Near Dark (Scot Harvath #19)(103)

This was the family that had been entering the shop across the road when he had first felt the shudder. They appeared wealthy enough to hire a private guide. And if they had, he was willing to bet that he knew the guide’s identity.

So where the hell was he?

Harvath continued scanning the people around them. Then, suddenly, he saw him. Aubertin.

The apex predator part of his brain took over and he went for his pistol. That was when all hell broke loose.

It was so out of context that Aubertin didn’t immediately recognize him. His expression, though, was unmistakable. It had changed in an instant—like someone had thrown a switch. Only when he pulled his weapon out did he realize who he was looking at—Scot Harvath.

Aubertin drew his weapon but, unlike Harvath—who must have been concerned about the crowd—he didn’t hesitate. He fired.

The bullet dropped a man who had inadvertently stepped in front of Harvath to take a photo.

At the sound of the gunshot, there was instant panic, along with a stampede. Terrified families and tour groups were torn apart as they scattered in different directions. Numerous people, including children, were trampled. It was pandemonium.

And it provided Aubertin with an opportunity—concealment.

Surging with the crowd toward the nearest exit, he kept his pistol low and out of sight. He had no idea how Harvath had found him, or how many men he might have brought with him. Right now, all that mattered was escape.

Outside, he snatched a baseball cap from a discarded backpack and kept on running. Wriggling out of his blazer, he wrapped the garment around his right hand to hide his weapon. His only hope was to get off the island before police locked down the causeway.

But, of course, that was exactly what they would be expecting him to do. That’s where Harvath and his people would be waiting for him. They had him trapped—or at least, that’s what they thought.

Aubertin, however, knew the island. And he had a different idea.





CHAPTER 51


A Good Samaritan leapt into action. Balling up someone’s windbreaker, he applied a makeshift pressure bandage to the man who had been shot.

Harvath couldn’t have done better himself. What’s more, rule number one in a gunfight was to eliminate the threat. That was his job.

Charging out of the church, he gave chase.

“Talk to me,” he said over his earbud. “Where is he?”

“He’s on L’Abbaye Street,” Nicholas replied, studying the map on his screen. “Moving away from the abbey.”

Harvath was in a throng of tourists, all doing the same thing—getting away from where the gunfire had been.

“I think he’s headed for the main gate,” the little man added.

“He’s trying to blend in. That’s how he’s going to escape, hiding in the crowd.”

It was a smart move on Aubertin’s part—sow total chaos and then use it to your advantage.

“The Logis Sainte-Catherine is up ahead on the left,” said Nicholas. “There’s a shortcut through there that pops out at La Mère Poulard. If he knows Mont-Saint-Michel, he’ll know that’s his fastest route to the exit.”

“Tell me if he takes it,” Harvath replied, pushing his way through the crush of people, trying to gain ground on the assassin.

Up ahead, he could see the building known as the Logis Sainte-Catherine. Maneuvering to his left, he prepared to charge the stairs leading to its flat, grass-covered common area. It was going to be his best chance to close the distance with Aubertin. Then came the news from Nicholas.

“He blew right past it,” the little man reported. “He’s still on L’Abbaye. Headed west.”

What the hell was he up to?

Moments later, Nicholas believed he had it figured out. “I think he’s going out the other gate. The one on Les Fanils.”

Mont-Saint-Michel had two entrances, about fifty meters apart—the main gate and a secondary entrance near an administrative building.

“Ping S?lvi,” said Harvath. “Let her know that we think he may be coming out the other gate. Have her move to the causeway and watch for him there.”

“Roger that,” Nicholas responded, keying out a quick text.

But no sooner had he sent it than Aubertin changed his route. “Heads up,” he said to Harvath. “He just turned right.”

“What do you mean, he turned right?”

“On Les Fanils. He should have turned left to get to the gate. He didn’t. He turned right.”

At a stand of trees, Harvath escaped the sea of frenzied people to check the map Dominique had given him earlier in the day. One glance told him all he needed to know. “He’s headed to the beach.”

“Is he crazy?” Nicholas asked. “The tide’s coming in. He’ll never make it to the mainland.”

“I don’t think he’s headed for the mainland,” Harvath replied, wishing that he had the drone overhead. “I think he’s worried about the exits and is looking for someplace to hide, here on the island.”

“If you’re right, there are only two places I can see that he might be headed to. A pair of structures—the Chapelle Saint-Aubert, or just past it, something smaller called the Fontaine Saint-Aubert.”

“It should be pretty easy for you to figure out which one. As soon as he stops you can relay the—”