Page 69 of Dead Fall

Harvath held up his hand to stop the man. “Technically, it was the Russians.”

“Technically, you are correct.”

“So, what are my other options?”

“There are two Russian vehicles inside the barn.”

“Tell me one is a tank,” said Harvath.

“No. There are no tanks. Only a cargo truck and a small, off-road utility vehicle.”

“I’ll take it.”

“You can’t take it,” said Givi. “I need both here. But I will make you a deal.”

“What is it?”

“Since you are Special Services Group, I assume you have experience blowing things up.”

Harvath nodded. “I’ve blown up a few things over my career.”

“Any bridges?”

“One or two. Why?”

“Then you know what you’re doing. None of us have that kind of experience.”

“I don’t understand,” said Harvath. “You’re supposed to protect this bridge, not blow it up.”

“Exactly. We’re going to need to use it. And as I said when we first arrived, I need to make sure that it hasn’t been rigged. If we can find a boat and get some flashlights, would you be willing to go underneath and check it out?”

Harvath wasn’t crazy about yet another delay. Glancing at his watch, he tried to estimate how much time this new task would take.

“If you do this,” the Ukrainian added, “I will personally drive you to your men. What do you think? Do we have a deal?”

“For Oleh,” said Harvath, sticking out his hand.

“For Oleh,” Givi replied, shaking it.

The Ukrainians found an old, aluminum fishing boat, painted puke green, from a bombed-out garage at the edge of the village that somehow had escaped damage. In the fading light, it looked seaworthy, but Harvath couldn’t be positive until he got it in the water.

Accompanying him was one of the larger soldiers, whose job was to man the oars and keep the boat steady against the river’s current.

They unfastened the soft top of the off-road utility vehicle—a jeep-like, Soviet-era UAZ-469, laid the boat across the back, and drove it down to the water, upstream from the bridge.

Once satisfied that it would stay afloat, Harvath and his oarsman shoved off.

Despite being in a hurry, Harvath forced himself to slow down and take his time. He, after all, was going to be one of the first people to cross this bridge. It was in his literal best interest to make sure it was safe.

Coming to that conclusion, however, was a colossal pain in the ass. The amount of wiring that ran beneath the structure was mind-boggling. There were years’ worth of electrical lines, telephone lines, and what looked like an old telegraph cable. What there wasn’t, were explosives.

After having worked his way across the river and back, Harvath was confident that the bridge was safe.

Dragging the boat ashore, he discovered that they had another problem to deal with.

“We can’t find any paint,” said Givi.

“For what?”

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