utter, “You.”
Harvath’s mind raced for a solution; some way to distract the man behind him and grab his gun, but there was little he could do. They were in the center of a horde of people slowly shuffling their way toward the exit. He could practically feel the breath of his assailant against the back of his neck. Harvath barely had any space between himself and the people in front of him. Hoping for a space to open up in front of him and at the same moment chaos to be created as a distraction was asking for a miracle. But a miracle was exactly what happened.
Past the bobbing and weaving heads of the crowd in front of him, Harvath noticed three French national policemen standing near the exit. One of them appeared to be scanning the faces of the crowd and referring to a sheet of paper in his hand at the same time.
The gunman saw them too. He tightened his grip on the book dealer’s arm and pressed his gun even harder into Harvath’s back as he said, “One false move and I will kill both of you before the police even realize what’s happening.”
There was no question in Harvath’s mind who he would rather take his chances with. He only hoped the French police were looking for him and that the piece of paper one of the cops was carrying had his photo on it.
As they got closer to the exit, the crowd in front of them began to thin out and the police began checking the faces of the people nearest to Harvath. Knowing that the gunman couldn’t see his face, Harvath started rapidly moving his eyes in hopes of capturing their attention.
Glancing to his left, he saw that sweat was pouring down the bookseller’s face and that he was shaking. Either he was growing more petrified of their abductor, or there was something else going on with him. It didn’t take long to discover what it was.
As Harvath and the book dealer approached the police, the officer with the paper recognized them. He checked one more time and then alerted his colleagues, one of whom instantly got on his radio.
Harvath thought for sure he was the one they’d recognized, but when the men drew their weapons they yelled for Rene Bertrand to stop.
The gunman wasted no time. Pointing his Heckler amp; Koch pistol around Harvath’s right side, he fired several shots in rapid succession as all hell broke loose in the lobby of the Grand Palais.
CHAPTER 26
Harvath spun and drove his elbow into the gunman’s solar plexus. As the assassin fell backward, Harvath drew his weapon and looked over just in time to see Rene Bertrand running back into the hall.
All three cops were down. Two of them were bleeding out and Harvath feared they weren’t going to make it. The third was on his radio, calling for backup.
As people ran screaming in all directions, Harvath had to make up his mind. His priority was the book dealer and after one more glance at the gunman, he took off after him.
Twenty yards ahead, he could see Bertrand, but because of the crowd he couldn’t close the distance. He felt like the proverbial salmon swimming upstream. Raising his weapon into the air, he fired a shot.
Instantly, the crowd parted and Harvath raced after the book dealer. Bertrand took a sharp left, banging his shoulder into a large bookcase and knocking it over.
Harvath leapt over the spill of books and kept on, pushing people out of his way as he ran. He had to remind himself to scan and breathe, scan and breathe. He had no desire to be taken by surprise again.
Less than ten yards away from Bertrand, he noticed what he was running toward-an emergency exit.
As the book dealer neared the door, Harvath fired two shots into the frame and yelled for him to stop. Bertrand might have been foolish, but he wasn’t an idiot. He stopped right where he was.
In the blink of an eye, Harvath was on him. Securing his weapon, he grabbed the book dealer by the collar and punched him hard in the gut with his other hand.
As Bertrand doubled over, Harvath kicked open the fire door and dragged the man outside.
At
After ditching the car several blocks from the Quai de la Tournelle, Harvath screwed the sound suppressor onto the end of his Taurus for effect and warned the book dealer what would happen to him if he didn’t cooperate. The two then covered the rest of the distance to the Sargasso safe house on foot, stopping repeatedly to duck into doorways as police cars sped past.
When they reached the peniche, Harvath opened the door of the wheelhouse and shoved Rene Bertrand down the stairs.
Nichols, who was in the galley brewing tea, and Tracy, who was lying on the couch, were both startled by the commotion.
“Professor,” said Harvath as he slammed Bertrand into a chair at the dining room table, “I need you to find me some rope. There’s probably some up on deck.”
“Right away,” said Nichols as he turned off the stove and disappeared up the stairs.
Tracy swung her feet onto the floor and asked, “This is our rare-book dealer I presume?”
“It certainly is,” replied Harvath.
Tracy studied him. His skin was pale to the point of almost being translucent, and he was drenched with sweat. Though he kept licking them, his lips were dry and cracked. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing. Yet,” said Harvath. “I think our pal here is pretty tight with Harry Jones. Aren’t you, Rene?”
“He’s a heroin addict?” asked Tracy.
“Who had the French police looking for him at the Grand Palais. That’s why you’re so paranoid, isn’t it, Rene?”
The book dealer refused to look Harvath in the eye.
“What happened?” said Tracy.
Harvath pulled up a chair and kept his eyes glued to the book dealer’s as he spoke. “Rene and I were just on our way out of the exhibition hall to discuss our transaction when his 3:30 showed up and stuck a gun in my back.”
Tracy was stunned.
“Apparently, Rene’s clients are very protective of him,” continued Harvath. “Anyway, whoever this guy was, he was marching us toward the front door when the cops spotted Rene and yelled for him to stop. The guy behind me fired at them and now two of the cops are probably dead and the third was wounded pretty badly.”
“How did you get away?”
“Our friend Rene thought it would be a good idea to sneak out one of the emergency exits, and I concurred. Someone was kind enough to lend us a car, which we ditched a couple of blocks away and here we are.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t
As Harvath was about to answer, Nichols came down the stairs with a length of rope. “Got it,” he said.
Harvath accepted the rope and began binding the book dealer to his chair.
Nichols blanched, remembering his experience at the hotel. “Are you going to torture him?” he asked.
“It’s going to feel like torture,” replied Harvath, “but I’m not going to lay a finger on him. As soon as he’s ready, Monsieur Bertrand is going to tell us everything we want to know. Aren’t you, Rene?”
Bertrand remained silent.
Harvath patted him down and found what he was looking for. In the man’s left breast pocket was an oversized silver cigarette case. Harvath opened it up and placed it on the table where the book dealer could clearly see it. He knew the stress of the Grand Palais had pushed Bertrand over the edge. Now, only inches away, was the heroin his body was crying out for.
CHAPTER 27
