Chapter 58

CHAPTER 58

P ARIS

Getting behind the wheel of the SUV, Harvath selected the fastest route out of the Bois de Boulogne and stepped on the gas.

From the back seat, Staelin relayed updates on both Haney, who had taken a round straight through his right arm, and Johnson, who had taken a bullet in the back, somewhere above his left hip, and which had not exited.

Staelin was alarmed not only by Haney's blood loss, but by Johnson's possible internal bleeding and organ damage. They didn't want some guy with a staple gun and Crazy Glue, they needed an actual surgeon with proper tools and medicines. And they needed that person to work with them off the books. Showing up at a regular hospital with gunshot wounds was out of the question. It was the fastest way, short of dialing 1-1-2, the European version of 9-1-1, to summon the police.

Crossing the Seine via the Pont de Suresnes, Harvath wove through traffic, merged onto the Quai Léon Blum, and, flipping a mental coin, elected to head south. He had no idea yet where they were going. All he knew was that they needed to put as much distance between themselves and the shoot-out as possible. Soon enough the French cops would be erecting barricades and casting a dragnet over the city.

Being outside the city limits proper would be a good initial means to avoid police, but it wouldn't make any difference if he couldn't get Haney and Johnson the medical attention they needed.

As he swung around a slow-moving car in front of him, Harvath's phone vibrated with a call. Pulling it out, he answered it and put it on speaker.

"What have you got?"

"La Clinique Saint-Raphael," Nicholas replied. "It's a six-bed, short-stay surgical center. Facelifts, tummy tucks, and rhinoplasty are their bread and butter. The surgeon who runs the place, a guy named René Jourdain, used to do covert, off-the-books medicine for the CIA until he got PNG'd for selling prescription meds to embassy employees. He's a bit of a wild card, but he's the best I can do on short notice."

That was all Harvath needed to hear. "Text me the address and make sure he has Haney's and Johnson's blood types ready to go. We'll be there as soon as we can."

Harvath's mental coin flip and decision to go south had paid off. Jourdain's clinic was located at the southern edge of Paris, in the 13th arrondissement. He wasn't crazy about having to cross back into the city, but he had no choice. All he cared about at this moment was getting there in time.

He drove as fast and as aggressively as he dared. It was an extremely difficult needle to thread. The last thing they needed was to get pulled over.

When they arrived at the small clinic, Jourdain and his two most-trusted nurses were waiting for them. The facility was currently empty with no new patients expected for the next two days. Haney and Johnson were taken directly to separate surgical suites. There was no exchange of names, no paperwork.

Staelin scrubbed in, ready to assist with either patient, or both if need be. Preisler left to dispose of the SUV, as well as the brI raid vests. Harvath familiarized himself with the building, including possible evacuation routes in case the team had to leave in a hurry. If it came to that, which he prayed it wouldn't, they were going to be well and totally screwed. Neither Haney nor Johnson could be safely moved at this point.

It had been hours since Harvath had had any pain meds and, finding a water cooler, he poured himself a cup and swallowed the last two from his pocket. He made a note to get a few more from Jourdain before they left. With the little bit Nicholas had revealed, he had a feeling the doctor would let him have anything he wanted.

After taking his meds, he checked back in on his injured teammates. Johnson's situation had been deemed the most urgent, so Jourdain had taken him right into surgery. Haney was stabilized, given three units of blood, and now was being prepped as the next up.

When Harvath stuck his head into his room, Haney reminded him, "This is the second time you've gotten me shot."

The first time was in North Africa. It was hard to believe that it had only been a couple of years ago. So much had happened since then.

"Well," Harvath replied. "Third time's always the charm."

Haney gave him the finger and turned his attention back to the nurse who was helping to get him ready.

With Johnson in surgery and Haney soon to follow, there wasn't much Harvath could do. Walking down the hall to Jourdain's office, he made himself comfortable.

In a small cabinet, he found that the doctor had a well-curated liquor collection. He must have known someone in the business because he not only had a bottle of Blanton's, but also a bottle of Colonel Taylor. They were both excellent bourbons. Harvath poured himself two fingers of the Colonel Taylor and sat down on Jourdain's couch.

Pulling out the Russian diplomatic passports, he photographed each one and sent them to Nicholas. He didn't know if they would be helpful or not. That wasn't his department. Shortly after sending them, his phone rang.

"How are the guys doing?" Nicholas asked.

"Johnson's in surgery. Haney's up next, but they think they can do him under local anesthetic."

"You know this is the second time you've gotten him shot."

"It's like a frickin' conspiracy with you guys," said Harvath. "For the record, Mike got shot by terrorists in North Africa and Russians in France. Neither was my fault. He's a bullet magnet."

"Speaking of fault," the little man replied, changing the subject. "Are you sure you want to go after Powell?"

"He set us up. He got two of my guys shot. I'm more than sure."

"Okay. I'm going to text you the address of his apartment. Anything that happens after that is up to you."

"Understood," said Harvath.

"You're still going after Elovik, though, right?"

"Absolutely. But first Powell. We can't trust anything he's told us thus far. I want to apply some pressure and make sure we're getting the truth."

"How much pressure?" asked Nicholas.

"That'll be up to Powell. If he cooperates, it'll go quickly."

"And if he doesn't?"

"If he doesn't…" Harvath said, pausing. "It's going to be very long, very painful, and he'll spend every second wishing it was over."