The Last Patriot

Glancing to his left, he saw that sweat was pouring down the bookseller’s face and that he was shaking. Either he was growing more petrified of their abductor, or there was something else going on with him. It didn’t take long to discover what it was.

As Harvath and the book dealer approached the police, the officer with the paper recognized them. He checked one more time and then alerted his colleagues, one of whom instantly got on his radio.

Harvath thought for sure he was the one they’d recognized, but when the men drew their weapons they yelled for René Bertrand to stop.

The gunman wasted no time. Pointing his Heckler amp; Koch pistol around Harvath’s right side, he fired several shots in rapid succession as all hell broke loose in the lobby of the Grand Palais.

CHAPTER 26

Harvath spun and drove his elbow into the gunman’s solar plexus. As the assassin fell backward, Harvath drew his weapon and looked over just in time to see René Bertrand running back into the hall.

All three cops were down. Two of them were bleeding out and Harvath feared they weren’t going to make it. The third was on his radio, calling for backup.

As people ran screaming in all directions, Harvath had to make up his mind. His priority was the book dealer and after one more glance at the gunman, he took off after him.

Twenty yards ahead, he could see Bertrand, but because of the crowd he couldn’t close the distance. He felt like the proverbial salmon swimming upstream. Raising his weapon into the air, he fired a shot.

Instantly, the crowd parted and Harvath raced after the book dealer. Bertrand took a sharp left, banging his shoulder into a large bookcase and knocking it over.

Harvath leapt over the spill of books and kept on, pushing people out of his way as he ran. He had to remind himself to scan and breathe, scan and breathe. He had no desire to be taken by surprise again.

Less than ten yards away from Bertrand, he noticed what he was running toward-an emergency exit.

As the book dealer neared the door, Harvath fired two shots into the frame and yelled for him to stop. Bertrand might have been foolish, but he wasn’t an idiot. He stopped right where he was.

In the blink of an eye, Harvath was on him. Securing his weapon, he grabbed the book dealer by the collar and punched him hard in the gut with his other hand.

As Bertrand doubled over, Harvath kicked open the fire door and dragged the man outside.

At Cours La Reine , Harvath stopped a 1970s Renault, pulled its teenage driver out, shoved René Bertrand in, and sped off across the Pont Alexandre III bridge back toward the barge.

After ditching the car several blocks from the Quai de la Tournelle, Harvath screwed the sound suppressor onto the end of his Taurus for effect and warned the book dealer what would happen to him if he didn’t cooperate. The two then covered the rest of the distance to the Sargasso safe house on foot, stopping repeatedly to duck into doorways as police cars sped past.

When they reached the péniche, Harvath opened the door of the wheelhouse and shoved René Bertrand down the stairs.

Nichols, who was in the galley brewing tea, and Tracy, who was lying on the couch, were both startled by the commotion.

“Professor,” said Harvath as he slammed Bertrand into a chair at the dining room table, “I need you to find me some rope. There’s probably some up on deck.”

“Right away,” said Nichols as he turned off the stove and disappeared up the stairs.

Tracy swung her feet onto the floor and asked, “This is our rare-book dealer I presume?”

“It certainly is,” replied Harvath.

Tracy studied him. His skin was pale to the point of almost being translucent, and he was drenched with sweat. Though he kept licking them, his lips were dry and cracked. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing. Yet,” said Harvath. “I think our pal here is pretty tight with Harry Jones. Aren’t you, René?”

“He’s a heroin addict?” asked Tracy.

“Who had the French police looking for him at the Grand Palais. That’s why you’re so paranoid, isn’t it, René?”

The book dealer refused to look Harvath in the eye.

“What happened?” said Tracy.

Harvath pulled up a chair and kept his eyes glued to the book dealer’s as he spoke. “René and I were just on our way out of the exhibition hall to discuss our transaction when his 3:30 showed up and stuck a gun in my back.”

Tracy was stunned.

“Apparently, René’s clients are very protective of him,” continued Harvath. “Anyway, whoever this guy was, he was marching us toward the front door when the cops spotted René and yelled for him to stop. The guy behind me fired at them and now two of the cops are probably dead and the third was wounded pretty badly.”

“How did you get away?”

“Our friend René thought it would be a good idea to sneak out one of the emergency exits, and I concurred. Someone was kind enough to lend us a car, which we ditched a couple of blocks away and here we are.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t you the cops were looking for?” asked Tracy.