The First Commandment

Removing the Taser from the holster at the small of his back, Harvath pressed the device against Palmera’s neck and pulled the trigger. Even without an additional cartridge that could be fired from a distance, up close the Taser could still be used as an effective touch-stun weapon.

Instantly, Palmera’s body locked up, and he fell forward out of the chair. When he hit the floor, his nose bore the brunt of the impact and shattered.

As Harvath helped him back into his seat, he leaned in toward his ear and said, “You know every one of those cases of people dying in America via a Taser are bullshit. Ninety-nine percent of the time they have an underlying heart condition. How’s your heart, Ronaldo?”

“Fuck you,” the man spat as he fought to fully regain his breath.

Harvath placed the Taser on the other side of his neck and said, “We can do this all night. I brought lots of extra batteries.”

Palmera began to spit in his face, so Harvath let him ride the buffalo again.

Harvath placed the man back in his chair and waited until his breathing had stabilized. “If this isn’t getting your attention, we can prepare a footbath for you and get the battery out of your truck. It’s up to you.”

Instead of English, this time Palmera cursed at him in Spanish. It was a subtle indication that they were beginning to wear him down.

Palmera’s broken nose was bleeding, so Harvath signaled for Finney to bring them a towel from the kitchen.

When Finney returned and handed him the towel, Harvath wrapped his hand with it, grabbed Palmera’s nose as hard as he could, and pulled the man toward him.

The assassin roared in pain. Harvath made sure he spoke loud enough to be heard. “What were you doing in D. C.? How’d you find my house? How’d you find my mother’s house?”

Palmera didn’t answer. He was on the verge of passing out from the pain. “Why are you targeting the people around me?” demanded Harvath. “Are you working alone or did someone send you? Answer me!”

Harvath was ready to give the scumbag another ride for five with the Taser when Finney put a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t need to say anything. The gesture was enough. They had all night if they needed to work on him. Beating him unconscious would only serve to hinder what they had come to do. They were here to get information, and if Harvath didn’t get control of his emotions, he was going to blow it.

He let go of Palmera’s broken nose and tried to push the images of what had happened to Tracy and his mother from his mind. There’d be plenty of time to take out his full anger on Palmera, but not yet.

Harvath stepped away from his prisoner and watched as the man’s chin slumped against his chest. It was a good thing Finney had stopped him when he had. Palmera’s eyes were unfocused and half-closed.

Just as Harvath was about to slap him around a bit to bring him to, Palmera began mumbling. It was faint and neither Harvath, Finney, nor Parker could understand what he was saying. He was probably just reciting verses from the Koran. They all did that when they were scared. No matter how tough Palmera thought he was, he was no match for Harvath. It was very likely that the man saw in Harvath what Harvath had seen in him-the ability and the willingness to kill.

Until Harvath knew exactly what Palmera was saying, he knew he needed to treat every utterance as potentially important. Placing the Taser up against the man’s groin, Harvath sent the unmistakable message that Palmera could keep playing the tough guy, but that it would be at his own peril.

As Harvath leaned forward to try to decipher what the man was saying, there was what sounded like an enormous oak tree being split down the center by a white-hot bolt of lightning. Harvath’s vision dimmed and he stumbled backward.

Bumping into the coffee table, he lost his balance. From somewhere behind where Palmera had been sitting, Harvath heard the sound of breaking glass and Finney and Parker desperately shouting at each other.

Seconds later there came the sound of squealing tires from outside on the street. It was followed by a sickening thud, and even in his haze Harvath knew that a car had hit someone. He prayed it wasn’t Palmera.

Shaking off the stars that were clouding his vision, along with his self-contempt for being suckered into such a powerful headbutt, Harvath forced himself to his feet and struggled out the door and into the street.

Finney looked up from where Ronaldo Palmera’s mangled body lay beneath the bumper of a dented green taxi cab and shook his head.

Harvath moved toward the corpse and Ron Parker grabbed his arm. “He’s dead,” said Parker. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Not yet,” replied Harvath, as he slipped out of his friend’s grasp and walked over to Palmera.

A crowd was beginning to form, but Harvath ignored them. Bending down, he slid the digital camera from his pocket, snapped a picture, and removed the man’s disgusting boots.

Joining Finney and Parker back on the sidewalk, Harvath said, “Now we can go.”

Chapter 41