Blowback

Harvath was about to give it to Davidson with both barrels when Jillian motioned for him to back off. Shaking his head in exasperation, Harvath walked toward the other end of the room and the faint music bleeding through the wall.

“Dr. Davidson,” said Jillian, “I can assure you this is a very serious matter. We need to know where these artifacts were discovered and who found them. In answer to your previous question, yes, we believe they are connected to a major international crime.”

“So you lied then. You’re not a paleopathologist at all,” said Davidson, breaking her silence. “What are you? Interpol?”

“Dr. Davidson, I didn’t lie to you. I am a paleopathologist, but this case is very complicated. Please. We need your help. You have to tell us who sent these artifacts to you.”

“Let me disabuse you of that notion right now,” snapped Davidson as she rose from her stool. “Unless you want to make all of this very official, I don’t have to tell you anything. It is strict Sotheby’s policy not to divulge the names or any other personal information about our clients. If you have reason to believe that these artifacts or the person or persons who supplied them to us are tied to some sort of criminal activity, then I suggest you speak with a local magistrate. Unless this company is properly served with the appropriate legal paperwork, we will give you nothing.”

“You’re asking us to start legal proceedings? Through the French legal system no less? Do you know how long that will take?” beseeched Jillian.

“That’s not my problem.”

“Dr. Davidson, I am imploring you-”

“What the hell is he doing?” demanded Davidson, standing up.

“Cutting through the red tape,” stated Harvath, who had walked back to the head of the table and was now rifling through a stack of file folders. “We don’t have time to wait for French or any other jurisprudence. We need this information now.”

“I’m calling security,” said Davidson as she reached for her phone.

“Stop her,” Harvath ordered Jillian.

Alcott couldn’t believe how rapidly things were deteriorating. “Let’s just all calm down here.”

Harvath had no intention of calming down. In the world Davidson and Alcott lived in, people might patiently sit back and move at a snail’s pace dictated by science, but that wasn’t his world. In Harvath’s world, either you set the pace or somebody else set it for you. Too many people were depending on him to get to the bottom of things as quickly as possible. Jillian had had her chance and failed. Now they were going to do things his way.

Harvath dropped the files he was looking at, came around the table, and got to Davidson just as she began speaking. He yanked the phone’s cord from the wall and said to her, “I always try my best to be nice until it’s time not to be nice, and guess what time it is now?”

Davidson fixed him with an icy stare. “What is it you want?”

“You know what I want,” said Harvath as he moved into her personal space, hoping to increase the intimidation factor. He didn’t like having to play hardball with a woman, but she wasn’t leaving him much choice. “I want all of the information you have on whoever sent you these artifacts, and I want it now.”

Davidson pointed to the pile of folders spilled on the floor and replied, “It’s down there in one of those.”

She was lying, and the lie was accompanied by a not so subtle shift of Davidson’s weight from one foot to the other. She wasn’t trying to get away-she was trying to obscure something from Harvath’s vision. What was it? Then Harvath figured it out. Her computer.

“I don’t suppose you want to make this easy for me?” he asked.

Davidson just glared at him.

“Okay, have it your way,” said Harvath as he pulled her chair out for her. “Take a seat. “The woman refused, and Harvath had no choice but to physically encourage her. The move scared her more than anything else, and she immediately dropped down in front of her computer. Harvath kept one hand clamped around her upper arm just in case there was any resistance. Little did he know that the resistance was going to come flying through the door at him like a Mack truck.

Before he could get Davidson to open any of her computer files, the office door exploded inward, and a powerful, black-clad, uniformed body came sailing across the desk toward him. Harvath let go of Davidson’s forearm just in time to raise his hands to protect his face. The security guard crashed into him and sent him tumbling over backward. His head smacked against the hardwood floor, and before he could clear the stars from his eyes, the security guard began pounding on him. Despite the stars, Harvath’s instincts immediately kicked in.

In two quick moves, he had gotten the better of his attacker and was on top of him, holding the man’s head and neck in a hammerlock. There was only one problem-Harvath had forgotten that the man had a partner.