Page 74 of Spymaster

Sparrman was blabbering at his comrade in Swedish, probably telling him he wanted to be untied so he could rinse all the gasoline off his man parts.

Johansson said something back and then looked at Harvath. “Turn around, slowly, and face away from me,” he ordered.

Harvath obeyed.

“Now place your hands behind your head and get down on your knees.”

Harvath didn’t like the “get down on your knees” part. The cop was either going to cuff him or put a bullet in the back of his head.

“Do it,” Johansson ordered.

Clasping his hands behind his head, slowly Harvath lowered himself to his knees.

He heard something being scuffed out of a leather case, and then the rapid, unmistakable click-click-click of handcuffs being prepared.

But then, suddenly, as if Johansson had changed his mind, there was the sound of a pistol hammer being cocked.

Johansson, though, carried a Glock. And Glocks didn’t have external hammers.

CHAPTER 45

“Very, very slowly,” said Jasinski, who was holding one of the team’s Sig Sauer pistols. “I want you to holster your weapon. Do it now.”

Johansson did as she instructed.

“Lock it closed and snap the retention strap.”

He did that as well.

“Now drop the handcuffs, kick them back toward me, and place your hands on the back of your head.”

Once the police officer had complied, she told Harvath he could stand up.

“Nice to see you,” he said to her. “Just out for a walk?”

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

“For what?”

“Saving your life.”

“I guess that makes us even,” he said with a smile. Approaching Johansson, he got right in the man’s face and said, “There’s only one thing I hate more than the Russians.”

“Really?” the man foolishly replied. “What’s that?”

“A dirty cop,” said Harvath, driving his knee into the officer’s groin.

As the air rushed from his lungs, he dropped to the ground, doubled over in pain. Harvath then punched him behind his right ear, laying him the rest of the way out.

Collecting the handcuffs from Jasinski, he cuffed Johansson and used an outdoor extension cord to bind his ankles and hog-tie him.

“Check his phone,” said Harvath as he removed the man’s duty belt and cast it off to the side. “I want to know everyone he has called or texted over the last two hours.”

Patting him down, she found Johansson’s iPhone in his coat pocket. “It’s locked,” she said.

Grabbing the man’s right index finger, Harvath bent it back so far and so fast it almost snapped. “Here,” he said, as the man cried out in pain. “Try this.”

She placed his finger on the sensor pad and the phone unlocked. “I’m in,” she said.