Near Dark (Scot Harvath #19)(76)

“Only with less intelligent people,” he replied.

For a moment, the Russian was unsure of whether he had been complimented or insulted.

“I have a lot of information that your President wants. Believe me, your reward is going to be a lot bigger if you bring me in alive.”

“You sound to me,” the Russian responded, “like a man who is trying to buy time. I’m sorry, though, Mr. Harvath. There is no more time. I’m not taking you in alive.”

“In that case,” said Harvath, “let me show you my shocked face.”

As he opened his mouth, plugged his fingers in his ears, and closed his eyes, a pair of flashbang grenades were tossed into the room.

When they detonated, they did so with ear-splitting, 180-decibel bangs accompanied by blinding flashes of over one million candela.

Their purpose was to throw an enemy into confusion and disorientation while interrupting their balance and coordination.

Distracted and temporarily incapacitated, it was impossible for them to adequately respond.

Having prepared himself for the explosion, Harvath was able to spring into action.

The two Russian operatives nearest him received the brunt of his response. These were the men who had pinned Luk?a down and held him while he was being tortured.

Snatching the heavy brass inkwell off the desk, he swung it like a mace, striking each of the men in the head and knocking them unconscious.

Grabbing one of their guns, he spun to face the others, but the task had already been completed. S?lvi had used the two Tasers from his bag in the Land Cruiser—the same bag in which she had found the flashbangs—to drop Guryev and Kovalyov to the floor.

The effect wouldn’t last long, though. They didn’t call it the “ride for five” for nothing. The jolt of electricity bought you only a handful of seconds.

“Did you bring any restraints?” Harvath asked.

“I brought the whole bag,” she replied. “It’s out in the hallway.”

As Harvath hurried to grab it, S?lvi noticed Guryev and Kovalyov coming around. Pressing the triggers of the Tasers, she let them ride the lightning again.

Fishing out a handful of flex cuffs, Harvath came back into the room and restrained all of the Russians. He also cuffed Simulik.

Once everyone had been patted down and their weapons taken away, it was time to get some answers. Harvath started with Guryev. S?lvi and Landsbergis, pistols in hand, kept everyone covered.

“What do you know about Carl Pedersen?”

“Fuck you,” the Russian replied.

Harvath was about to give him a warning when S?lvi lowered her suppressed pistol, pointed it at the man’s right knee, and pulled the trigger.

Guryev howled in pain.

“Answer the question,” the Norwegian demanded. “Or your right knee will be next.”

“Fuck you,” he repeated, this time at her.

S?lvi adjusted her aim and fired at his other knee.

The Russian screamed even louder.

Harvath looked at her. There was no emotion on her face. She was all business. As cold as ice.

“You’ve run out of knees,” said Harvath, turning his attention back to Guryev. “You’d better answer my question, before she finds a new body part to target.”

The man barely managed to mumble “Fuck. You,” from behind his gritted teeth, when S?lvi shot him again, this time in his left shoulder.

It was followed by another wave of screaming.

“What do you know about Carl Pedersen?” Harvath asked again.

“Norwegian Intelligence,” came the reply, but not from Guryev. It had come from Kovalyov.

Harvath shot him a glance.

His boss told to him to shut up in Russian and they began arguing, before S?lvi put a round past each one of their heads and they instantly fell silent.

“What do you know about him?” Harvath repeated. “Besides the fact that he was Norwegian Intelligence.”

“He introduced you to Landsbergis and Landsbergis helped facilitate your operation into Kaliningrad.”

“Was Landsbergis next?”

The bearded man looked at Harvath confused. “Next?”

“All Carl did was make the introduction. Landsbergis was responsible for much more. If you were willing to torture and murder Carl over an introduction, I can only imagine what Moscow was planning for Landsbergis.”

Kovalyov was even more confused. “Torture? Murder?” he said, before addressing his boss again in Russian.

S?lvi fired another round, intentionally missing his knee, but not by much. It was enough to get his attention. “English only,” she ordered, as she ejected her magazine and inserted a fresh one. “No more Russian.”

“We didn’t know Pedersen was dead.”

“Bullshit,” Harvath replied.

S?lvi adjusted her aim and prepared to not miss his knee this time, but the bearded man begged her not to fire.

“If he was killed, it wasn’t by us.”

“He was killed and it was by you,” she spat back. “Maybe the assassin wasn’t GRU. Maybe the killer was FSB. The orders, though, came from Moscow.”

“Think about it,” Guryev managed with a grimace as pain radiated throughout his body. “If someone on our side was angry enough to kill Pedersen for his involvement, then Landsbergis would have been killed too. And I would have been tasked with carrying it out.”