In their patrol uniforms, they both got into the patrol vehicle and headed down the narrow beach road toward the house.
A light fog had begun to gather. Nyström was on edge. Harvath could see it by how tightly he gripped the steering wheel.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” said Harvath.
“Have you done this a lot?”
“Use the police as a ruse in order to capture a bad guy?”
The Chief Inspector nodded.
“I have, actually.”
“Where?”
Harvath thought for a moment. “The last time was in Germany. Similar to this. We had an actual Bundespolizei officer, in uniform, as another member of my team posed as a plainclothes detective from the Kriminalpolizei.”
“I assume it worked, or we wouldn’t be doing this, right?”
“It worked perfectly. The target was also a Russian. They treat the police in their own country with disdain, but when operating abroad, especially illegally, they’re highly deferential to law enforcement.
“That’s why I like this approach. It’s safer. They don’t want any trouble, so they go along with what a uniformed officer asks. By the time they realize what’s happening, it’s too late. You have them.”
“And what happened to that Russian?” asked Nyström.
“To be honest,” replied Harvath, “I don’t know. It was only my job to pick him up.”
“Who hired you for the job?”
Harvath smiled. “I can’t remember.”
“I see,” said the Chief Inspector, relaxing a little bit. “I imagine memory loss happens a lot in your business.”
“I wouldn’t know. I keep forgetting.”
Nyström grinned. He was fairly certain that the American was much more than just a NATO liaison.
As they neared the house, the Chief Inspector said, “Don’t talk. Just follow my lead.”
Harvath nodded. “Don’t worry. My Swedish isn’t that good. That’s why I have you along. I plan to let you do all the talking.”
“Good. We’ll start off with an inspection of the perimeter. You still have your flashlight? The one that’s brighter than mine?”
He pulled it from his pocket and gave a quick flash against the palm of his hand.
“Okay, then,” said Nyström, pulling up near the house. “Here we are.”
Reaching behind, he withdrew a handheld spotlight, plugged it into the cigarette lighter, and handed it to Harvath. “Roll down your window and sweep the light slowly across the house and around the perimeter.”
Harvath did as the Chief Inspector had asked. When it was complete, he turned off the light, rolled up his window, and handed it back. “What now?”
“Now,” he said, lifting the microphone of his police radio to his mouth and pretending to toggle the Talk button, “we call it in, and then we exit the vehicle.”
Harvath followed his lead and exited the vehicle. They both got their flashlights out and began sweeping the area with their beams. Then, slowly, they walked a complete circle around the house. Though he couldn’t see his team set back in the trees, Harvath knew they were there.
Curtains were drawn across most of the windows. Where they could, they peered inside. Either housekeeping had never come after the last set of guests, or there were several people inside who had quickly scrambled for cover. There were coffee cups and dirty dishes visible in the kitchen.
Nyström rattled the back door, to see if it was unlocked, and then kept moving. Eventually, they made it back around to the front of the structure.
Walking up the front steps, the Chief Inspector approached the front door and gave a loud “police” knock.
He allowed a few moments for a response, and when no one came to the door, he knocked again, even louder this time. He knew there were people inside and he was making it quite obvious.
Suddenly, they heard noises as someone made his way to the door. In a move so subtle that Nyström didn’t even see it, Harvath unfastened the safety mechanism on his holster. Fortunately, the Swedish police also carried the Sig Sauer, so he had been able to bring his own sidearm along.
He stood half a step back, just behind the Chief Inspector’s right side. He had wanted to be up front, but it was out of the question. Nyström had to take point, as the encounter had to be done in Swedish.
Having dated several Swedish flight attendants, Harvath spoke a little of the language, but it was composed of relatively useless words — pickup lines, a few naughty sentences, and drinking songs, and some tourist phrases he had used when he’d previously been over to visit. And, of course, it was all built upon the foundation of the first thing anyone learns in a foreign language — swear words.
All of it was useless as the door opened and Nyström leaned in to engage.
The first thing the man did was something Harvath had watched seasoned American cops do. The moment the door opened, he stuck the toe of his boot inside so that it couldn’t be closed.
As soon as Harvath saw him, he knew that they had their man. Gashi’s Swedish was terrible, and he asked the police officer if he spoke English. As he had done with Harvath upon their first meeting, the Chief Inspector instantly transitioned over.
“Good evening,” he said. “Just a routine check. A neighbor called in a report of suspicious activity.”
Gashi looked around, trying to ascertain which neighbor it might have been, then flicked his eyes toward Harvath. “I haven’t seen anything,” he said,
“Are you the owner of this house?”
“No, I am the caretaker.”
“Are you alone inside?”
“I’m sorry,” Gashi replied. “What exactly is it that you are looking for?”
“We’re just here taking a look and making sure everything is okay,” Nyström reassured him. “It’s quite late. Are you living in this house?”
“Me? No. I have a full-time job at FörsPak. I do my caretaking on the side — at night and on weekends.”
“May I see some identification, please?”
“Of course,” the man replied, flicking his eyes toward Harvath again.
If Harvath didn’t know any better, he would have sworn that the man had recognized him from somewhere. But that was impossible.
What Harvath couldn’t know was that Gashi recognized him from the CCTV footage that Johansson had pulled from Visby Hospital.
Regardless, Harvath’s ‘Spidey sense’ was officially tingling. Transitioning the flashlight to his left hand, he let his right hand drop and hover just above his holster.
Keep an eye on his hands, he thought as Dominik Gashi reached back as if to retrieve his wallet.
Instead, the man pulled out something that looked like a Victorian surgical instrument. It was long and highly polished, catching what little light there was in the fog.
Gashi slashed in a downward motion with amazing speed. His target — Chief Inspector Nyström.
Upon seeing the blade, Harvath reacted. He drove his left shoulder into Nyström, trying to knock him out of the weapon’s path.
At the same time, he double-punched the tail cap of his flashlight, triggering an eruption of strobe lights. He tilted the beam as best he could, hoping to catch Gashi in the face to blind him, as he drew his pistol.
He fired twice at the man’s left knee and then two more times into his left shoulder. He wanted him incapacitated, not dead.
The Russian dropped the knife and it clattered to the ground as he stumbled backward. Stepping in, Harvath kicked it aside and shoved Nyström fully out of the way.
Holstering his pistol, he quickly patted Gashi down to make sure he didn’t have any more weapons. Then, grabbing him by the collar, he yanked him away from the house and back toward the patrol car.
The Chief Inspector was slow to follow.
When Harvath looked back, he could see that the Swede was badly injured. He was bleeding profusely from his left arm and part of his chest.
He had raised his arm to shield himself from Gashi’s knife, which had cut right through the chunky plastic strap of his digital watch, and deep into his forearm, and had kept going across part of his chest — above where his vest was. The weapon was incredibly sharp, having cut through his jacket and the uniform beneath before slicing through his flesh, revealing bone.
Dumping Gashi behind the patrol vehicle, Harvath buffaloed him with the butt of his Sig Sauer and gave the signal for his team to move in.
Just as they began to appear from the trees Gashi’s own team appeared in the windows and the doorway of the house, and opened fire.