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MURMANSK OBLAST
“Hands!” the Spetsnaz soldier shouted in Russian.
Harvath was cradling the moving blanket, and underneath it, out of view, his pistol. Instead of dropping the blanket, he dropped to the floor, repeatedly pressing the trigger as he did.
The rounds struck the Russian in the stomach and in the chest. And as he fell, he fired back.
Harvath rolled as the bullets tore up the fuselage around him. They came dangerously close, but fortunately none found their target.
When the shooting stopped, Harvath stood up and, keeping his pistol pointed at the soldier, approached.
The man was in rough shape. Bleeding badly, he had dropped his rifle when he’d hit the ground. Harvath now kicked it away.
This soldier was the worst of the muscle from New Hampshire. He was the one who had forced everyone, except the Old Man, who was bedridden, onto their knees, in advance of being executed.
When Lara had reached out to Harvath, this Spetsnaz operative had punched her in the gut. Helpless, his hands cuffed behind his back, Harvath had watched in agony as she doubled over in pain.
The Russian then grabbed her by the throat and yanked her to her feet, only to body-slam her to the ground. When she tried to get up, he viciously kicked her in the ribs.
Next to Josef, this was the man Harvath had most wanted to get his hands on—and not in a gentle way.
He could have just put a bullet in his head, ended it, and walked away. But he didn’t. Harvath wanted revenge.
Drawing his boot back, he kicked the man in the side harder than he had ever kicked anyone in his life. Then he did it again, and again, and again, knocking the wind out of him and shattering his rib cage. It was only the beginning.
Kneeling down as the man gasped for air, Harvath wrapped his left hand around the Russian’s throat and began to squeeze, slowly cutting off his oxygen supply.
A bloody froth appeared at the corners of the soldier’s mouth as he fought to suck in air. Harvath kept applying pressure.
He dialed it up until the man’s eyes began to bulge and his skin started to turn blue. Once that had happened, he pushed down as hard as he could, crushing the man’s windpipe. But his bloodlust wasn’t satisfied. Not yet.
Grabbing the man by the hair, he gave in to his rage and pistol-whipped him with the Grach.
Back and forth he swung the weapon, harder and harder with each blow. He struck him for Lara. He struck him for Lydia. He struck him for Reed Carlton. Even the Navy Corpsman.
Totally out of control, he went from pistol-whipping to bludgeoning.
He didn’t stop swinging until he couldn’t lift the pistol anymore. By then, he had beaten the soldier to death.
With his body trembling, his lungs heaving for air, and every ounce of his strength gone, he collapsed against the wall.
Rivulets of sweat ran down his face. Part of him wanted to throw up. Another part of him wanted to revive the Russian, just so he could beat him some more.
Revenge was a bitter medicine. It didn’t cure suffering. It didn’t provide closure. It only hollowed you out further.
Harvath didn’t care. In his world, you didn’t let wrongs go unanswered—not wrongs like this, and especially not when you had the ability to do something.
Vengeance was a necessary function of a civilized world, particularly at its margins, in its most remote and wild regions. Evildoers, unwilling to submit to the rule of law, needed to lie awake in their beds at night worried about when justice would eventually come for them. If laws and standards were not worth enforcing, then they certainly couldn’t be worth following.
The Russians wanted to enjoy the peace and prosperity of a civilized world, without the encumbrances of following any of its laws. They wanted their sovereign territory respected, their system of government respected, their ability for self-determination respected, and on and on.
What they didn’t want was to be forced to play by the same rules as everyone else. They fomented revolutions, invaded and annexed other sovereign nations, violated international agreements, murdered journalists, murdered dissidents, and strove to subvert democratic elections and other democratic processes throughout the Western world.
If the Russians were allowed to sit at the global table without adhering to any international norms, why would the totalitarian regimes of the Middle East, Africa, or Asia bother to comply? It was much easier to amass wealth and hold on to power by subverting