Takedown

As he stood up to make his move, a young man entered the establishment and, after flitting around for a moment or two, made his way over to Mohammed bin Mohammed’s table and sat down.

With no choice but to wait it out, Harvath ordered a beer and kept his eyes glued to the table. There was no way he could kill Mohammed when there was a witness present.

After two more rounds of cocktails, Mohammed and the boy stood up to leave. Harvath left some money on the bar, and once the pair had passed him, he counted to twenty and followed them outside.

As the two walked, Mohammed slid his hand down the boy’s back and let it linger on his rear end. Harvath hoped that when he dispatched Mohammed to the hereafter, Allah would have a very special cell waiting for him.

When they arrived at the villa, Harvath took up the post he had been using to surveil the house for the past couple of nights. He would wait until the boy left and then he’d sneak inside and take Mohammed out. Though he wasn’t crazy about having to wait, there was nothing he could do about it. Harvath had no desire to kill an innocent bystander, and while he could probably take a shot through one of the open windows, he wanted to be as close as possible as he watched the very last drops of Mohammed bin Mohammed’s life drain away.

The al-Qaeda operative led the boy out onto the veranda, then stepped back inside to make another cocktail. As he did so, Harvath noticed movement at the other end of the house.

As his eyes swung in that direction, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Inside were two enormous white wolves that were carefully making their way toward bin Mohammed.

One Hundred Three

When Harvath looked closer, he realized that what he was seeing weren’t wolves at all, but rather two extremely large dogs. They resembled the type of animal he’d seen the Russian army use. They also appeared to both be wearing harnesses of some sort. And where there were dogs, Harvath knew there was normally a handler, though for the moment he couldn’t see one.

He watched as the animals silently crept forward-obviously taking great pains so as not to be detected. Harvath was marveling at their discipline, when he finally saw the handler. It was only a glimpse at first and then, as one of the animals turned, he could make the figure out in its entirely. It was amazing. From Harvath’s vantage point the man couldn’t have been more than two-and-a-half to three-feet tall, max. The dogs towered over him.

Harvath focused on the bizarre weapon the man was carrying. It looked like it was crafted of plastic-style polymers and some kind of alloy. Obviously, it had been custom-made to accommodate the dwarf’s small size. But who the hell was he and what did he want with Mohammed bin Mohammed? Were the people Mohammed was doing the nuke deal with trying to double-cross him?

Leaping the small wall at the far end of the veranda, Harvath took cover just as Mohammed bin Mohammed stepped outside with a drink in each hand, oblivious to the threat quickly advancing on him from within the villa.

Handing one of the cocktails to his guest, Mohammed prepared to lie down alongside him on the chaise, when suddenly he heard a terrible growling from behind. Spinning around, he saw a hideous little dwarf flanked by two of the most vicious-looking dogs he’d ever encountered in his life. The sight was such a shock that the man’s large glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the flagstone terrace.

“Who are you?” demanded Mohammed. “What do you want?”

The dwarf signaled for the boy to rise from the lounge chair and step away from his host. Mohammed was surprised to see the young man so readily comply. His confusion evaporated as the young man approached the dwarf, stuck out his hand, and was given several large bills before quickly leaving the villa.

At the dwarf’s command, the dogs fell silent.

“Who are you?” repeated Mohammed. “What do you want?”

The Troll smiled. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Of course not. We’ve never met. I have absolutely no idea who you are.”

“You may not remember me, but surely you remember the Black Sea. There was a brothel near the town of Sochi.”

What little color remained in the al-Qaeda operative’s face now completely drained away. Could this be the same dwarf? If it was, then yes, he did remember him. He remembered the brothel too. Mohammed had wanted a very young boy, not a dwarf, but when the madam and her husband said that the dwarf was the best they were able to do, he had decided it was better than nothing and had had his way with him. Afterward, he had felt so disgusted with himself that he had beaten the little creature almost to death. If it hadn’t been for the quick thinking of one of the whores, who was able to give the dwarf the breath of life and compress his chest until his heart restarted, he would never have returned to the realm of the living.

“I paid dearly for that misunderstanding,” replied Mohammed. “The proprietors’ silence did not come cheap.”