Page 115 of Spymaster

Twice, the man had looked over his shoulder and the fear was evident in his face. Gone was the cool customer on the bench. He had been replaced by a scared animal, running for its life. The apex predator was in his prime and was about to prove once again why he occupied the top of the pyramid. Harvath had never felt as alive, as purposeful, as he did at that moment. He had this, and a smile swept across his face.

Then he heard the roar of a car engine, followed by a quick double-tap on a horn. As Sloane raced past him in one of the GRU sedans, she winked and flashed him the thumbs-up.

Rocketing ahead of Harvath, she caught up to Tretyakov, jerked the wheel quickly to the right, and sent him tumbling across the ground.

When he got to them, she already had him Flex-Cuffed.

“You can make goo-goo eyes at him later,” she cracked, as he stood there, mouth slightly agape. “Come on. Help me get him into the car.”

Harvath obliged, and after seat-belting him in, hopped in the back with him.

“We gone,” stated Sloane, peeling out before Harvath’s door was even closed.

“Has anybody discussed a plan?” asked Harvath, as she pinned the accelerator to the floor.

“The plan is that we get the hell out of here.”

Across the river, Harvath could see the flashing lights from approaching police cars. “Good plan,” he said.

Sloane blasted past the cathedral, where Staelin and Palmer peeled out in another GRU sedan right behind them.

“Any other sights you wanted to see before we left town?” she asked.

“Nope,” replied Harvath. “All good.”

“Okay. Buckle up.”

Harvath fastened his seat belt as she sped across the bridge, pulled up her emergency brake, and drifted into a hard left turn.

The maneuver spat them out onto a wide boulevard and she dropped the hammer.

Weaving in and out of early morning rush-hour traffic, she traded paint with buses and all sorts of other vehicles. No matter how dangerous each prior move that she made was, she found a way to top it.

Glancing out the rear window, Harvath saw that, amazingly, Chase was right behind.

“Do you two have some sort of ESP?” he asked.

“Google maps,” she said, nodding at her phone, which she had jammed into the dashboard in front of the speedometer.

“Where the hell’s our destination?” he asked, as she barely threaded the needle between two semi trucks.

“We’re going to the pickup point.”

“Negative,” said Harvath, from the backseat. “Not until we have swept the cars.”

In the rearview mirror, he could see her roll her eyes. “The Russians can’t even afford new combat boots for all their troops,” she said. “You think they’d waste money on tracking GRU vehicles? InKaliningrad?”

She made a good point. Nevertheless, Harvath wanted to be sure. “Once we’re outside of town, pull over. I’m going to check.”

“I’ll see if we can find a roadside shrine where we can light some candles, too,” she replied, downshifting and swerving around a tour bus.

Harvath looked at Tretyakov, who had wisely kept his mouth shut—but perhaps not because he had any choice. His face was badly battered from the fall he had taken, and based on the swelling that was setting up, Harvath wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he had broken his jaw.

“Tight squeeze!” Sloane yelled from the front seat as she maneuvered between a tram and a delivery truck, knocking the mirrors off on both sides.

Two blocks later they reached the on-ramp for the main route that led west out of the city. Sloane hit it hard, but immediately slowed down as she merged with the traffic.

“Everyone, keep your eyes open,” she said, partly to Harvath and partly to Staelin and Palmer, whom she had on speakerphone in front of her.

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