down. He felt terrible for the man. That said, everyone knew there was an inherent risk in the job. It was one of those things operatives always thought about—“getting killed, or worse.” Schoen was a prime example of what “or worse” could be. Scot wondered if maybe Schoen would have been better off dying that night.
10
Harvath exited Thames & Cherwell Antiques, turned left, and was making his way back toward the Jaffa Road when he heard the squeal of tires.
Just as he turned to look for the source of the noise, three men jumped out of a parked car right in front of him. They were solid, with muscles bulging beneath their suit coats. Their fashionable clothing seemed oddly out of place. Each pair of eyes was set in a cold, hard stare as they closed in on him.
“What is this all about?” Harvath asked, but the men didn’t respond.
At that moment, Harvath heard the squeal of tires again, this time as a white baker’s van pulled into the street next to them and stopped. When the side door began to slide open, he knew their little party was about to get bigger. Harvath didn’t wait for additional men to climb out of the van.
With a swift chop, he popped the man opposite him in the windpipe and watched him crumple to the pavement like a flimsy paper doll. The other two men were on him in an instant. The first man made the mistake of lunging for Harvath’s collar. Harvath grabbed his hand and bent it back over his forearm in a move known in the Japanese art of aikido as kotegaeshi . The man landed smack on his back on the pavement. When the second man came for him, Harvath reversed the energy of his attack and threw him with a move known as irimi nage . The man’s head hit the fender of a nearby car, tearing a large, bleeding gash above his right eye.
The first attacker Harvath had put down had righted himself and now sprang from the pavement. Harvath met him halfway with a well swung elbow, catching the man full force in the mouth. He howled in pain as he spat blood and teeth into the street.
Before Harvath could make another move, a second group of men jumped from the van and pinned him down. Someone produced a hypo-gun and jabbed the sharp tip into his shoulder. The drug worked immediately. Harvath’s vision started to dim, but not before he saw a face that he thought he recognized.
11
As Harvath came to, he could make out the sound of jet engines and knew he was in some kind of airplane. He tried to move his arms, but as his eyes began to focus, he saw that he was cuffed to his seat. The man whose head he had bounced off the car fender earlier was taking his blood pressure.
“It looks like he’s coming around,” said the man, sporting two butterfly bandages above his eye.
As a figure appeared from the cockpit, Harvath looked around and realized the small private jet was filled with several other passengers, all more or less of the same build and don’t fuck with me look. Before Harvath could say anything, the man who had emerged from the cockpit drew alongside him and said, “It looks like sleeping beauty is finally awake.”
Harvath had been right. He had indeed recognized one of the men who had jumped him in Jerusalem. “Well, well. If it isn’t Rick, the Prick, Morrell. It’s been a long time,” he said.
“Not long enough,” replied the man.
“Let’s see here,” continued Harvath: “substandard help, a private jet, ability to get me out of the country, and someone foolish enough to bankroll all of this and put you in charge. Still working for the CIA, Ricky?”
“Aren’t you clever. You still don’t know how to keep your ass out of a sling, though, do you? You’ve ruffled some pretty serious feathers, Harvath.”
“I know. It was very un-Christian of me not to give you that loan for your sex change operation. I still believe you’ll regret it, but if you’ve thought it through and it’s what you really want, then I’m behind you one hundred percent. Untie me and I’ll
10
Harvath exited Thames & Cherwell Antiques, turned left, and was making his way back toward the Jaffa Road when he heard the squeal of tires.
Just as he turned to look for the source of the noise, three men jumped out of a parked car right in front of him. They were solid, with muscles bulging beneath their suit coats. Their fashionable clothing seemed oddly out of place. Each pair of eyes was set in a cold, hard stare as they closed in on him.
“What is this all about?” Harvath asked, but the men didn’t respond.
At that moment, Harvath heard the squeal of tires again, this time as a white baker’s van pulled into the street next to them and stopped. When the side door began to slide open, he knew their little party was about to get bigger. Harvath didn’t wait for additional men to climb out of the van.
With a swift chop, he popped the man opposite him in the windpipe and watched him crumple to the pavement like a flimsy paper doll. The other two men were on him in an instant. The first man made the mistake of lunging for Harvath’s collar. Harvath grabbed his hand and bent it back over his forearm in a move known in the Japanese art of aikido as kotegaeshi . The man landed smack on his back on the pavement. When the second man came for him, Harvath reversed the energy of his attack and threw him with a move known as irimi nage . The man’s head hit the fender of a nearby car, tearing a large, bleeding gash above his right eye.
The first attacker Harvath had put down had righted himself and now sprang from the pavement. Harvath met him halfway with a well swung elbow, catching the man full force in the mouth. He howled in pain as he spat blood and teeth into the street.
Before Harvath could make another move, a second group of men jumped from the van and pinned him down. Someone produced a hypo-gun and jabbed the sharp tip into his shoulder. The drug worked immediately. Harvath’s vision started to dim, but not before he saw a face that he thought he recognized.
11
As Harvath came to, he could make out the sound of jet engines and knew he was in some kind of airplane. He tried to move his arms, but as his eyes began to focus, he saw that he was cuffed to his seat. The man whose head he had bounced off the car fender earlier was taking his blood pressure.
“It looks like he’s coming around,” said the man, sporting two butterfly bandages above his eye.
As a figure appeared from the cockpit, Harvath looked around and realized the small private jet was filled with several other passengers, all more or less of the same build and don’t fuck with me look. Before Harvath could say anything, the man who had emerged from the cockpit drew alongside him and said, “It looks like sleeping beauty is finally awake.”
Harvath had been right. He had indeed recognized one of the men who had jumped him in Jerusalem. “Well, well. If it isn’t Rick, the Prick, Morrell. It’s been a long time,” he said.
“Not long enough,” replied the man.
“Let’s see here,” continued Harvath: “substandard help, a private jet, ability to get me out of the country, and someone foolish enough to bankroll all of this and put you in charge. Still working for the CIA, Ricky?”
“Aren’t you clever. You still don’t know how to keep your ass out of a sling, though, do you? You’ve ruffled some pretty serious feathers, Harvath.”
“I know. It was very un-Christian of me not to give you that loan for your sex change operation. I still believe you’ll regret it, but if you’ve thought it through and it’s what you really want, then I’m behind you one hundred percent. Untie me and I’ll
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