by Brad Thor
Like an arrow being released from a bow, Claudia sprang away from the bed and the hand beneath it. Her back slammed into the wall, and she pointed her pistol at the figure that any second would emerge from underneath the bed and come for her. She waited, but whatever was under her bed refused to come out. She peered down the barrel of her SIG, the iridescent night sights illuminating the direction the bullet would take when she pulled the trigger.
Slowly, she focused beyond the gunsights to the underside of her bed. There, where she expected to see a sinister gloved hand, was the black nylon handle of one of the many bags she stored beneath the bed. Claudia exhaled in exasperation and laughed at herself for being so keyed up. She got down on her knees, placing her right hand on the mattress and her left on the floor for balance. She and Scot had decided they would each need a midsize backpack, and Claudia had two that would work perfectly. If only she could pull them out.
Claudia left the gun on the mattress and with both hands dug deeper into the tangled mess of bags. As she dug, she brushed against something that didn’t feel like it belonged…the hand!
In the blink of an eye the powerful hands encased in black leather were wrapped in a vise grip around Claudia’s wrists, and she was yanked off balance. Without the use of her hands to break her fall, she hit her head on the wooden bed frame and was instantly dizzy.
The stranger quickly kicked away the bags and slid out from beneath the bed. He was dressed completely in black.
Claudia shook her head to escape the fog that had enveloped it. Before the man could get on his feet, Claudia flipped onto her side and lashed out with a strong kick toward his groin. It missed, and she scored only a glancing blow to his upper thigh.
“Fucking little bitch,” the man growled.
English. Not one of Miner’s. Scot was right. The American hit team is watching my apartment. That means they don’t know where Scot is. He’s safe—
Before Claudia could finish her thought, the man was on his feet. He jerked her to a standing position and twisted one arm hard behind her back.
“Where is he?” the man snarled.
“Who?”
Still keeping her arm held high behind her back, the man grabbed a handful of Claudia’s long brown hair. Wrapping it around his hand, he whipped her head back and then slammed her face forward into the mirror of her armoire. The glass shuddered, but didn’t break. Claudia, though, felt as if her face had been broken into a million pieces. She could feel a warm trickle of blood begin to run from her nose. Then she tasted the coppery essence in her mouth.
“Do you want to play stupid? Or do you want to cooperate?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. Please.”
With one hand tangled in her hair and the other pinning her arm behind her, the man dragged Claudia from her bedroom. She tried to resist, but he tightened his grip, causing even more excruciating pain to shoot through her body. Despite the pain, she tried to make it as difficult as possible for him to pull her down the small hallway toward the…Oh, no, please! Not the bathroom.
Claudia had always harbored a terrible fear of drowning, ever since she’d been a little girl. If they were going toward the bathroom, it could mean only one thing. He was going to torture her with water.
He kicked the door open and flicked on the light switch with his elbow. Releasing Claudia’s arm, he punched her hard in the kidney, and she dropped immediately to her knees in front of the toilet. He threw open the lid with such force that it snapped off the hinges and clattered onto the tile floor.
“Last chance. Where is he? Where’s Harvath?”
Claudia was paralyzed with fear, but she knew she could not give Scot up.
“Go to hell,” she spat.
“Fine, have it your way,” said her torturer as he locked her slim neck in his powerful grasp and plunged her face into the bowl.
Claudia struggled wildly, her arms flailing in all directions. What a horrible way to die. The man was showing no mercy. She felt as if she had been held under for five minutes, even though she knew that was impossible. Finally, he pulled her face from the water. Claudia breathed as deeply as she could and then began coughing and sputtering.
“Feel like talking now? Tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you go.”
“Like hell you will,” said Claudia. “Fuck off. I’m not telling you anything.”
With a sigh the man said, “Women,” and shoved her head back down into the water.
Claudia tried desperately not to struggle this time. She needed every ounce of strength she had. She let her arms go limp next to the bowl. When the man had pulled her out the first time, he had pulled her head so far back she thought her neck would surely snap. He had placed his face so close to hers that she could smell his fetid breath.
Not struggling seemed to make the time she was under water drag on for twice as long. He was not going to let her up this time until she was dead. The plan she had begun to formulate was all for nothing. She might as well try struggling again. At least she would go out fighting. Then she felt the pressure on her neck let up ever so slightly and her head was yanked violently from the toilet. Now was her chance.
“Are you done playing games, you stupid little bitch, or do you really want to be drowned? Is that what you want? Huh? Huh?” With each Huh? the man emphasized his point by jerking her head back even farther and harder. Claudia was seeing spots. The man’s face was pressed right against hers. She could taste the rotten onions on his breath and feel the stubble of his whiskers against her cheeks. Her fingers kept groping forward. Where was it?
“It would be a shame to kill you, you know. You are one nice-looking woman. I’d much rather you and I have a little fun, but you’re not making it easy on yourself. Tell me what I need to know and we’ll have a party. If you don’t, I’ll simply have to drown you, but—”
Claudia had found what she was looking for. Behind the toilet was a stainless steel toilet brush that had a decorative plastic ruby on top. The point of the plastic gem was sharp enough that she was able to drive it right into her assailant’s left eye.
The man roared in pain. He let go of Claudia to free his hands, which shot directly up to his face. She slid away across the tile as quickly as she could. He pulled the long-handled brush from his eye and grabbed for a towel to try to stem the flow of blood.
“You fucking bitch! Now you’re going to pay! Do you hear me?! Do you hear me?!” he raged.
Claudia certainly did hear him. She was already on her feet running for her bedroom. The gun? Where is my gun? Frantically she searched for it. It wasn’t on the edge of the bed where she had left it. Somehow during their struggle it must have gotten knocked off. She could hear the man’s incessant screaming as he came out of the bathroom down the hallway, “Where are you, you little bitch? I’m going to make you wish you were never born!”
Come on, where is it? Claudia scrambled wildly under the bed, her arms sweeping out in all directions. She had only a few more seconds before the man would be right in the bedroom with her. Her mind shuddered at the possibilities of what he might do to her, and she searched with an even greater frenzy. It isn’t here! Could he have taken it? He didn’t have enough time. His hands were busy holding me. Where could it have gone? Why can’t I find it?
Then Claudia realized maybe it hadn’t fallen off the bed at all. She swept the remaining few bags out of her path and shot for the other side. Crawling out from under the bed, she almost froze as she heard the sound of the man’s voice in the doorway. “There you are. Trying to hide from me? Well, it’s too late. Time to die, lady!”
The man began firing wildly with a silenced Russian PM, Pistole Makarov. Claudia’s bedside lamp shattered, as did a picture on the wall behind her. The damage to the man’s left eye had ruined his aim. Claudia ducked her head. The gun? How do I get my gun? It must still be on the bed. It has to be.
Grabbing the comforter with both hands, Claudia pulled down hard, stretching it taut. Pref
erring a hand be shot rather than her head, she raised one above the level of the mattress and swept it from right to left. She felt something cold and hard. The gun! She grabbed it and quickly removed her hand from the bed.
“You know what, bitch? I’ve got a nice little knife here,” said the man.
The shooting had stopped for the moment, and Claudia heard the unmistakable click of a blade locking into place.
“I think you and I are going to have that party first, and then I’m going to let you watch while I cut you up. And then, you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to let you watch as I pluck each of your eyes from your head. Now get out here and take your medicine!”
Claudia pulled the slide back on her SIG and saw that there was already a round chambered.
“I told you to go to hell!” she shouted as she rose from behind the bed and put two slugs into the man’s chest.
He dropped the knife from his hand and slumped to the floor.
From the corner of her eye, Claudia saw the barrel of another gun in the doorframe of her bedroom. She whirled and fired, sending splintering pieces of wood flying. That was her last shot. She vaulted over the bed and landed on the corpse of the man who had intended to kill her. She grabbed for his pistol and fell back on her haunches ready to fire at the figure in the hallway.
“Claudia? Claudia? It’s me, Scot. Hold your fire. Don’t shoot. It’s only me. I’m going to come into the doorway. Don’t shoot.”
As soon as she saw it was him, shock took over and she began to sob uncontrollably.
73
The first thing Scot did was to pull the comforter off the bed and wrap it around Claudia, whom he’d moved into the living room. Next, he went to the bathroom and retrieved a towel to dry her hair.
“He didn’t hurt you, Claudia, did he?” Scot asked as he held her close and began drying her off.
“Oh, Scot,” she said, breathing in short gasps. “It was…It was horrible. He was trying to…to kill me. He was trying to drown me in the…the bathroom. He told me if I didn’t…didn’t tell him where to find you, he’d kill me.”
Harvath wrapped his arms around her. “You’re going to be okay. You killed him. He’s gone.”
“I can’t stop shaking,” she stammered.
“You’re in shock, but it’ll pass.”
Scot hated to do it, but he had to let her go. He moved quickly around the apartment, gathering up the things Claudia had set out for them.
“How about the backpacks, Claudia? Where are they?”
Her eyes moved toward the bedroom and that told Scot everything he needed to know. Inside, he found two that looked as though they would do the job. While there, he went through the dead man’s pockets, but didn’t find much. The man did have a radio, which now sported a nice hole from one of Claudia’s shots. It had passed through the radio and into the man’s chest. The radio told Scot what he already knew—the man wasn’t working alone.
Scot picked up the nine-millimeter Russian Makarov pistol and checked the magazine. There was one round left in the clip and one up the pipe. The assassin wasn’t carrying any extra ammo and the nine-millimeter round used in the Makarov was an intermediate, falling somewhere between the nine-millimeter Parabellum and the nine-millimeter Short. None of Claudia’s ammunition would work in this weapon, but at least two silenced shots were better than none. Scot dropped it into one of the backpacks.
Harvath returned to the living room and saw that Claudia was still shaking.
“Do you have any brandy?” he asked.
She nodded her head yes, and he went into the kitchen in search of it. He returned a moment later with a small bottle and a coffee cup. Scot poured some into the cup and handed it to her. “This will help steady your nerves a little bit. I’m almost done packing things up, and then we need to go. The police will be here soon.”
Claudia nodded.
On the floor in the entry hall, Scot had everything laid out. He quickly fieldstripped Claudia’s civil defense force assault rifle. The difference between Claudia and most of the rest of the standing Swiss citizen army was that she was authorized to have ammunition for the weapon. Scot loaded the triple magazine into the pack and followed it with a box of nine-millimeter rounds for their pistols, as well as two extra clips for Claudia’s SIG.
Carefully, Scot wrapped the Swiss SG551 SWAT assault rifle’s telescopic night-vision scope in a towel and placed it at the top of the pack.
He helped Claudia to the door, where he got her into a warm coat and then slung the two packs over his shoulders.
When they reached the alley, he was very careful to check things out before exiting. The man upstairs would have partners, any or all of whom could be lying in wait for them.
The distant wail of police sirens grew louder, and Scot had no choice but to pick up his pace. With his left arm around Claudia’s waist and his right hand holding his Beretta, Scot made it through the alley without incident. On the street, he tucked the Beretta away beneath his sweater and began the two-block walk to where Claudia had parked her car.
Scot forced himself to walk at a casual pace, so as not to draw any undue attention. Claudia’s VW was now only a half a block away. The ruse had almost worked.
Leaving the Federal Attorney’s Office, where he had been waiting for Claudia Mueller to return to work, the leader and last remaining member of the American hit team was now speeding toward Claudia’s. The final transmission he’d had was that someone was entering her apartment. There had been no further transmissions since then, and his man in the apartment had not responded to his repeated hailings. Something was wrong.
When he saw Claudia Mueller and Agent Harvath trying to appear casual while walking down the street two blocks from her apartment, he knew what had happened.
Instinctively, the man reached under the newspaper on the passenger seat for his weapon. He slowed his car to a crawl, as if looking for a parking space, to make sure he hadn’t been noticed by Harvath and the girl. So far, so good. It would only be a matter of moments and he could complete his assignment, collect the rest of his money, and get Senator Snyder off his back.
If Harvath was on to him, he gave no indication of it. The couple maintained their forced leisurely pace. It was only a matter of meters now. The black Opal rolled forward and he was so close that if he’d known German, he would have been able to decipher the writing on the two backpacks Harvath had slung over his shoulder.
It would all be over in less than a minute. The assassin removed the gun from beneath the newspaper and cradled it in his lap.
Despite his request to the contrary, the car rental agency had given him a vehicle with manually operated windows, not power. Harvath and the girl were on his right side, which meant he would need to lower that window. He didn’t want to risk the potential problems that could come from shooting through the glass. He let go of the weapon and leaned over to roll the passenger side window down. He grunted from the pain in his bandaged ribs and wondered how long it would take for him to fully recover from the shots he had taken in DC.
His eyes were off them for only a second, but when he straightened back up, two Bern police cars were careening down the street toward him at full speed, with lights and sirens blaring. Harvath and the girl had disappeared. There was no sign of them. A side street loomed only feet away. Did they go this way? Maybe they’re behind a parked car? The gun in his lap, the assassin had no choice but to make the quick right turn and get out of the way of the oncoming police cars.
Scot threw the backpacks on the backseat of the VW, slid the driver’s seat back, started the car, and eased out of the parking space.
Claudia told Scot where and when to turn. They were taking the fastest route out of Bern. Harvath checked his mirrors occasionally, but as he didn’t know the city that well and didn’t want to get caught in any possible police dragnets, he forwent his usual evasive driving procedures. He was confident there hadn’t been anyone else at the building from the assass
in’s team. If there had been, the man would have come to investigate the shots. Whoever was in contact with the assassin via radio was most likely watching Claudia’s office and was therefore nowhere nearby. He was sure they were not being followed.
74
Scot chose to drive around Lucerne rather than through it to get to Mount Pilatus. By now, all of the city’s policemen would be carrying descriptions of him and Claudia, courtesy of the shopkeepers on the Kapellbrücke. The way they were going took more time, but it gave Claudia a chance to get some sleep. She had finally nodded off a while ago, and Scot had no desire to wake her. He needed her to be as fresh as possible for what lay ahead.
It was pitch black outside. Headlights blurred from one set into the next, indistinguishable as they zoomed past in the opposite direction. The VW’s dash lights glowed an eerie green. Scot was tempted to turn on the radio, but decided against it. The heater was turned up high, and he glanced over at Claudia, who was wrapped in the same wool blanket he had been in only this afternoon. It was funny how quickly roles could change. It also made Scot aware again of how painfully alone he was in life. Claudia stirred, and he was happy to find that she was awake.
“Hey there,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Pissed off.”
Scot laughed. “That’s good. Now I know I don’t have to worry about you.”
“How did you know I was in trouble at my apartment?”
“I made my call and used the fax at Fabia’s, then waited around for you for about an hour. When you didn’t show, I started to get a bad feeling.”
“That man. He wasn’t one of Miner’s men.”
“No?”
“No, he was an American.”
Scot had guessed as much when he’d retrieved the shattered Motorola radio from the man’s pocket.