Near Dark (Scot Harvath #20) - Brad Thor Page 0,106

full confirmation, she wasn’t going to relax.

They were operating off an old Italian Intelligence photo of Tatiana Montecalvo, from when she had worked at the Russian embassy in Rome. It had to have been twenty years old—if not older. There was no telling how much she had changed in the meantime, nor how much plastic surgery she may have had done.

As Sølvi got closer to the pier, she could see that the woman had had a little work done, but nothing so dramatic that she was unrecognizable. She was older, a bit softer, and appeared more tired, but she was still Tatiana Montecalvo. This was their target.

Sølvi swung the boat in and sidled it up against the pier the same way she had with Harvath earlier in the day. That was when the Contessa pulled her gun.

“Shut the engines down,” she ordered, pointing a Beretta pistol at Sølvi.

The NIS operative did as she had been commanded. Turning off the engines, she raised her hands.

“Open the door to the cabin and turn on the lights down there,” the Contessa ordered, waving her Beretta.

Once more, Sølvi did as she was instructed. Then, with the lights on and the door open, she stepped to the side so Montecalvo could take a look for herself.

“It’s just me,” said the Norwegian. “Nobody else.”

Withdrawing a powerful pocket flashlight, the Contessa flashed a burst of its high-intensity light into Sølvi’s face, ruining her sight and temporarily causing her to see spots.

Tightening her grip on the weapon, Montecalvo demanded, “On your stomach. Now.”

The Norwegian didn’t like taking orders from this woman, but she did as she had been told.

As she lay facedown, the Contessa climbed aboard. She wanted to make sure the boat was safe before she got down to business. That meant making sure no one was hiding in back, or up front in the cabin.

She took a moment to pat Sølvi down and check the seat pockets, cushions, and various cubbies. Confident as she could be that the woman wasn’t carrying a weapon, nor had one too close at hand, she backed away toward the cabin.

There were three steps leading down into the luxurious below-deck space. The Contessa took them slowly, shifting her eyes back and forth from the cabin to the woman who was facedown outside.

She checked the galley, the bathroom, and the sleeping area—none of which revealed any stowaways.

Satisfied, she started up the stairs and told Sølvi to get up. As she stepped through the hatchway, about to explain that they could get under way, or discuss their business right there, she noticed water on the deck. Someone had gotten on the boat.

But before she could raise her pistol, Harvath pressed his Sig Sauer against the side of her head and told her to drop it. She complied.

“The flashlight too,” he ordered.

Again, she did as he told her.

Sølvi picked up the Beretta, released the magazine, ejected the round from the chamber and tossed all of it into the lake.

Then retrieving her own weapon, she kept the Contessa covered while Harvath—who had been floating under the dock and had crept up onto the boat via its swim platform—went back for his gear.

Everything was in a drybag stashed under the dock. He had been watching the drone footage through a waterproof phone pouch he had purchased, along with the drybag and a swimsuit, in town.

Climbing back aboard the boat, he used his last set of restraints to zip-tie the Contessa’s hands behind her back. After a quick trip to the cabin to towel off and get dressed, he nodded to Sølvi that he was ready to go.

Firing up the engines, she pushed the throttles forward and plotted a course for the center of the lake. All the while, Harvath kept an eye on the Contessa.

Once they were far enough out, Sølvi put the engines in neutral and let the boat drift. Overhead, the drone was keeping watch. There were several other craft out and about, but nothing particularly close. As a result, they decided to keep their running lights off.

Harvath looked at the Contessa. “Do you know who I am?”

The woman nodded.

“Then you know why I’m here.”

“I know that someone really wants you dead, but I’m guessing that you don’t know who it is. That’s why you’re here. You’re hoping to extract information that can help you, which means you’ll be playing bad cop.” Then, looking at Sølvi, she said, “And that makes you the—”

“Worse cop,” the Norwegian intelligence operative responded, cutting her off. “Let me