Foreign Influence_ A Thriller - Brad Thor [43]
He drove the Citroën directly into the barn, turned off the ignition, and then got out and closed the barn doors.
Leaving her hood on, he pulled Fournier off the backseat and then took her to a stool in the middle of the barn. He sat her down and gently dragged his knife blade across her midriff before placing it against her throat and telling her not to move.
With that, he walked back to the car and fished some gauze out of the first aid kit and shoved it into his nose to stop the bleeding.
After he’d had enough time to assess the rest of his injuries, he tuned in the Citroën’s radio and turned up the volume. The bodyguard didn’t need to hear what he and Fournier were about to talk about.
Next to the stool upon which she sat was a rickety old table. Upon it, Harvath had assembled several pictures Nicholas had e-mailed him. It was his hope that they would be all that was necessary to secure Fournier’s cooperation.
Removing the gauze from his nose, Harvath walked up behind the woman and snatched off her hood.
She was frightened and her eyes swept the barn as she tried to figure out where she was and what was going on. Harvath stepped into her field of view so that she could see him. When she did, the look of fear in her eyes turned to one of pure hate. She tried to say something but the duct tape made it impossible. Whatever it was, she was very animated about it and Harvath could imagine what it was she was saying.
“Shut up,” he replied.
Fournier ignored him.
Harvath walked back over to her, grabbed a fistful of her ponytail, and jerked her head backward as he played the tip of his knife along her cheek just under her eye. “Don’t say another word,” he cautioned. “Look.”
Still holding her hair, he directed her attention to the photos laid out along the table. They were partially illuminated by a shaft of sunlight filtering in from the damaged roof above.
Harvath himself had trouble looking at the pictures. They had been chosen because of Fournier’s vanity. He had no desire to physically harm her. That said, he had no reservations about threatening the use of harm and leaning on her as hard as he could psychologically. He also knew that if it came to it, and he was left with no other choice, he would use violence against her if it meant preventing more Americans from being killed. But the person who would decide what ultimately came to pass was Fournier herself.
“Ms. Fournier, you are in the position you are right now because you tried to kill the wrong person,” he said.
Instantly, Fournier protested through the duct tape and began to shake her head.
“There’s no use denying it. The man you tried to kill has sent me to exact his revenge. Now, in front of you, you see the pictures of five women. The man who sent me suffered serious facial trauma because of your botched attack.
“He is not unreasonable and though I suggested he kill you and be done with it, he has decided to keep things fair. Each of the women you see on the table before you was disfigured in a very specific manner. Each attack was painful and caused grotesque disfigurement.
“My employer is willing to allow you to select the means by which you will be disfigured.”
Fournier began screaming behind the duct tape and shaking her head wildly. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at the photos depicting the results of torture by acid, knives, hammers, and other terrifying instruments.
“You need to make peace with it, Ms. Fournier. Undoubtedly your looks have served you very well in life. Shortly, you will become a monster and will have no choice but to hide your face from the world. I’m going to remove the tape from your mouth. Please choose your method.”
The moment Harvath pulled off the tape, Fournier began to negotiate with him. “Please,” she begged. “Don’t do this. I have money. I will pay you. I also have girls; lots of beautiful girls. They can all be yours.”
Harvath wasn’t finding her very attractive anymore.
“I could tell you liked me back