“Police officer,” a voice interrupted from the doorway of the shed. “I also live just outside Visby.”
Harvath spun. Standing there, with his service weapon drawn, was Johansson—the same cop Harvath had seen driving past in Old Town earlier that night.
“Drop the phone,” the officer ordered. “Hands in the air. Keep them where I can see them.”
Harvath, who had been in the shed alone with Sparrman, did as he was instructed. “How did you know we were here?”
“The car rental agency gave me descriptions of your vehicles,” he replied. “Someone thought they had been seen near the Sparrman farm, but we couldn’t confirm that. Tonight, though, I saw your Camry parked in Visby.
“I placed one of these inside the wheel well,” he said, holding up a small, inexpensive GPS device. “When Staffan disappeared from O’Learys, Nikolai called Dominik and Dominik called me. This was the first place I came. When I heard him cry out for help, I knew I had done the right thing.”
And he probably alerted everyone else in the cell that he was coming, thought Harvath. At least the Spetsnaz team, with their vehicles disabled, won’t be able to back him up anytime soon.
That didn’t change the fact, though, that Johansson had the gun and thereby, the upper hand. Harvath had to think of something, quick.
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.
Scrolling through the call logs, she could see that he had talked with someone named Dominik twice in the last hour. The most recent call was ten minutes ago. She shared the information with Harvath.
“What should we do?” she asked.
Harvath duct-taped both men’s mouths and replaced Sparrman’s hood. Picking up the radio, he hailed Haney via his call sign and told him that they had received a visitor and to get down to the shed with an extra hood on the double. Then he motioned for Jasinski to follow him outside.
Once they were out of earshot, he said, “We’re going to have to pack up. We can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Johansson probably didn’t give this location to his dispatcher, but I’ll bet he gave it to the cell leader.”
“Is that the one from Johansson’s phone?” she asked. “Dominik?”
“According to Sparrman, his full name is Dominik Gashi. Probably an alias.”
“GRU?”
“That’d be my guess,” said Harvath.
“So what do you want to do?”
“I want to get the hell out of Sweden, but first I want to get my hands on this Dominik character.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“We’re going to have to ask for help,” he replied.
“From who?”
“The local police.”
• • •
When Harvath rolled up to the wrecking yard in a Swedish police car, Chief Inspector Nyström’s first instinct had been to draw his pistol. He didn’t, deciding instead to honor his promise to hear the American out.
Opening the gate, he allowed the car to pass through and then closed and locked it behind him.
“Where’s my officer?” Nyström asked once Harvath had stopped and gotten out.
“He’s safe.”
“That was going to be my second question. This is Johansson’s vehicle. Where is he?”
“He’s not far,” said Harvath.
“What’s this all about?”
“I think Johansson should tell you.”
The moment Harvath’s hand went inside his coat, the Chief Inspector went for his gun.
“Easy,” cautioned Harvath, showing him the phone. “Everything’s okay.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Nyström ordered, uncomfortable with all of the subterfuge.
“Chief Inspector, you’ve got a very dangerous cell of Russian operatives here on Gotland. The cell includes a contingent of Russian Special Forces soldiers. Of the six Swedish nationals who are members of the cell, your officer, Magnus Johansson, is one.”
Nyström wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “Johansson? He’s an exemplary officer. You had better have some very strong evidence.”
“I do,” said Harvath as he played back a portion of the audio from the equipment shed.