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.
The Chief Inspector listened in disbelief. He wanted to say that it wasn’t Johansson; that it couldn’t be, but the voice on the recording was unmistakable. It was Johansson, and he had incriminated himself by admitting to the unthinkable.
“I’m sure you recognize his voice,” said Harvath.
Nyström nodded. “Yes, that’s him. Where is he?”
Harvath walked back to the squad car and popped the trunk. Coming to join him, the Chief Inspector looked inside. There, still hog-tied and hooded, was Johansson in his uniform. Harvath pulled the hood from his head so Nyström could be certain.
Reaching up, the Chief Inspector took hold of the lid and slammed it shut. “What is it you want?”
He was angry, and understandably so. Harvath needed to be very careful about how he threaded this needle.
“First and foremost, I believe I want the same thing you do.”
“Which is what?”
“For the Russians not to invade Gotland,” said Harvath. “For them not to invade anywhere. For them to be contained.”
“But that is not my job. That’s the job of the Swedish military, the government.”
“Have you seen their plan to protect Gotland?”
“No,” said Nyström. “I have only heard about it.”
“I’ve actually seen it,” said Harvath. “In fact, the entire American military has seen it and we have been begging Sweden to change it. Their plan is to wait for help, to wait for NATO to come and liberate Gotland.”
“I have always heard they would bring in more troops from the mainland.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, by boat I guess, or by air.”
“Russian submarines and Russian fighter jets will make sure those troops never arrive,” Harvath remarked. “This island is too important to them. If it’s worth invading, which it very much is to them, then it’s worth defending. I guarantee you, Sweden will only risk so much to take it back. They will decide it is better to wait for help.
“And during that time, what do you think will happen? What will happen to you and your fellow police officers? What will happen to the people of Gotland, to the business owners like your uncle? What will happen to them if they do not comply with the Russian occupiers?”