Path of the Assassin

CHAPTER 11

As Harvath came to, he could make out the sound of jet engines and knew he was in some kind of airplane. He tried to move his arms, but as his eyes began to focus, he saw that he was cuffed to his seat. The man whose head he had bounced off the car fender earlier was taking his blood pressure.

“It looks like he’s coming around,” said the man, sporting two butterfly bandages above his eye.

As a figure appeared from the cockpit, Harvath looked around and realized the small private jet was filled with several other passengers, all more or less of the same build and don’t fuck with me look. Before Harvath could say anything, the man who had emerged from the cockpit drew alongside him and said, “It looks like sleeping beauty is finally awake.”

Harvath had been right. He had indeed recognized one of the men who had jumped him in Jerusalem. “Well, well. If it isn’t Rick, the Prick, Morrell. It’s been a long time,” he said.

“Not long enough,” replied the man.

“Let’s see here,” continued Harvath, “substandard help, a private jet, ability to get me out of the country, and someone foolish enough to bankroll all of this and put you in charge. Still working for the CIA, Ricky?”

“Aren’t you clever. You still don’t know how to keep your ass out of a sling, though, do you? You’ve ruffled some pretty serious feathers, Harvath.”

“I know. It was very un-Christian of me not to give you that loan for your sex change operation. I still believe you’ll regret it, but if you’ve thought it through and it’s what you really want, then I’m behind you one hundred percent. Untie me and I’ll write you a check.”

Three seats back, someone snickered.

“Zip it!” snapped Morrell, who then turned back to Harvath. “You know, I never thought much of your sense of humor.”

“Actually, Ricky, you never thought much of anything — not honor, not integrity, not character… and that’s why you washed out as a SEAL. But until places like the CIA raise their hiring standards, I guess guys like you will always have a job.”

Morrell moved in and smiled at Harvath, but it wasn’t with goodwill. “I had full license to bring you in by any means necessary; alive or otherwise. I could have easily overlooked an air bubble in the hypo and left you for dead on the street back in Jerusalem, so don’t talk to me about integrity and character. We are exactly alike, you and me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Morrell. You and I are nothing alike. We never were. I don’t like your politics, and I don’t like the way you do business.”

“I’ll remember that next time I’m asked to use my discretion in bringing you in. Now, it’s a long flight back to Virginia. Can I get you anything?”

“Sure. First, I want a cocktail and then I want some answers. Who the fuck authorized you to pick me up, and what’s this all about? And while we’re at it, take these cuffs off me.”

“No, I don’t think so. I think I’d prefer to have you stay right where you are. As far as your answers are concerned, you’ll have plenty of time to ask questions when we get home. In the meantime, as I am still within the purview of my discretion, I think I may be able to accommodate you on that cocktail. It won’t be exactly what you had in mind, but I think it will make for a very peaceful flight for the rest of us.”

Morrell snapped his fingers, and the man with the butterfly bandages handed over a syringe, as well as a moist cotton ball.

Morrell rolled up Harvath’s sleeve and swabbed his muscular forearm with antiseptic as he readied the needle.

“You’re already looking at a very serious ass-kicking as it is, Ricky,” said Scot. “Knock me out again and I’m going to pack a lunch and make it an all-day affair.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” said Morrell as he plunged the needle into Harvath’s arm and watched his eyes roll back up into his head.