Page 83 of Spymaster

“What do we know about the nearby houses?” the Chief Inspector asked.

Picking up his tablet from where he had laid it on the roof of the patrol vehicle, Harvath pulled up another photo. “There are four of them. As far as we can tell, they’re all empty. But, if we did have to go hot and a round over-penetrated and exited our target house, there’s a possibility it could enter any one of them.”

“Based on your conversation with Martin Ingesson, I overheard that you were a Navy SEAL?”

Harvath nodded.

“I assume you were taught to control your rounds?”

“It’s not my rounds I’m worried about,” he replied. “Dominik Gashi, or whatever his real name is, may have Sparrman’s Spetsnaz operatives in there. It doesn’t take much to get those boys into a gunfight. And when they’re triggered, they don’t give a damn where their rounds go.”

Nyström took one of his long, pregnant pauses as he tried to figure out the best course forward. “How do you know the other houses aren’t occupied?”

“No lights on inside, no cars outside. We looked through the windows using IR and thermal.”

“There’s no cars outside the target house either.”

“True, but that could be for several reasons. At the cabin Ingesson sent us to, we found an olive Mercedes SUV, under a tarp. If you reexamine Lars Lund’s vehicle back at the wrecking yard, you should see damage to the left rear quarter panel that contains traces of the same paint.”

“So youdidnotice something when you examined the car.”

“I notice lots of things,” said Harvath. “It’s part of my job. It wasn’t worth mentioning at the time. Now it is.”

“Fair enough. What other reasons might there not be any cars near the target house?”

“The house may have been a fallback location for Gashi and the Spetsnaz. If they’re hiding here, they wouldn’t want to give their presence away.

“I disabled their two vehicles in Visby. If they got them working again, maybe they drove here and hid them. They also could have Ubered to a location nearby and hiked the rest of the way in. Same with Gashi.”

It made sense to Nyström, and he nodded. “Before we do anything, I have to check the nearby houses.”

“I just told you they’re empty.”

The Chief Inspector held up his hand. “And I’m the one who might have to answer to a police review board at some point. Change clothes. While you do, I’ll check the houses for myself.”

Reluctantly, Harvath agreed. He waited for Haney to reappear and then sent the two men off together.

Opening the trunk of the car, he removed Johansson’s hood and peeled the duct tape from his mouth.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked.

The man nodded.

Nyström had some water bottles in a crate in the trunk. Grabbing the corrupt cop by his tunic, Harvath lifted him into a kneeling position. Then, opening one of the bottles, he tilted it so that he could drink. Once Johansson had had enough, Harvath screwed the cap back on the bottle and set it back down in the crate with the others.

“Thank you,” said Johansson. “May I urinate?”

There was a time in Harvath’s past where he probably would have vented his anger at the corrupt cop by slamming the lid down on the man’s head. Instead, he looked down at him and said, “Be my guest.”

As he began to object, Harvath tore off a new piece of duct tape, slapped it across his mouth, and put the hood back over his head.

Closing the lid, he picked up the duffle bag, dropped it on the trunk, and began to gear up.

By the time Nyström and Haney returned, Harvath looked like a model Swedish policeman.

The uniform fit so well, he could have been posing for officer of the month, or the much maligned, yet extremely popular Swedish policeman’s calendar.

“Put your coat on,” ordered Nyström. Then pointing at Harvath’s Rattler, added, “Sidearm only. In its holster. Nice and easy. We’re just two cops responding to a suspicious activity call.”