Chapter 41

CHAPTER 41

Lined with plush cushions, the bow of the brABUS was designed as a luxurious, oversized sun pad. It was a far cry from the cold, unforgiving landscapes Max and Petro usually found themselves in—more like the Ritz than a sniper's perch. Despite the incongruity, they hauled their equipment forward and began setting up their new "office."

After Max's rifle, the only thing nearly as expensive on board were two pairs of thermal binoculars from Newcon Optik. They were like pieces of alien technology. The devices could see through smoke, fog, and countless forms of camouflage. They also had built-in laser rangefinders that could measure distance, azimuth, and inclination for far-off targets—all necessary features for Petro, who was the team's spotter and would be helping Max zero in on Tsybulsky.

For Harvath, however, there was one additional feature that was critical to the mission's success. Everything seen by the binoculars could be recorded and then exported to a peripheral device, such as an iPhone, and subsequently uploaded anywhere—including to social media.

Standing at the darkened stern of the brABUS, he peered through his binoculars. Scanning the yachts leaving Port Hercule, he searched for the telltale pulses of infrared light from the HEL-STARs he had attached to Tsybulsky's vessel.

There was an intermittent breeze, and Harvath could feel the boat begin to roll beneath his feet. A light swell had formed. Max and Petro already had a highly complex and difficult ask. Any change in the environment, no matter how small, was only going to make their job harder.

The team was wearing noise-reduction headsets with boom microphones connected to their individual radios. When Harvath identified Tsybulsky's Lamborghini 63, Hermes, exiting the harbor, he gave the team the heads-up.

While examining the yacht earlier in the day, he hadn't noticed a FLIR camera that would allow its crew night-vision capability. That didn't mean that there wasn't one, perhaps cleverly incorporated somewhere into the vessel's design. There was also the possibility that they had a handheld unit of some sort like what Harvath was using. But even if they did, there was no reason to have it out unless there was an emergency. Just to be safe, Max and Petro had covered themselves with a Predator brand, spectralflage ghillie blanket, which helped reduce both their IR and thermal signatures.

Harvath's hope had been to point the brABUS perpendicular to the shore, and to engage the Hermes as she passed in front of their bow. Not only would it give Max a good, clean profile shot with the .50-cal, but if he missed, the coastline in this area was nothing but concrete seawall and rocky cliff face. There was no worry that any errant rounds would strike and kill innocent bystanders.

All of that was for naught, however, when he saw what Tsybulsky's boat did next, forcing him to recalibrate.

Instead of a nice, leisurely cruise back to Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, someone had decided to drop the hammer.

There was a roar as the throttles were pushed forward and the enormous V-12 engines leapt to life, like a pair of lions being released from a cage.

"We're going to have to chase him," Harvath stated over the radio.

"Roger that," Barton replied. "Everybody hang on."

That Tsybulsky might come out of Port Hercule and decide to put the pedal to the metal had been on Harvath's list of possibilities. The Hermes was a Lamborghini, after all. You didn't spend millions of dollars on a yacht like that if you didn't enjoy speed.

Harvath had no idea why the Russian hadn't stayed longer at the casino, and he didn't care. All he knew was that they needed to keep the man in their sights. Literally. Leaving the brABUS's running lights extinguished, Barton gave chase.

Lying on a floating platform, correcting for wind, while trying to time the up and down of swells, all in order to shoot at a boat as it passed by, was already a monumental undertaking.

Now, however, Max and Petro were going to have to pull it off while speeding after said boat. What's more, their shots would no longer be focused on the side of the yacht, but rather its tail.

Harvath had been concerned that it could come down to this, which was another reason why he had attached the infrared marker lights. Not only would they help positively identify Tsybulsky's boat, but they could also help dictate the area within which Max would have to deliver his rounds. Petro knew how far above the waterline to instruct Max to be aiming to effectively hit their target. The HEL-STARs allowed him to establish dead center.

The pain-in-the-ass factor in all of this, though, was how fast they were moving. To be fair, once the brABUS had popped out of the "hole" and was up on plane, the craft was a lot more stable. But it was far from perfect. Speed could be a real hindrance to accuracy.

The other issue, which the commandos couldn't be bothered with, was that they were now running parallel to the coastline. If one of their shots went wide, someone on the water ahead of Tsybulsky could be killed.

Harvath tried not to think about it. Right now, he had one eye glued to the navigation screen and their GPS location. The biggest problem with the Hermes going like a bat out of hell was that they were very quickly going to leave the territorial waters of Monaco and be back in France. The commandos needed to start slinging lead.

"Light'em up," Harvath ordered over the team's headsets. "Send it!"

Seconds later, the first round from the antimatériel rifle screamed out of the suppressed barrel and rocketed toward the stern of the Hermes.

It was perfectly placed and tore right through the rear sun pad area, which covered the engine compartment.

Petro radioed that they had scored a direct hit and then began helping Max set up his next shot.

Once again the heavy rifle fired, and once again they scored another direct hit. Peering into his thermal binoculars, Petro walked Max through his next shot, which, thanks to a sudden rise in the bow, went straight through the Lamborghini's cockpit and shattered its windshield.

Harvath watched through his binoculars as pandemonium erupted on board the Hermes. Smoke was pouring out of her manifolds and her engine compartment. More importantly, she was slowing down.

Aware that they were under attack from the rear, several of Tsybulsky's men appeared at the yacht's stern, armed with automatic weapons, and began firing.

"Get us as close to them as you can," Harvath told Barton, concerned that they were quickly running out of territorial runway.

Hailing Max, who had fired his two last shots and was now inserting a fresh magazine, he told the sniper to keep putting rounds on the Hermes. He didn't need to tell Petro that it was now his time to shine.

No longer concerned about remaining hidden, the commando cast off the camouflage blanket and moved quickly back to the cockpit area of the brABUS.

Flipping open the lid of a rectangular storm case, he punched several buttons, activating the device inside, and then flashed Harvath the thumbs-up.

Looking through his binos again, Harvath could see not only that the red waterfall rounds had disabled the Lamborghini's V-12 engines, but also that the engine compartment was actively on fire. Crew members sprayed fire extinguishers into the space, trying to put out the flames.

Worried that Tsybulsky's people might have already radioed for help and, seeing that they were almost at the maritime border with France, Harvath slapped the helm's console and commanded Barton to go faster.

The former SEAL gave Max a warning up front and then sliced out of the yacht's wake, pushing the throttles as far forward as they would go.

As the brABUS's deep V-hull cut through the waves, Harvath counted down the remaining distance on the GPS, finally ordering Barton to come to a stop.

"This is it. We launch here," he stated. "Petro. You're up!"

As the commando used a set of nylon straps to lift the device out of its case and lower it into the water, his colleague had readjusted himself at the bow and was firing anew at the Hermes. Little did Tsybulsky or his men know that something much worse than high-explosive incendiary/armor-piercing rounds was headed their way.

The unmanned surface vehicle, or USV for short, that Max and Petro had brought with them was something new. It was similar to the jet-ski-based, waterborne drones that had proven so effective against the warships in Russia's Black Sea fleet, but smaller. Called a Vodyanyk and based on a reworked sea scooter known as SEABOB, it packed a considerable payload and was quite fast.

Not fast enough, however, to catch a vessel that was underway at speed. Ukraine's USVs were meant to target ships that were either docked or moving quite slowly. That was why Tsybulsky's boat needed to be stopped before they could send the USV after it.

"Twenty seconds to contact," Petro announced, using a ruggedized tablet to remotely pilot the Vodyanyk. "Fifteen…"

Harvath watched through his binoculars, digitally recording everything.

As Petro announced, "Impact in five, four, three…" all eyes were on the Hermes. When the explosive-laden USV rammed into it, the detonation was instantaneous.

As a roiling fireball climbed into the night sky, the shock wave from the enormous blast sent a wall of water all the way out to the brABUS, soaking everyone on board.

Minutes later, putting their boat in gear, Harvath and the team piloted through the flaming wreckage of the Hermes, making sure everyone was dead.

There were no survivors. Everything had happened in Monaco's territorial waters. Nothing had crossed the line into France. The operation had been a success.