Near Dark (Scot Harvath #19)(105)

The moment the phrase popped into his head, as odd as it was, he knew that was exactly what he had to do.

Part of him found it hard to believe that he worked for a multimillion-dollar global business, and that he was now reduced to rubbing sticks together. But those were the kinds of skills he had been hired to deliver. Failure wasn’t an option.

After gathering the materials he needed, he found a wide, thick piece of bark the size of a snow shovel head to help him deliver his surprise, and kept moving across the hillside. Just past the structure, he began his descent.

He worked fast, creating a makeshift basket filled with dried grasses, pine needles, and other highly flammable items, including powder he extracted from one of his pistol rounds. It was all about things that would burn hot, fast, and produce a lot of smoke.

Wading into the water, he positioned himself behind the building and pulled the cartridge out of his Taser. Depressing the trigger, he activated the electric arc between its poles and used it to ignite his homemade smoke grenade.

Once it was lit, he moved around toward the front of the structure and prepared to toss it into the opening.

To not tip his hand, he had to come from the downwind side. As he did, some of the smoke began to blow back on him, partially obscuring his vision.

Hurrying his pace, he tossed the burning mass through the opening and retreated, blinking his watering eyes repeatedly, trying to clear them. With his pistol raised, he took cover behind a slab of rock and waited for the assassin to show himself. It didn’t take long.

The smoke quickly filled the small enclosed space, leaving no breathable air. Aubertin remained inside for as long as he could and then, hacking and coughing, climbed out.

“Drop your weapon!” Harvath yelled. “Do it now!”

The assassin tossed his gun, which clattered off a rock and splashed into the water.

“Come out slowly!” Harvath ordered.

Aubertin did as he commanded, rubbing his eyes and continuing to cough as he climbed down.

Harvath was feeling a range of emotions. He was thrilled to have caught the guy, but enraged that this was the man who had killed Carl and, very likely, had sent men after Marco. He was angry over all the trouble the assassin had caused, and remorseful for the role he himself had been forced to play.

While he was alert and on edge, having not yet restrained Aubertin, he was also feeling a sense of relief. This part of the hunt, at least, was over.

Even so, this was an impossible location in which to take someone into custody. Every rock, slick with moisture—as well as a thin cover of algae—was a potential hazard. He couldn’t have the assassin lie facedown because there was no flat ground to put him on. He would have to get creative. That started with making sure Aubertin wasn’t carrying any additional weapons.

“Lift up your shirt!” he ordered.

“Fuck you!” the man replied.

“Don’t test me, Aubertin. You won’t like how it ends.”

“If you’re going to shoot me, get it over with! Otherwise, fuck you!”

“Last chance,” he warned.

When the Irishman gave him the middle finger, Harvath made good on his promise and gave him what he had asked for.

Applying pressure to the trigger, he fired his Sig and sent a round into the assassin’s left leg.

Unlike in the movies, getting drilled with a nine-millimeter didn’t send you flying dramatically backward. But, if you were precariously balanced on a pile of slippery rocks, knee-deep in water, when it happened, the chances were pretty good that you were going down. And that’s what happened to Aubertin. The man lost his footing and went down hard.

There was a splash as he hit the water. Harvath waited for him to get up, but he didn’t move.

Fuck, thought Harvath. If the assassin slammed his head against one of the rocks when he fell, they might be in real trouble. Getting this guy anything resembling medical attention wasn’t part of his plan.

The other problem was the old mountain man rule about never firing your weapon twice in Indian country—at least not if you wanted to stay hidden.

Already, the gendarmes were swarming all over the abbey and throughout the village looking for a shooter. And now, thanks to him, a new shot had just rung out. It would be hard to pinpoint where it had come from—unless he was forced to fire again. At that point, the French police would be drawn to the beach and any hope he had of interrogating the assassin would be gone.

In reality, the clock was already ticking. It was only a matter of time before officers, just as a matter of course, came to check the structures along the beach. Holstering his weapon, he waded into the water after Aubertin.

As he got closer, he could see ribbons of blood staining the water near his thigh. Confirming his worst fear, there was also blood coming from a gash to the man’s head. He had hit something on the way down. Fuck.

Kicking him with the toe of his boot, Harvath tested him for a reaction. He wasn’t moving. He didn’t look to be breathing either as the tide continued to come in and water washed over his face. He was going to have to try to resuscitate this guy. Damn it.

Not giving a rat’s ass if the assassin had a cervical injury, Harvath reached down, grabbed him by the shirt, and dragged him out of the water, over the rocks to the base of the hill.

He was about to set him down when the man’s eyes snapped open and Harvath felt a white-hot searing pain across his chest.