CENTRE ANTOINE LACASSAGNE
NICE
THE NEXT MORNING
As soon as Nekrasov’s driver, Valery, had put his boss into the elevator and the doors had closed, Staelin popped out from behind a parked car and hit him with the Taser.
“Coming up,” he said over his earbud, as the big Russian fell to the floor of the garage.
“Good copy,” Harvath replied.
Seconds later, on the building’s third floor, the elevator chimed, its doors opened and Nekrasov stepped out.
He was in a foul mood. He didn’t like being dragged back for a second opinion on whether his wife’s implants should be removed. The only thing that made it worthwhile was that the facility had exceptionally attractive nurses. With what a headache Eva had been, he was tilting now, more than ever, toward taking a mistress. Maybe he would find one here.
Even though he was late, again, he spent a few minutes chatting up the nurses at the front desk before being directed back to his wife’s room, where she was awaiting her exam.
When he entered the room, without knocking, a new doctor was already chatting with her. He stood in the doorway for a second, feeling the doctor was somehow familiar.
“Please close the door,” the man in the white lab coat said, without fully turning around to face him.
Nekrasov did as he was asked.
Once he had closed the door, Harvath turned and pointed a suppressed Glock 43 pistol at him—just like the one the assassin sent to Key West had confronted him with.
“Hello, Nikolai,” said Harvath. “Take a seat. We’re going to have a chat.”
“You,” the Russian grumbled angrily. “You have the nerve to accost me in front of my wife. You have no—”
“Shut up,” Eva interrupted her husband. “Do what he says. Sit down.”
Nekrasov complied.
Harvath pulled out his phone, activated a banking app, and held it an inch away from the man’s face. “Don’t blink,” he commanded. “Don’t even fucking move.”
There was a click and Harvath then swiped to another screen. Placing the suppressor against Nekrasov’s forehead, he extended the phone again, this time saying, “Right thumbprint, in the red box. Do it now.”
Nekrasov did as Harvath demanded, stating, “That boy you killed wasn’t just President Peshkov’s son; Misha was my godson.”
“He was also a fucking psychopath,” said Harvath. “You should have stayed out of it.”
“I bet one hundred million dollars against you.”
“And you lost.”
“I never lose,” said the Russian.
A moment later, Eva’s phone chimed.
Harvath looked at her. “Everything good?”
She nodded.
“Are we happy?”
“Very,” she replied.
Turning his attention back to Nekrasov, he stated, “You have no idea how lucky you are. Every single day when you wake up, you had better thank God for your wife and for your children. The day you stop thanking Him, is the day I’ll be back.”
With that, he turned and disappeared.
On their way back to the airport, Haney, who was riding shotgun, turned around to face Harvath. Holding out his phone, he showed him a website and asked, “That place in Lithuania, where you wanted me to send the wooden crosses, is the total still five?”
“No,” Harvath replied. “For right now, it’s only going to be four. But bookmark that page, just in case we ever have to come back.”