Backlash (Scot Harvath #19) - Brad Thor Page 0,138

her offer last night, they could have found a more enjoyable way to while away the hours, but it was what it was. As night fell and the city darkened, she brewed coffee and went over the next phase of the operation with him.

She knew General Minayev only by reputation. She had never met the GRU bigwig in person. And while she understood the reasoning behind the next phase of Harvath’s operation, she found it particularly distasteful. Even so, she had agreed to go along with it.

Once more, Nicholas had been the key to their planning. Three times a week, Minayev rendezvoused with his mistress at a small apartment he owned not far from the cheese shop he so loved.

If the upper echelons of the FBI and CIA had as many men cheating on their wives as Russian Intelligence did, the American Congress would have been up in arms and rightly purging them left, right, and center. The fact that Russia condoned such behavior could only be added to the list of reasons they lagged behind the rest of the developed world when it came to law, order, and trust in government.

Corruption, sadly, wasn’t something to be avoided in Russia, it was something to be studied and then expertly exploited.

Aside from the unseemliness of it all, what was particularly helpful was that the lovebirds always ordered in. They did so via an app, which Nicholas had no trouble tapping into.

When the food arrived, Alexandra was standing on the chipped curb, waiting to receive it. As the driver sped off, she rang the bell, announced herself, and then sent Harvath up as the door buzzed open.

Reed Carlton’s 1911 in his hand, he stepped out of the stairwell and into the hallway. Russian apartment buildings had always seemed to smell the same to him—fucking horrible. He didn’t know what caused it. At its foundation, it had to be the cooking, but from there it was anybody’s guess.

He waited for Alexandra to appear from the opposite stairwell and when she did, they approached the apartment door together.

After she rolled down her balaclava and took off her jacket to expose a Russian Security Services raid vest, Harvath knocked.

As they had anticipated, the mistress answered the door. There was no way Minayev was going to risk being seen here.

The woman was surprised to see a man standing at the door, when it had been a woman who had called up on the intercom from downstairs.

He put his index finger against his lips as if to say, “Shhh,” and then pointed at Alexandra, who beckoned the young woman over to her.

Believing something official to be up, the mistress stepped into the hall and did as they instructed.

As she passed, Harvath slipped inside. He could smell Minayev before he even saw him.

The legend of the cheese the man ate smelling like a decomposing corpse didn’t do it justice. It actually smelled worse. How his wife, much less his mistress, could stand to be with him was a total mystery. Both must have been suffering from anosmia.

Normally in a situation like this, Harvath would have felt comfortable drawing out the man’s death. But the odor was so bad that he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of the apartment.

Assuming his mistress was dealing with the delivery, Minayev sat in the living room, his back to the hall, watching TV.

Holstering his weapon, Harvath uncapped a new hypodermic needle and crept forward. With the television up so loud, Minayev never had a chance.

Harvath jammed the needle into the base of his neck, depressed the plunger, and held him down while he waited for the sux to do its work.

“Do you know who I am?” Harvath asked, as Minayev caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye, before paralysis took hold.

The GRU man nodded.

“Josef killed my wife, my colleague, and my boss on your orders. Now, I’m here to kill you. But I’m not just going to kill you. I’m going to destroy your professional reputation as well. Even after your death, people will revile your name.”

Harvath wanted to continue, but he could see that the man’s breathing had slowed. Every muscle in his body had relaxed. He thirsted desperately for air, but lacked the ability to exercise his lungs and draw new oxygen in. Staring into his eyes, Harvath watched as he slowly asphyxiated.

Everything now came down to timing. Quickly, Harvath wrapped a cord around the man’s neck, pulled it tight and dragged him with

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