Aside from a smattering of vagrants and occasional people cutting through, either on foot or by bicycle, the park was relatively quiet.
The scent of the river was strong and unpleasant. Harvath could only imagine what it was like at the height of summer. But despite that, the island appeared to be an enjoyable, and likely a popular place. It was filled with trees, there were open places to sunbathe or play soccer, there were plenty of benches, and in addition to the cobbled boulevard that ran up the center, there were a multitude of walking paths that branched off in all directions.
Harvath watched as Tretyakov passed the cathedral and the Kant tomb, then took a path that branched off to the right. At the first bench he came to, he sat down.
Placing his briefcase on his left side, he took out the envelope that the babushka had given him. Opening it, he removed the letter from inside, and began to read.
At that moment, another impulse fired from deep inside Harvath’s brain. Looking around, and not seeing anything suspicious, he decided to take Tretyakov right there in the park.
CHAPTER 67
Harvath walked up and stopped right in front of Tretyakov. For several moments, the Russian didn’t even bother to look up from his letter.
Once he did, he spoke in English. “Mr. Stephen Hall, I presume,” he said, using Harvath’s alias from Gotland.
“You can call me Steve.”
Returning the letter to its envelope, Tretyakov placed it in an outer pocket of his briefcase and studied the man standing in front of him.
“It’s a little early in the morning for that, isn’t it?” the GRU officer asked, eyeballing the empty vodka bottle Harvath had fished from a nearby trash can.
“This isn’t for me. It’s for you. In fact, you’re going to be holding on to it in a moment.”
“You think so?”
Harvath nodded. In his pack was a syringe of ketamine, known for its use as a horse tranquilizer. He had planned on hitting him with the Taser and then injecting him with the ketamine to make it look as if he had passed out drunk. As soon as he had him incapacitated, he would work on getting him out of the park and back to the abandoned building.
“Mr. Hall, or whatever your real name is, I’m afraid I cannot help you.”
The man was incredibly calm. He sat on the bench as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Though Harvath hadn’t shown it to him, he assumed that the hand he couldn’t see, the one hidden in his right coat pocket, was grasping a weapon.
“I think you’re going to be a lot of help to me,” said Harvath, pulling out his Taser.
“Close in. Now,” Tretyakov ordered in Russian.
The sudden switch from English jarred Harvath. Instantly, his head was on a swivel.
Four vagrants were now headed toward him from different directions, as were two more “passersby.” All had weapons drawn. It was a trap.
“Sometimes, things are too good to pass up,” said Tretyakov. “Like a GRU colonel, sitting alone, on a bench in a quiet section of a quiet park.”
“There’s no way you could have known I was coming.”
“I didn’t. It was a hunch, I believe you Americans call it. When Ivan failed to make contact, we assumed the worst. We knew eventually he would be broken. We just didn’t know when. I must thank you, though.”
“For what?”
“I didn’t think we would catch you so quickly. We were worried we might have to carry on this ruse for quite some time.”
Harvath shook his head. “Only six men? That’s all?”
“Apparently, that’s all we needed.”
When the first of the GRU operatives, a bald, muscular man with a scar along the side of his head, got within striking distance, he took Harvath down hard.
Wrenching his arm behind his back, he placed him in handcuffs, left him on the ground, and patted him down.
Relieving him of his Taser, he tossed it to a colleague who was going through his backpack.
Harvath heard the Russian word for spy several times as they laid out all of the contents, including his weapons, on the bench and examined them.
The man patting him down took his phone, his watch, his flashlight, all of his cash, and the two knives he was carrying. He then stood guard over him, placing his boot on top of his neck and pushing down with an unnecessary amount of force in order to create the maximum amount of pain possible.
It radiated throughout his skull. He had never felt anything like it.
Just as his vision was beginning to dim, Tretyakov yelled for the goon to knock it off.
The man dialed it back from an eleven to an eight. The pain was still white-hot. If he kept at it, Harvath was going to end up with permanent damage.
Tretyakov had to yell again. This time, the man obliged, removing his boot completely from Harvath’s neck. Then, when his boss wasn’t looking, he dug it into Harvath’s left shoulder blade, creating an all-new kind of agony.
As exquisite as the pain was, Harvath didn’t give the asshole the satisfaction of making a single sound.
Finally, they replaced everything in the backpack and Tretyakov gave the command to get Harvath to his feet. Asshole used the handcuffs to do it, adding even more injury to Harvath’s shoulders, particularly the left one. They then walked him back in the direction from where they had come.
At the cathedral, they turned left and walked toward the back, where several cars were parked.
The brutality of the Russians when it came to interrogations was legendary. If what had just happened to him was any indication, and he had every reason to believe it was, the nightmare hadn’t even started yet.
Everything he had ever been taught about escape and evasion flooded back into his brain. He knew that he had to keep his wits about him. If he lost his head, he might miss an opportunity.
Already, he had managed to reach down to the hem of his coat, tear the inside seam, and remove the plastic handcuff key he had sewn inside. All he needed now was an opportunity.
It would probably come once he was inside a car. Judging by the group of vehicles he was being led toward, they were all sedans. That meant the GRU team would have to split up. It also meant that Harvath would have fewer guards to deal with.
Stepping into the parking area, Harvath took a deep breath and tried to loosen his body. Extricating himself was going to be incredibly difficult. And, depending upon whether there were cars ahead of or behind his, he would probably have only seconds to decide which direction to run.
His chances for success were not good. Not only that, but all he could do at this point was escape. There was no way he could also take Tretyakov.
The operation was a failure, and it was his fault. Had he waited, had he not been so impulsive, it might have succeeded.
As these thoughts raced through his mind, Harvath didn’t realize that he had slowed down and was shuffling across the pavement.
The bald goon gave him a shove and that was when it happened. There was a crack, followed by a spray of blood as one of the GRU operatives went down.
CHAPTER 68
Harvath had time to unlock only one hand. Whipping his arm hard to the left, he used the open handcuff like a mace and tore a giant gash right across asshole’s forehead, nose, and cheek.
As the man’s hands flew to his face, Harvath pulled the GRU operative’s pistol from his holster and shot him twice in the chest and once in the head. Turning to the next operative, he did the same.
He turned to engage a third, but before he could, the man took two rounds to the head and dropped dead to the ground.