Near Dark (Scot Harvath #19)(106)

Looking down, he saw a small karambit—an Indonesian-style knife shaped like a claw, clutched in Aubertin’s hand.

Though he had taken him by surprise, Harvath had no intention of giving the man the upper hand. He immediately dropped him, but instead of recoiling and clutching his wound, he brought his boot down hard to stomp Aubertin’s face.

The Irishman must have known it was coming because the moment Harvath released him, he rolled to his left.

As he did, he lashed out once more with the blade, tearing through the right leg of Harvath’s jeans, missing his skin by less than a millimeter.

With shades of the bar fight in Key West, Harvath knew he needed to end this now.

Backing away, he made sure he wasn’t standing in any water as he pulled out his Taser, slammed the cartridge back in, and let the assassin ride the lightning.

Despite the injury to his thigh, the man’s body went rigid from the shock and he arched his back off the rocks.

Once the effect had passed and his body had relaxed, just for good measure, Harvath hit him with another jolt.

And then, just because, he gave him one more.

When he finally stopped tasing him, Aubertin’s eyes had rolled up into his head and his chin was covered with saliva.

Snatching up the karambit, Harvath tossed it into the water and waited for the man to come back around.

Finally, Aubertin’s eyes began to focus. And when they did, the first thing they saw was Harvath’s fist as it came down like a hammer onto the bridge of his nose. There was a spray of blood and the crack of cartilage as it shattered.

The man’s instincts were to protect his face, but he couldn’t raise his arms. Harvath had him pinned, and he beat him mercilessly.

He beat him for Carl, he beat him for Marco, and most importantly, he beat him for himself. He let the beast off the chain and let out all of his rage.

He broke the man’s jaw, half of his ribs, and even one of his orbital sockets. But that was only the appetizer.

Standing up, his chest—and now his hands—bleeding, he dragged the Irishman back down into the brackish tidal water and pushed his head all the way under.

He felt the man thrashing beneath his grasp, struggling to surface so that he could breathe. Harvath kept him there, looking out over the water toward the sky. It was turning that deep shade of blue, which preceded the black of night.

Closing his eyes, he held the assassin there for as long as he dared and then yanked him back up. He wasn’t done with him. Not just yet. He still needed him alive.

Aubertin simultaneously vomited and attempted to suck in huge hungry breaths of air.

“The contract,” said Harvath. “Who hired you?”

“If you’re going to kill me,” he panted, “Just do it.”

“I’ll make you a deal. If you tell me what I want to know, I won’t kill you.”

Still gasping for air, he vomited once more and then said, “I don’t believe you.”

Grabbing the back of his neck, Harvath went to put the assassin’s head back underwater again, when Aubertin yelled, “Stop! I’ll tell you.”

Harvath kept the man’s neck painfully bent, his head hovering just above the surface of the water, as the waves splashed his face. “You’ve got three seconds,” he said. “Make them count.”

“His name is Lieu Van Trang,” said Aubertin.

“Where is he?”

“In Paris.”

“How do I find him?”

Harvath held the man there in the water until he had answered every one of his questions.

He was about to drag him back up onto the rocks, when he heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol hammer being cocked behind him.

“Did he tell you what you needed to know?” S?lvi asked.

Harvath nodded.

She gestured with her pistol for him to step away.

Harvath complied.

Straightening up, Aubertin turned to see who Harvath was talking to. He didn’t know who she was, but he sensed something bad was about to happen. He watched as Harvath waded in toward shore and the woman pointed her suppressed weapon at him.

“We have a deal,” the Irishman insisted. “I tell you what you want to know and I walk free.”

S?lvi smiled. “That was your deal with him. Not me.”

Pressing her trigger, she delivered a single shot—straight through his heart.

“That’s for Carl Pedersen,” she said as he fell into the water, dead.





CHAPTER 53


ONE WEEK LATER

The slice across Harvath’s chest was nothing to laugh at. But it also wasn’t deep enough to have required a doctor. S?lvi had cleaned and dressed his wound, then waited with him until the Quick Reaction Force portion of his team arrived from Joint Base Andrews. Once they were there, she returned to Norway, her role in this assignment complete.

News of the shooting at Mont-Saint-Michel had been all over TV, the internet, and newspapers, especially in France. When the team found Lieu Van Trang, he had been moving from relative to relative, staying in a different house or apartment each night. Though the name of the tour guide shot and killed had not yet been released, he knew in his bones that it had to be Aubertin—and that he would be next. He had been right—on both counts.

His wound still fresh, Harvath was not able to get too physical with Trang. His teammates Haney and Staelin, on the other hand, were more than happy to step in.