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firearm, a stack of cash, and had no idea exactly where he was going. He would have to pull this off on his own.
    Removing the GPS device from his pocket, he powered it up and copied the directions down on the back of his paper placemat. Then he requested the device plan an alternate route for him, but because he was indoors and out of range of the satellites, the device was unable to complete the task.
    Frustrated, Harvath turned the device off and slid it back into his pocket. Using his limited Spanish, he asked for the check, paid it, and then waited for the right moment to walk back to the men’s room.
    The man at the urinal was about twenty years old and Harvath ignored him as he walked over to the sink and turned on the water. He splashed some on his face and then leaned heavily on the edge of the bowl.
    When the young man approached, Harvath pretended to lose his balance before righting himself.
    “Se siente bien, señor?” the young man asked. Are you feeling okay?
    He feigned difficulty focusing. “Do you speak English?”
    “I do. Are you okay?”
    “I left my pills in the car,” Harvath said, gesturing toward the door.
    “Do you want me to get them for you?”
    He took a deep, labored breath. “I would really appreciate it. Thank you.”
    “Give me your keys and tell me where your car is.”
    “It’s a blue Opel,” he said. “It is in a handicapped spot just outside the front door. The keys are in it. It’s unlocked. I think I left the pills in the glove box or they may be in the pocket behind the passenger seat.”
    “Wait here,” replied the Good Samaritan. “I’ll be right back.”
    Harvath thanked him, and once he left the men’s room, followed him at a safe distance. He cut through the gift shop and exited the structure via a side door at the far end.
    Since no one from the black Peugeot had come in looking for him, there was only a handful of places they could be. Either they had given up and left, which he highly doubted; they had driven off to another point where they would wait to pick up his trail again, virtually impossible to do without being seen; or they were sitting out in the parking lot somewhere. And if they were out in the parking lot, they would be positioned so that they could keep an eye on his car while they waited for him to come back out. It was the answer that made the most sense and therefore the one he went with.
    It didn’t take Harvath long to find them. The young man from the men’s room was politely ransacking the Opel, looking for a nonexistent bottle of pills while the two men in the Peugeot watched in silence, trying to figure out what was going on.
    The Peugeot was three rows back and they never saw Harvath coming. Using the butt of his Glock, he smashed the rear passenger window. Popping the lock, he opened the door and sat down upon the spill of broken glass.
    “Nobody move,” he said, holding his pistol so that both of the startled men could see it.
    Next to Eyebrows was the driver, an equally beefy and thick-necked mouth breather with a thin scar on his right cheek. Whoever these two were, they were not operators. They were muscle. And poorly dressed muscle at that.
    “Why have you been following me?” asked Harvath.
    “No hablamos ingles,” said Eyebrows.
    “Bullshit. Why have you been following me?”
    “No hablam—”
    “Shut up. Do you have any weapons on you?”
    “ Qué? ”
    “ Dónde estan las armas? ” he said, pulling Eyebrows’ shirt up so he could check his waistband. “Las pistolas? Dónde estan?”
    “No pistolas. No armas.”
    Harvath put the gun against Scarface’s temple and patted him down. He was clean.
    He used his pack to brush off some of the glass on the seat and settled back. These two needed to be dealt with, but not here. “Vamonos,” he said.
    “A dónde vamos?” replied Scarface nervously.
    Leaning forward Harvath put his Glock against the man’s head and slowly repeated, “ Va-mo-nos. Got it? Now quit