up the beach to the point where the Troll’s house jutted out over the water. It was much closer than Harvath wanted to come, but he had very little choice.

Sliding into the water, he glanced at his Kobold and made a note of how much time he had left.

Pulling the cups of his night vision goggles over his eyes, Harvath swam until he was right beneath the glass floor of the living room. He could hear a chorus of orders being shouted by men’s voices up above, but none of them were in English. Every word was in Arabic.

Whoever these men were, they were not here for Harvath. They were here for the Troll. Unfortunately for them, today was going to prove to be a very unlucky day.

Positioning himself with a clear line of fire through several of the broken panes of glass above, Harvath raised his Beretta and waited. When one of the men came into view, it took all of his training not to pull the trigger. Once a second man joined his comrade, Harvath squeezed off two rounds in rapid succession and dropped them both.

He didn’t wait to see what the reaction would be. Diving beneath the water’s surface, Harvath swam twice as far as he had with the Troll and didn’t come up for air until his lungs were seared by a burning thirst for oxygen.

Slowly bringing his head above the waterline, Harvath reappeared a safe distance away and took in deep breaths of air. He watched as the burning house was illuminated by even brighter flashes of gunfire delivered by the two dead men’s colleagues through the glass floor at an opponent who had already fled.

Harvath swam for the beach on the far side of the house. Hitting the sand, he wrung the water out of his clothes and made his way toward the main building. The Blackhawk Warrior Wear boots he was wearing had been designed by a former Navy SEAL and were almost completely dry within the first several yards. It was a good thing, as he was going to have to move quickly and the last thing he needed was to be dragging two water-logged cinder blocks around his feet.

Traversing the beach, Harvath made it to the narrow strip of vegetation near the entryway to the house. Lying on his stomach, he used his elbows to pull himself forward. The first thing he noticed when he got within range of the house were the dogs.

They had taken shelter in a culvert beneath a nearby raised out-building. Judging from the signs of forced entry, the interior most likely contained the generator used to power the main house.

As Harvath crept forward, he heard the dogs begin to growl. He knew they were in no shape to attack, but the sound was enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck.

He judged the distance from the main house, which was going to burn the rest of the way to the ground in less than an hour, and decided the dogs would be safe. A large water storage tank with a hose stood nearby.

Leaving the cover of the vegetation, Harvath shot out and quickly unwound the hose. He turned the spigot ever so slightly and then placed the hose near the dogs so they could have access to additional fresh water.

He thought briefly about restarting the generator as a distraction, but all that would have done was call attention to his position. Any psychological advantage would have been very short-lived, and there was not much time left.

Harvath swung around, flanking the house, and got himself into position halfway to the helipad.

He looked down at his watch and observed the final seconds tick away.

Once they did, there was a roar from the other end of the island as the Troll fired up the speedboat and cast away from the dock

Immediately, Harvath saw two men race out of the burning house. They pounded down the footpath, and when they hit the blind curve two meters from his position, he took a breath and pulled the trigger of his weapon twice in rapid succession.

Two cracks erupted from his Beretta and the men were felled, each by a perfect head shot.

Harvath scrambled from his hiding spot and pulled their bodies off the trail into the underbrush. They were carrying 9mm silenced Ukrainian Goblin submachine guns.

Harvath pulled a Goblin from one of the dead men, along with two spare magazines, and rushed toward the house. He had no idea whether the others could have heard his shots over the roar of the fire, but when the helicopter failed to lift off, the remaining men on the ground were going to get suspicious.

Taking up a position directly opposite the front door, Harvath waited. And waited. The house was almost completely engulfed in flames. Had there only been four men in the assault team and had he killed them all?

It didn’t seem likely, but neither did it seem as if anyone would have remained in the burning house. The heat had to be unbearable. All told, there weren’t that many rooms to search.

Harvath held his position, the Goblin chambered and ready to fire. Minutes passed.

He was about to creep closer to the house to have a look inside when he heard movement behind him. He spun just in time to see two guns shoved into his face.

Chapter 93

“It’s you,” said one of the men in perfect English.

As he spoke his gun drew back and Harvath focused beyond its barrel. It was almost like staring into the face of a young Abu Nidal, his eyes dark and full of hate. Harvath recognized Philippe Roussard instantly.

There was an awkward moment of silence on the killer’s part as he tried to figure out what was going on. Harvath could almost hear the gears of his twisted brain grinding against each other.

“Where is the dwarf?” Roussard finally demanded as the other man stripped Harvath of his weapons and stood back. “We know he’s not in the boat. It’s out there doing circles in the bay.”

“Fuck you,” said Harvath, his body seething with rage. The man he’d been hunting was standing right above him and there was nothing he could do. Harvath had never felt so helpless in his life.

“So you know who I am,” Roussard replied with a smile before he struck Harvath across the jaw with the butt of his weapon. “I will ask you again. Where is he?”

Harvath turned his face back up to him and replied, “And I will tell you again, fuck you.”

Once more, the enigmatic smile spread across Roussard’s face and with it came another butt stroke. “Your tolerance of pain is nowhere near as great as my desire and ability to administer it. Now, where is the Troll?”

Harvath’s head felt as if a million red-hot spikes were being pounded into it. “Umm,” he replied, his vision slightly dimmed. “Oh, I remember, fuck you!”

Roussard drew back his weapon for another go and then suddenly thought better of it. Placing the muzzle against Harvath’s forehead he whispered, “I’m only concerned with the Troll. Tell me where he is and I’ll let you live.”

“You’re in no position to negotiate anything.”

“Funny,” said Roussard. “I thought I was the one holding the gun.”

“For all the Marines you killed in Iraq,” replied Harvath, “as well as everything you have done to the people I love and care about, I am going to watch you die.”

The smile returned to Roussard’s face. “Revenge is indeed a noble motive. A pity that it won’t be possible for you.”

Roussard snugged the weapon up against his shoulder and prepared to fire. “You see, the only one of us who’s going to die here today is you.”

Harvath’s eyes darted left and then right looking for a rock, a branch, anything he could use against his captors. There was nothing. On top of that, neither of the two men was standing close enough so that he could sweep their legs out from under them. He had absolutely no options.

Harvath looked Roussard in the face and was about to speak when the killer’s finger tightened around his trigger and Harvath saw a blinding flash of light.