Full Black - Brad Thor [148]
Harvath parked his Tahoe and he and Ashford climbed out. “Have you been to the office before?” he asked.
“No. I haven’t,” replied Asford. “This is my first time. He told me he had a devil of a time finding the right space. He said he made a lot of modifications and that I’d be quite surprised with what he had done to it.”
Harvath waved a key fob in front of a reader and opened the glass doors for the main elevator bank. He allowed the MI5 man to step in first and then followed. Reaching over, he pushed the button for the twenty-fourth floor.
“So, a key fob? That’s the extent of your security?” Ashford said with a chuckle. “What am I missing?”
Harvath forced a smile. “You know what they say. When it comes to security, it’s not necessarily what you see, but what you don’t see that counts.”
“Quite right,” the Brit agreed.
On the twenty-fourth floor, Harvath let his guest step into the hallway first and then exited the elevator car behind him. He led him to a large door with gray lettering that read Parsons, Charrington & O’Brien.
“Law firm?” the MI5 man asked.
“Accounting firm,” said Harvath as he withdrew a set of keys.
“I suppose it has a bit more panache than Universal Exports, now, doesn’t it?”
Opening the door, Harvath forced another smile and showed his guest in. When the door had closed behind them, he took a step away from Ashford and, gesturing at the small reception area, asked, “So, are you surprised?”
The MI5 man looked around at the empty waiting room, wondering if this was some sort of a joke.
“How about now?” asked Harvath as his fist came sailing forward and nailed the older man right in the stomach.
CHAPTER 66
Harvath would have liked nothing more than to have beaten Ashford to death, but the Old Man had been very specific not only about where he could hit him, but how hard. In case they needed to use him operationally, there were to be no blows to his head, neck, or face.
The punch had completely knocked the wind out of the MI5 operative, and after removing everything from his pockets, Harvath dragged him down a narrow interior hallway to the room that had been set up for the interrogation. It was important that they work fast.
They needed to keep him mentally off-balance. The harder they came at him the harder it would be for him to concoct a story. Kicking open the door, Harvath dragged Ashford inside.
Reed Carlton knew one very important thing about the MI5 operative. It was the only pressure point he needed to conduct a successful interrogation.
Harvath dropped Ashford into a prisoner restraint chair that looked as if it had been designed for Hannibal Lecter.
“What the hell are you doing?” the man wheezed, as the air began to rush back into his lungs.
He struggled, but Harvath struck him again, this time in the solar plexus, almost knocking back out what little air he had recovered.
When he ceased struggling, Harvath worked quickly to strap him in. When he was finished, the MI5 operative’s torso, limbs, and head were completely immobilized.
On a table in the corner was a large black bag. Harvath removed a small handful of what looked like pieces of candy, dropped them in his pocket, and walked back over to Ashford.
“Why are you doing this?” the man demanded once more.
Harvath removed one of the ammonia inhalant ampules from his pocket, and placing it under Ashford’s nose, cracked it open.
The Brit’s eyes shot open wide and he tried to twist his head to get away from the smell, but he couldn’t. Harvath waited a moment and then did it again.
“Stop it!” Ashford shouted, but Harvath kept going until he had used up all the ampules he had in his pocket.
“I want Reed here, right now,” Ashford demanded.
Harvath ignored him as he retrieved three large strobe lights and, placing them on stands, positioned them about a foot away from the MI5 operative’s face.
“Do you have any idea who you’re fucking with?” Ashford was now screaming. “Do you know the kind of trouble you