on earth, the greater their chances of reaching Paradise.
They were the worst enemy civilization had ever faced. And in its history, civilization had never been weaker.
The Western world had withdrawn, gone soft and cold. There were very few left to protect it. Fewer still who were willing to risk political careers over hard, consequence-ridden choices.
America’s President, though, was willing to take the risk. He didn’t have a choice. The survival of the United States depended on it.
Green-lighting the operation on Malevsky was the right decision. A bloody trail of American bodies, including the U.S. Secretary of Defense, might have started with ISIS, but it didn’t end there. It kept going, right to the Russians’ doorstep. He had no idea why, but he intended to find out. He also intended to end it. Right here, right now.
Harvath checked his GPS and continued on. He only wanted a quick look at the house. The sooner he got to his destination and emptied the trunk, the better he was going to feel.
CHAPTER 21
T he old farm was fifteen kilometers outside the village. Harvath pulled around behind the faded barn and parked. It felt good to get out and stretch his legs.
The location couldn’t have been better. Tucked back into the mountain, it was surrounded on three sides by sheer rock walls. The meadow sloped down, away from the house, and provided a clear view of the road. There were no neighbors.
Looking inside the barn, he saw a black 7 Series BMW. A pile of home improvement supplies was stacked next to it. He didn’t see the owner and so struck off for the house.
It was a two-story chalet with flower boxes. Its massive roof overhung a long balcony on the second floor. The back door was unlocked. Harvath let himself in.
A large pair of boots sat on the tile floor. A leather jacket hung from a wooden peg. The walls were covered in rough-hewn planks. Low beams lined the ceiling. From deeper inside came the smell and crackle of a fire in a fireplace.
Harvath removed his smartphone. He wanted to handle the confirmation first.
Moving forward, he peered into each room as he passed. Good habits were good habits, regardless of the situation.
It was in the living area that he found the BMW’s owner—an enormous, six-foot-four grizzly bear of a man. He was seated at a table nearthe fire. In front of him were a laptop, two Beretta pistols, and a large bottle of beer.
Harvath typed CONFIRMED and hit Send on his phone.
Moments later the man’s computer chimed. “I like that,” he said over his shoulder. “Do it again.”
“Half now. Half when the job’s over,” Harvath replied. “Is there anything to eat?”
“Kitchen,” the man grunted.
The fridge was stocked with meat, lots of it. There were also several dozen eggs, bottled water, and more beer. On the counter were bags of nuts and what looked like packages of German beef jerky.
Harvath prepared a plate, opened a bottle of beer, and returned to the living room.
The giant at the table stood to greet him. He had a gray beard now. His hair was salt-and-pepper, but still cut short. “You’ve gotten smaller,” he said.
Harvath pointed at the man’s stomach and joked, “You too.”
“No carbs. No sugar. No fun,” he replied. Then, looking at his beer added, “Okay, maybe a little fun.”
Harvath smiled and joined him at the table. No sooner had he set his plate down than the man wrapped his huge arms around him. “You look good,” he said. “Older, but still good.”
The bear’s name was Herman Toffle. He had been a member of Germany’s renowned counterterrorism unit, GSG 9. They had met in a cross-training exercise back when Harvath was with the SEALs. Herman had an irreverent sense of humor, and they had become friends almost instantly.
“How’s Diana?” Harvath asked once Herman had released him from the vise.
“She’s good. She sends her love.”
“Tell her I said thank you for setting all of this up.”
Herman waved it
They were the worst enemy civilization had ever faced. And in its history, civilization had never been weaker.
The Western world had withdrawn, gone soft and cold. There were very few left to protect it. Fewer still who were willing to risk political careers over hard, consequence-ridden choices.
America’s President, though, was willing to take the risk. He didn’t have a choice. The survival of the United States depended on it.
Green-lighting the operation on Malevsky was the right decision. A bloody trail of American bodies, including the U.S. Secretary of Defense, might have started with ISIS, but it didn’t end there. It kept going, right to the Russians’ doorstep. He had no idea why, but he intended to find out. He also intended to end it. Right here, right now.
Harvath checked his GPS and continued on. He only wanted a quick look at the house. The sooner he got to his destination and emptied the trunk, the better he was going to feel.
CHAPTER 21
T he old farm was fifteen kilometers outside the village. Harvath pulled around behind the faded barn and parked. It felt good to get out and stretch his legs.
The location couldn’t have been better. Tucked back into the mountain, it was surrounded on three sides by sheer rock walls. The meadow sloped down, away from the house, and provided a clear view of the road. There were no neighbors.
Looking inside the barn, he saw a black 7 Series BMW. A pile of home improvement supplies was stacked next to it. He didn’t see the owner and so struck off for the house.
It was a two-story chalet with flower boxes. Its massive roof overhung a long balcony on the second floor. The back door was unlocked. Harvath let himself in.
A large pair of boots sat on the tile floor. A leather jacket hung from a wooden peg. The walls were covered in rough-hewn planks. Low beams lined the ceiling. From deeper inside came the smell and crackle of a fire in a fireplace.
Harvath removed his smartphone. He wanted to handle the confirmation first.
Moving forward, he peered into each room as he passed. Good habits were good habits, regardless of the situation.
It was in the living area that he found the BMW’s owner—an enormous, six-foot-four grizzly bear of a man. He was seated at a table nearthe fire. In front of him were a laptop, two Beretta pistols, and a large bottle of beer.
Harvath typed CONFIRMED and hit Send on his phone.
Moments later the man’s computer chimed. “I like that,” he said over his shoulder. “Do it again.”
“Half now. Half when the job’s over,” Harvath replied. “Is there anything to eat?”
“Kitchen,” the man grunted.
The fridge was stocked with meat, lots of it. There were also several dozen eggs, bottled water, and more beer. On the counter were bags of nuts and what looked like packages of German beef jerky.
Harvath prepared a plate, opened a bottle of beer, and returned to the living room.
The giant at the table stood to greet him. He had a gray beard now. His hair was salt-and-pepper, but still cut short. “You’ve gotten smaller,” he said.
Harvath pointed at the man’s stomach and joked, “You too.”
“No carbs. No sugar. No fun,” he replied. Then, looking at his beer added, “Okay, maybe a little fun.”
Harvath smiled and joined him at the table. No sooner had he set his plate down than the man wrapped his huge arms around him. “You look good,” he said. “Older, but still good.”
The bear’s name was Herman Toffle. He had been a member of Germany’s renowned counterterrorism unit, GSG 9. They had met in a cross-training exercise back when Harvath was with the SEALs. Herman had an irreverent sense of humor, and they had become friends almost instantly.
“How’s Diana?” Harvath asked once Herman had released him from the vise.
“She’s good. She sends her love.”
“Tell her I said thank you for setting all of this up.”
Herman waved it
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