kitchen, he removed his respirator.
At the end of a long hallway carpeted with Persian rugs, its walls lined with silk tapestries, was the door to James Standing’s bedroom. Harvath slid his fiber-optic camera underneath the door and took another long, slow look around.
Satisfied that Standing was in bed, alone, and still asleep, Harvath tucked the device into his pack and carefully opened the door.
His objective was approximately thirty feet away from Standing on the other side of the billionaire’s enormous bed. Harvath had no doubt that somewhere near the bed there was a panic button, so he crossed the room as quickly and as quietly as he could.
Slipping into the master bathroom, he set down his pack and organized his materials. When he was ready, he closed the drain and turned on the water in the tub.
James Standing awoke to the sound of running water. At first, he thought it had been a dream, but the longer the sound persisted, the more he became convinced that it was in fact real and that it was coming from his bathroom.
But why would his bath be running? Still half-asleep, he threw back his bedcovers and swung his feet out of bed.
Sliding his feet into his Stubbs amp; Woottons, he ignored his robe and padded across the bedroom to figure out what the hell was going on.
As he got closer to the bathroom, the sound of running water got louder and he picked up his pace.
Pushing open the door, he clicked on the lights and sure enough, his bath was running. How the hell was that possible?
Walking across the polished marble floor, he arrived at the tub and reached for the handle. As he did, he heard a voice from behind say, “Let it fill up.”
The voice so startled him that his heart nearly burst from his chest. Spinning around, he saw a man completely dressed in black holding a suppressed pistol, which was pointed right at him.
“Who are you?” the billionaire demanded. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”
“Robert Ashford sent me,” said Harvath, as he watched the fear etched on Standing’s face deepen.
“All I have to do is shout and my security team will be in.”
“Who? The three men downstairs or the one near the kitchen I already took care of?”
The financier didn’t reply.
“You can shout if you want to, but nobody is going to hear you.”
Standing looked as if he was thinking about doing just that, but quickly decided not to. “What do you want? Are you here to arrest me?”
Harvath pulled a vial of pills from his pocket and tossed it to him. “Eat.”
“Eat? What the hell are these?”
“Laxatives.”
“Why the hell would I want to take a bottle full of laxatives?”
“Because you’re about to go on a very long trip with no bathroom breaks,” said Harvath.
“What are you doing? Kidnapping me? Did that idiot Ashford put you up to this?”
“I’m doing you a favor. Start chewing.”
Standing opened the bottle and dumped several of the pills into his hand. He looked down and then threw the entire handful at Harvath. “Fuck you.”
Harvath smiled and tucked his pistol away at the small of his back. Reaching above the toilet, he took down one of Standing’s monogrammed bath towels and started walking forward.
Instinctively, the billionaire began backing away from him. The moment he did, Harvath sprung.
Twisting the towel tightly around Standing’s head, he used it to pull him off-balance. As the older man fell, Harvath steered him toward the tub, where he landed with a splash.
As soon as he hit the water, Harvath had him under it, careful to do everything with even pressure across the towel so as not to leave any marks.
Standing was strong for his age and struggled wildly. After a few more seconds, Harvath let him up. As his head broke the surface, he sucked in huge gasps of air.
“Let me make this very clear,” said Harvath. “You’re going to take those pills. Understand me?”
Standing didn’t respond, but he was visibly shaken by the explosion of violence that had just occurred. The tub was almost full and Harvath turned off the water.
In his fall, the billionaire had spilled the rest of the pills. Harvath scooped up a handful, gave them to him, and repeated his order. “Eat.”
This time, Standing did as he was told. As the man sat soaking in his pajamas, Harvath removed an opened bottle of wine from his pack and pulled out the cork. After filling the glass, he walked over to the tub and handed it to Standing. “Drink,” he said. “Red wine speeds up the process.”
He hesitantly accepted the glass as if he was suddenly beginning to grasp that maybe he was being lied to.
“Drink,” Harvath repeated. “All of it.”
As the man tilted it back, rivulets of wine ran down his chin and dripped into the water.
When the billionaire had drained the glass, Harvath refilled it. The man didn’t need to have the order repeated. He knew he was supposed to drink.
He had consumed about half of the second glass when Harvath told him to stop. He could see the man’s eyes were starting to have trouble focusing. He needed to say what he was going to say now, before the man could no longer grasp what was happening.
Harvath sat down on the edge of the tub and leaned in so James Standing could hear everything he was about to say.
“Listen to me very closely, you son of a bitch. Those weren’t laxatives. Right now, your heart is rapidly slowing down, unable to pump blood through your body. In about a minute, you’re going to find your lungs suddenly can’t seem to get enough air and you’re going to gasp for breaths that just won’t come.
“Before you die, I want you to know that everything you have spent your entire life working for has been completely undone. Every organization, every company, every foundation you have ever created, all of it. You’re going to be known the world over for the monster you are. Your name will forever be synonymous with evil.”
Standing tried to speak, to say something in response, but he couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come.
“Every family who lost someone in the attacks you financed will sue your estate and they will drain it of every last single penny. People who once held you in high esteem will mock your memory or recoil in horror at the mention of your name.
“All the money in the world can’t prevent what’s about to happen to you. On behalf of every one of your victims, I hope you rot in hell.”
Standing up, Harvath took the wineglass from Standing and set it on the side of the tub along with the half- empty bottle. He took the billionaire’s weakening fingers and pressed them against a straight razor, which he dropped into the water along with the towel.
After mopping up the floor with a shammy he’d brought in his pack, Harvath gathered up his belongings and exited the bathroom.
Passing through the bedroom, he stopped at a large flat-screen TV. Ejecting the tray of the DVD player beneath, he inserted the disc Nicholas had given him and turned everything on.
Back in the kitchen, the gas had dissipated. Closing the window, he gave the security monitors one last check before leaving the apartment and the building the same way he had come in.
He could see the sun just beginning to come up as he crossed Central Park. Removing his cell phone, he plugged in his earbuds, and called Carlton.
When the Old Man answered, he simply said, “It’s done.”
“Good,” Carlton replied. “Come home.”
CHAPTER 69
