killed. The light from the open door hurt the president’s eyes, and Scot maneuvered himself in front of it to help shield the glare.
“What do you want? If you’ve got my food, then leave it. If you’re going to take another finger, then get it over with!” said the president. His voice reflected how drained he was.
“Nobody’s going to hurt you anymore, Mr. President,” said Scot.
Rutledge lifted his hand to his forehead and tried to peer into the light. “Who is it? Who’s there?” he asked feebly, too forlorn to even hope that a rescue had been achieved.
“It’s Secret Service Agent Harvath, sir. You’re going home.”
“I seriously doubt that,” said a voice as Claudia was struck in the back of the head and thrown in a heap across the floor, landing next to the president.
Scot spun just in time to see Gerhard Miner bring the machine pistol down hard across the top of his head.
Harvath’s knees buckled and gave out. He fell to the ground and before he could catch his breath, Miner kicked him hard in the jaw, sending him reeling backward.
“Do you know how many of my men you have killed? Do you have any idea what an incredible inconvenience you have been?”
While he ranted, Miner kicked Harvath repeatedly in the ribs. “Some of the finest men I assembled for this mission are dead. I worked tirelessly, thinking of everything, and then you come along and ruin it all.”
The blows fell again and again. Scot was unable to breathe. The man was going to kill him, and then Claudia, even Rutledge. Scot was seeing stars, the blow to his head had been incredibly painful. He needed to do something now, or it would be too late.
As Miner drew his foot back and came forward for the next kick, Scot was ready for him and grabbed at his ankle in mid-strike.
“Do you honestly think I am that stupid, Agent Harvath?” said Miner, who’d anticipated the move, avoided it, and now pointed the Skorpion right at him. “You seem to have more lives than a cat, yet this is how it is going to end for you, and your president will be able to watch you fail him yet again. I would like to say it has been nice knowing you, but it hasn’t. As I said last time, I hope never to see you again. Now I will make sure that happens.”
Harvath started laughing.
“What’s so funny, Agent Harvath?”
“Ah, Gerry. If you only knew how much I hate having things pointed at me.”
Miner’s smug look of satisfaction was quickly replaced by fear as he was barreled sideways into the wall of the makeshift cell. Claudia had taken advantage of the fact that Miner was distracted and thought her unconscious to surprise him. He fell to the floor with the machine pistol in his hand, rolled, and struck Claudia full across the face. Once again, she fell in a heap along the floor, and this time Harvath knew she wasn’t faking.
Without wasting a moment more, Harvath fought back his dizziness to pounce on Miner. As Scot fought to subdue him, Miner struck him repeatedly with the gun. Harvath returned the favor with a knee to Miner’s groin, an elbow to his face, and an uppercut to his jaw. Harvath hammered at the man’s shoulder and reached for the hand that held the gun, which was once again swinging dangerously toward him.
Scot caught Miner by the wrist and drove it with incredible force into the area where the wall met the floor. He heard a snap as Miner let out a scream and his finger squeezed the trigger. The twenty-round magazine emptied in the blink of an eye. Bullets showered the room. Scot could only pray that neither Claudia nor the president had been hit. As he continued his assault Miner began to weaken, and Scot knew he had hurt him…badly.
He pounded the man relentlessly, the blows falling faster and with more ferocity. He pounded him for Agents Maxwell and Ahern and Houchins. He pounded him for the betrayal he had suffered at the hands of William Shaw and for the lives of his friend Natalie Sperando and her friend Andre Martin. He pounded Gerhard Miner for all of the innocent lives that had been lost, especially that of his best friend, Sam Harper. Miner was going to die, and Harvath was going to send him to hell an on express train, all expenses paid.
Scot’s hands were covered in blood. He heard bone shatter as he landed his blows. His rage, guilt, and remorse drove him on like a madman. In the middle of it all, something called out to him, urged him back toward the shores of sanity. There was a hand on his shoulder, the president’s. He was speaking to him.
“Agent Harvath, that’s enough,” he rasped. “We need him alive. Come on now. He can’t hurt us anymore. Let up on him.”
The president was right. Scot slowly rolled off Miner and looked at the badly beaten body lying before him. He couldn’t tell if the man was breathing or not, and frankly, he didn’t care.
The president had begun to regain his equilibrium. Despite his haggard appearance, some of the stately confidence was back in his eyes.
“Are you okay, Mr. President? Can you make it on your own?”
“I’ll be okay. Let’s get her up.”
To Scot’s relief, Claudia was coming around. Her lip was split and bleeding, but at least she was responding. He put his arm around Claudia’s waist and struggled with her to the door. He was beyond the point of exhaustion. We’re almost there. Don’t give up, he told himself. Don’t give up.
“Mr. President,” said Scot, motioning toward Miner, “unless you’ve got an idea on how to get him out of here, we’re going to have to leave him. My mission is your safe evac, period.”
“You called the man Gerry. Do you know who he is?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President. He is a high-ranking member of Swiss intelligence.”
“Swiss intelligence? What’s he doing over here in the middle of the godforsaken desert?”
“Actually, sir. You are in a mountain in Switzerland.”
“Switzerland?”
“Yes, sir. For some reason-I don’t know why-they wanted you to believe you were being held by a Mideast terrorist group.”
“Fine. We’re in Switzerland; we’ll let the Swiss handle him. Let’s get out of here.”
“Yes, sir!”
Scot steered Claudia out the door and to the right. The president followed behind. Harvath had no idea if any of Miner’s men would be in front of them, but he knew they had to chance it. Going back the way they came didn’t seem like the best idea.
Not even five feet down the hallway, they discovered the direction Scot had chosen wasn’t such a hot idea either.
A tall man, with the build of a linebacker, stood blocking their way with a submachine gun. Unlike Miner’s men, he was dressed in street clothes. The minute he spoke, Harvath knew exactly who he was.
“No gun, eh? What a shame.”
It was the hired killer who had been after him since D.C.
“You know what?” the man continued. “You are the biggest pain in the fucking ass I have ever encountered. I’m going to charge double for you and waste your girlfriend for free. Good men, talented men, died trying to nail you, and I guess that makes me the best because I finally got you.” The hit man raised his gun for a better firing angle. “I took two rounds from you in D.C., and my ribs are so fucked up, I can hardly breathe. If I’d had a clean shot, I would have nailed your ass before you led me up this godforsaken mountain. You know, you actually lost me for a bit. You almost got away. While you were climbing up the side, I took the easy way up and eventually saw you going into the church. That’s when I knew I had you. It’s been fun, but now it’s time to meet your maker!”
The assassin’s finger had just begun to apply pressure to the trigger when his head exploded. His lifeless body lurched toward the wall and then fell to the ground.
Standing behind him was his killer. He was quickly joined by a group of similarly dressed figures in black Nomex fatigues with goggles and black balaclavas. My God, how many men does Miner have? Harvath thought desperately.
He had no idea what to do. His mind raced for options. He knew he had to protect the president at all costs, but what could he do against a group of six heavily armed men when he had nothing? He and Claudia had almost made it. Almost.
The man who had killed the assassin reached across his weapon and pulled a piece of black material from his
