“No,” said the lieutenant. “Partnership. They cook. We sell.”
“Who is we?”
“Mon bande.”
“English,” the Tajik growled, whacking the man’s forehead on the urinal.
“Fils de pute!” he replied. Son of a bitch. “My crew sells it. My gang.”
Tursunov’s mind was already turning, three steps ahead. Every gang had to deal with turf wars and competition.
“What gang is your enemy? Which one is trying to take your business?”
“Les GBs,” the man sputtered. “The Ghetto Boys. From Saint-Denis.”
That was all Tursunov needed to hear.
This time when he slammed the lieutenant’s head into the porcelain, he did it hard enough to knock him out.
Letting go of his hair, he pulled a knife and slit the man’s throat. Then, holding the lieutenant’s index finger and using his blood as ink, he wrote the letters GB on the wall.
After washing his hands, he unlocked the bathroom door and left the café by the rear exit. He had just taken the first step in helping his chemist disappear.
CHAPTER 44
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MALTA
The trip took over four hours. They stopped once to refuel. Bladders full of diesel, with special beacons attached, had been air-dropped over the water.
When they got within range of Malta, Harvath made a call. By the time they reached the drop point, several vehicles were already waiting for them.
It was on a secluded stretch of coastline, which was good for a covert insertion, but the rocks made it difficult to get in as close as they would have liked. Instead of wading into shore, they had to swim.
The warm waters around Malta were a particular favorite of great white sharks, which flocked there to give birth.
Harvath tried not to think about it as he helped swim Gage’s stretcher into shore behind Haney’s. Neither man was up to the task of swimming, and the last thing they needed was the scent of blood in the water.
Standing in the surf, ready to help bring the stretchers in, was a team of men. Harvath knew one of the faces well.
Dr. Vella was a slim man in his fifties. He was of average height with dark hair and glasses. He looked like someone better suited to picking stocks than running a highly fortified, top-secret interrogation and detention center a half-hour outside the capital of Valetta.
Nicknamed the “Solarium” because much of it existed below ground, it was one of the most efficient black sites on the planet. Harvath had rendered more than a few high-value targets to Vella for interrogation.
As Haney’s floating stretcher neared shore, the doctor gave orders in Maltese and his men took over. Wading into the waves they lifted it, carried it to the beach and up to a waiting black Suburban in which all of the seats had been folded down.
By the time they returned for Gage, he had already hopped off his stretcher and was wading in. He didn’t need or want any further help.
With their cargo safely delivered, the SEALs returned to their boats and headed off to rendezvous with a ship from the Sixth Fleet.
Harvath stepped out of the water and shook Vella’s hand.
“You look terrible,” the doctor said.
“It’s been a long couple of days.”
“So I’ve heard,” he replied, gesturing toward the vehicles. “I have two medical teams standing by. The sooner we get back, the sooner I can have your men looked at.”
Harvath thanked him and, once all his guys and their dry-bags were loaded, climbed into the lead Suburban with Vella.
Vella had outfitted all of the vehicles with PowerBars and bottles of water. Harvath helped himself.
“There’s hot food waiting at the farm,” Vella offered.
The Solarium was built beneath a rustic farmhouse. When he took breaks from observing interrogations, Harvath liked to sit outside with a drink. Often, Vella would join him and the two would discuss all sorts of topics.
Sometimes, Harvath would just sit alone and enjoy the sights and sounds of rural Malta. It was one of the most peaceful and picturesque places he had ever been.
Tonight, though, all he wanted was a hot shower, a bed, and silence. He’d even be willing to take one of the isolation cells if it meant a solid eight to ten hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Leaning back against the seat, he wanted to close his eyes, but he willed himself to stay awake. Not until the Solarium. Then, they’d be safe and he could let his guard down.
He looked out the window and thought he recognized where they were. “This looks familiar.”
Vella smiled. “You have a good memory. The last time you were here, we ate at a restaurant off this road. Very few people ever come back here. That’s why I like it.”
Harvath nodded. He didn’t feel much like making conversation. He had been sent halfway around the world to piece together the itinerary of a dead ISIS chemist. Two of his team members had now been shot, and all he had to show for it was a single name, allegedly tied to the Sicilian Mafia.
Vella could tell Harvath was wiped out. He left him alone and they made the rest of the drive in silence.
Arriving at the farm, Haney and Gage were offloaded first and taken to the infirmary.
Because interrogations at the Solarium could be so intense, each prisoner was given a workup beforehand to try to identify any pre-existing medical conditions. There were also the occasional subjects who succumbed to strokes or heart attacks during the process.
When that happened, Vella’s team couldn’t simply summon the local ambulance service. They had to take care of things on their own. Therefore they had a fully equipped medical suite, as well as a team of highly paid medical personnel who quietly worked at the facility on a rotating basis.
There wasn’t much, short of highly specialized or highly technical surgeries, that they couldn’t handle.
The remaining team members were given room assignments and told to help themselves to dinner in the kitchen. Harvath stumbled back there, poured himself a large mug of coffee, and walked to his room. He wanted to grab a quick shower, change his clothes, and then check on Haney and Gage. As tired as he was, he couldn’t turn in until he knew they were both okay.
Dropping his clothes in a pile in the corner of the bathroom, he turned the water on and waited for it to get hot. As he did, he looked in the mirror. His body was covered with bruises. Diving out of a Land Cruiser and getting knocked to the ground by RPG explosions had a way of taking their toll.
When the water was good and hot, he grabbed his coffee and stepped into the shower, afraid he’d fall asleep without it.
He let the water pound against him, and for the first time in a long while, closed his eyes.
Taking a sip of coffee, he tried, for just a moment, to push everything out of his mind. He wanted to not think of anything, to not be responsible for anything or anyone, for just ten seconds.
And for once, he got exactly what he wished for.
CHAPTER 45
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