Foreign Agent

CHAPTER 34

Harvath had been against using Malevsky’s kids if at all possible. It wasn’t their fault they had a shitbag for a father. They were innocents, and as much as Harvath bent and often broke the rules, there were still some lines he was against crossing.

If there was any way to leave the Malevsky children out of this, he wanted to. But there wasn’t. In fact, it was Malevsky himself who had opened the door to their inclusion.

The man was like a block of Russian granite. Harvath could chip off piece after piece, but it was going to take a long time for him to break.

There was also the risk that Malevsky might go into shock, or even die. Things happened. Kumarin was a perfect example. Murphy, of Murphy’s law, had a funny way of popping up when you least expected him.

Malevsky was in a trap he had built for himself. The pain and agony it would cause him was only just beginning.

Harvath didn’t have any reservations about chipping away at him all day long, if that’s what it took. The man had information he needed. Malevsky had been facilitating an assassin who had taken American lives.

Harvath wanted that assassin, and Malevsky was going to tell him everything he knew. By using his children, Harvath hoped to get to the endpoint a lot faster.

“You have two lovely daughters, Mr. Malevsky. They looked to me to be about five and seven years old,” said Harvath. “Am I close?”

The tell once again flashed across the Russian’s face. “If you touch my family,” he hissed, “I will kill you. Do you understand me? I will kill you, motherfucker.”

Harvath ignored his threat. “Who is Sacha Baseyev?”

“I’m going to watch you die. Then I’m going to find the people you care about and I am going to watch them die.”

Harvath backhanded him, hard, and repeated, “Sacha Baseyev. Who is he?”

Malevsky spat a gob of blood on the ground. “I have no idea who you are talking about.”

Harvath gestured to Herman, who walked over and removed the hood from Eichel.

“So what?” said the Russian, unfazed.

Harvath cracked him again, even harder. “Eichel told us everything. Now it’s your turn.”

Malevsky looked up at Harvath, blood running from his nose and mouth, staining the front of his shirt, and smiled through gritted teeth.

Harvath drew back his hand to strike him again, but stopped. Instead, he stepped away, cleaned his hands with the towel, and removed his phone.

“Do your children have any pets, Mr. Malevsky?” he asked.

The Russian refused to answer. Harvath sent a quick text message and then leaned back against the table as he waited for a response.

When his phone chimed, he looked down and read the message out loud. “Your older daughter is allergic to cats. But they have two goldfish.”

The smug smile on Malevsky’s face barely wavered. “With enough money, you can find out anything. Cats, fish. I could even tell you what color underwear your wife is wearing.”

Harvath smiled back at him and sent another text.

Minutes passed. Finally, his phone chimed once more. Harvath read the text and opened the attachment.

Turning the phone around, he showed it to Malevsky. It was a photo of his two daughters. They were holding up pictures they had drawn. One was of a yellow hammer. The other was of a barn. The smile immediately disappeared from the Russian’s face.

“Satisfied?” asked Harvath. “Or would you like to know what color underwear your wife is wearing right now?”

“You. You’re the American who toured my house. What have you done with my family?”

“All that matters is what I am going to do. Anything that happens to them will be because of you. If you cooperate, we’ll let them go.”

“Who is we? America?”

Harvath cupped his hand and struck Malevsky in the left ear. It made a loud pop and the mobster cried out in pain.

“I ask the questions, not you. You give answers. Anything else and I will instruct my colleagues to go to work on your family. Is that clear?”

Malevsky nodded.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes,” the Russian relented. “Clear.”

“Good,” said Harvath. “Now, who is Sacha Baseyev?”