Foreign Agent

CHAPTER 41

When Viktor Sergun entered his apartment, the first thing he noticed was that his electricity wasn’t working.

Old East German Building, he thought to himself. Old wiring. He was Russian. He was used to things not working.

He made his way to the kitchen. The electrical box was in the pantry. So was his flashlight. There was another in the bedroom, but he didn’t feel like walking through the dark to retrieve it.

He knew the apartment well enough to navigate into the kitchen without one. It was like all the other cheap apartments his government had placed him in around the world.

He couldn’t really complain, though. He had lived in places much worse. At least he was in Europe.

Laying his coat over the back of the lone chair at the breakfast table, he crossed over to the pantry. Hopefully, it was just a fuse. He had a small box of spares sitting on one of the shelves.

He opened the door of the pantry and POP!

Sergun heard the sound at the same time he saw the red light of a laser pointed right at his chest. That was the last thing he remembered before the searing-hot pain shot through his entire body.

The Taser still in his hand, Harvath sprang from the pantry as Sergun’s body hit the kitchen floor. He didn’t bother to remove the barbed metal probes from the man’s chest. There wasn’t time.

Rolling him onto his stomach, he placed plastic EZ Cuff restraints over the Russian’s wrists and yanked them tight. He then did the same with his ankles.

He finished by tearing off a piece of duct tape from the roll in his coat pocket and placing it over the military attaché’s mouth. Looking up, he nodded.

Herman began radioing commands to his team as he laid out a black plastic body bag in the hallway. It had been punctured with airholes so that Sergun would still be able to breathe.

As they bent down to pick him up, he began to struggle. Harvath waved Herman back and depressed the trigger of the Taser again.

The painful burst of electricity raced through the Russian’s body like shards of broken glass and he went completely rigid.

When the pulse ended, they rolled him over and picked him up. Harvath had his shoulders and Herman his feet.

They carried him into the hall and laid him on top of the unzipped body bag. Harvath patted him down, going through his pockets, around his waistband, the seams of his trousers, everywhere. Russian intelligence officers were notorious for the escape and evasion materials they hid on their persons.

In addition to his passport, credit cards, and a roll of cash, Harvath found a handcuff shim, a small razor blade, and a length of diamond-encrusted string that could be used to saw through restraints.

Once those items were removed, he and Herman half-mummified the man with duct tape. The less he was able to move, the better.

When he was sufficiently immobilized, Herman let his men know that they were ready to roll. Zipping up the body bag, they waited for a knock on the apartment door.

Seconds later, there was a soft rap. Herman let Bosch and Farber in, everyone grabbed a handle, and they exited the apartment, closing the door behind them.

They moved quickly to the stairs and headed down the three floors to the street.

As soon as they stepped outside, Adler rolled up in Herman’s BMW and popped the trunk.

Harvath looked up and down the sidewalk. There was no one in sight. Nodding, he gave the order to move.

They threaded the space between two parked cars, and threw Sergun in the trunk.

Herman then shut the lid and climbed in back with Harvath and Farber. Bosch jumped into the front passenger seat and Adler drove off. The entire operation had taken less than ten minutes.