Brad Thor - Path Of The Assassin

As they drove, Harvath pulled hard on the wheel to avoid a piece of debris in the road. A strong burst of wind caught the car and raised it up on two wheels before roughly dropping it back onto the street. Scot shot Sammy a look.

Sammy cupped his hand over his cell phone and said to Harvath, “Dai feng-Cantonese for ‘great wind.’”

“Blow me,” replied Harvath, “American for ‘shitty car.’”

Sammy went back to his phone conversation while Harvath hunched over the steering wheel and tried to peer through the foggy windshield. There was no air-conditioning in the car, as it was meant to be driven with its top down, and opening the window even a crack would allow gallons of water to pour inside. Harvath used the sleeve of his jacket to clean a patch of glass to see through. Though the car had wipers, they weren’t strong enough to keep up with the driving rain.

Streetlamps swung violently in the wind, and Scot worried one might topple over and crash through the car’s soft convertible top. Cheng punched the end button on his cell phone and turned to Harvath.

“They’re not releasing any more Jetfoils from Hong Kong. It took some doing, but the rest of the team has scrambled one of the Cougarteks from the Marine Division. That boat’s fast, but they’re at least forty-five minutes behind us.”

As a former SEAL and aficionado of go-fast boats, Harvath knew the craft well, but even with its radar, thermal imaging, and advanced navigation equipment, if the weather got any nastier, the rest of the SDU team could be delayed for hours or worse, forced to turn back for good.

It was best to assume that he and Cheng would not be getting any backup.

“Let’s stay as close as we can to our man,” said Cheng, “and hope we get lucky. No weapons unless absolutely necessary. The Lisboa is going to be filled with civilians.”

Harvath nodded his understanding and swung the car into the driveway of the majestically lit building. Through the windshield, they could just see Lee get out of his taxi and enter the hotel. When they pulled up under the awning, the rain finally abated and the absence of its pounding on the canvas roof of the car was almost deafening. A valet decked out in foul-weather gear opened Harvath’s door and welcomed him to the Hotel Lisboa.

Harvath handed him the key and took one last look at the storm before entering the building.

The casino was a four-storied enormity. The gargantuan rotunda was filled with smoke and noise. Gamblers at the tables shouted and competed to be heard over the ringing of slot machines and the clanging of coins into stainless-steel payout trays. Cocktail waitresses floated by, carried on the winds of greed and human avarice, as mountains of chips were won and lost. People didn’t come here for a good time-they came to gamble.

And so, too, had Scott Harvath, Sammy Cheng, and William Lee. They were hoping against the odds that they would be able to finally capture Philip Jamek. Harvath had always marveled that these kinds of law-enforcement operations happened around the world on a daily basis and that most people had no idea. So many took civilization for granted without realizing that it was birthed and maintained at the point of a sword. Someone needed to hold that sword and even, on occasion, swing it in order to help stave off chaos.

Around the rotunda were a series of ornate, semiprivate gaming rooms with required minimum bets of a thousand Hong Kong dollars. Thankfully, William Lee had taken a seat at one of the cheaper Pai Kao tables on the main floor. Harvath and Cheng hung back as far as they dared. Several times, they had lost sight of Lee as he made his way through the crowded casino. The Hotel Lisboa billed itself as a city within a city, and there were certainly enough people here to back up that claim. No one seemed to care that there was a major typhoon developing outside. All that mattered was the gambling.

Harvath and Cheng took up positions a few tables away from Lee and continued their surveillance. Harvath was beginning to wonder where their merry little chase would lead next when Cheng broke the silence.

“Contact,” he said quietly.

A middle-aged man in a well-tailored linen suit had taken the chair next to Lee. The man’s blond head was bowed as he played his cards, but to the trained eye, it was obvious that he and Lee were talking. After a few moments, the man reached inside his suit coat. Harvath tensed and reflexively reached for his pistol, but then relaxed when the man withdrew an oversized gold lighter and placed it on the table in front of him. Their target never withdrew a cigarette.

The conversation between Lee and the stranger continued until Lee twisted the ring on his left hand and then pulled twice at his shirt cuff. The signal! He was talking with Jamek himself.

Scot and Sammy collected their chips and prepared to get up from the table. At the same moment, Jamek reached out, placed a ringed hand on Lee’s shoulder, and then stood. Lee’s body tensed as Jamek quickly moved away from the table. A few moments later, Lee began convulsing. Harvath and Cheng no longer cared if they were spotted, and ran toward the table as Lee fell forward into violent spasms.

Cheng had slightly longer legs, but Harvath was better at pushing people out of his way and made it to William Lee first. When he flipped him over, he saw that his eyes had rolled up into his head. His hands were clenched in tight fists and his rigid back was arched so high you could have driven a truck underneath him. A small group of horrified onlookers had begun to gather.

“What the hell’s going on?” Sammy said as he reached them.

“He’s been drugged or poisoned,” replied Harvath.

“With what?”

“I don’t know. We need to get him help. You grab his arms, and I’ll get his legs.”

Cheng did as Harvath instructed, but when they were only a few feet away from the table, he stopped.

“What are you doing?” yelled Harvath.

“The lighter. That son of a bitch left that big gold lighter on the table. We might be able to get prints off it.”

Harvath looked over at the abnormally large lighter sitting on the table, and in a flash, his instincts took over.

“Leave it. We’ve got to get away from here.”

“What?”

“He left it there on purpose. Move!” yelled Harvath.

With Lee between them, the two men began to run for the exit. Seconds later, an explosion rocked the table behind them and sent an enormous fireball rolling through the casino, knocking the trio to the ground. The back of Harvath’s jacket was on fire, and he quickly tore it off, revealing the tactical holster tucked at the small of his back. The newly visible pistol only added to the panic of the already screaming casino patrons.

Harvath ignored them and bent over to take Lee’s pulse as the sprinkler system kicked in. The convulsions had stopped and Lee’s eyes were no longer rolled up into his head. His muscles relaxed, his pulse was normalizing, and his breathing was beginning to steady. Whatever he’d been injected with had had an extremely violent, but short-lived effect, creating the perfect diversion.

When Cheng was convinced that Lee would make it, he pulled a nine-millimeter Beretta pistol from beneath his coat and instructed a nearby security guard to watch over his partner and radio for medical attention right away. Then Cheng turned angrily to Harvath, “First we find him, and then we kill him.”

“We’ve got to take him alive, Sammy,” said Harvath as they stood up and began searching for Jamek. He knew Cheng understood why. Harvath had filled him in before the mission began. He’d explained that when President Rutledge had first been kidnapped, the operation launched to recover him. It turned out to be a trap. The entire team the U.S. had sent in was killed. Harvath knew the Lions had contracted it out, but he didn’t know to whom. The Lions’ former leader, Gerhard Miner, was awaiting trial in Switzerland, but refused to answer any questions. The only other surviving member of the organization was Gerhard Miner’s moneyman, Philip Jamek, who had just tried to kill them. Harvath was certain the man knew something. Even the smallest detail might help illuminate the dark abyss in which the American intelligence community was working. Without Jamek, no one would ever know who had been behind the ambush of the Special Operations team and Harvath couldn’t let that happen. He had made those fallen men a promise.