The sensation of being drowned was bad enough, but the layer of ice and the intense cold of the water compounded the experience. It also succeeded in better muffling any screams the victim might make. The only drawback was that if you weren’t wearing gloves, which Harvath wasn’t, your hand got cold very quickly.

Leveque’s legs thrashed wildly and Harvath brought the butt of his pistol down hard into the man’s crotch before pulling his torso back out.

The concierge vomited out both his mouth and nose and Harvath shoved him back over the side of the tub and under the water once more.

The thrashing started all over again and Harvath held him under for what must have seemed like an eternity to Leveque.

Finally, he pulled him out of the water again and asked one question. “Who hired you to kidnap Dominique Fournier’s son?”

“I don’t understand what you are talking about.”

“Wrong answer,” said Harvath as he plunged the man back into the water. This time he let Leveque stay down a long time.

The Frenchman flailed wildly until Harvath pulled him back up. Once out, he vomited again and his body heaved for air.

“Listen to me, Leveque,” said Harvath. “Scumbags who target children don’t deserve to live. I want to kill you so bad I can taste it. The only way you’re going to walk out of this bathroom alive is if you tell me who hired you to kidnap Dominique Fournier’s son right now.

“As a matter of fact, screw that,” he added as he tipped the man backward again. “I’m going to give you some more time underwater to think about it.”

“No,” croaked the concierge. “Please. His name is Tony Tsui.”

“I’ve never heard of him. Who was the girl you forced Fournier to place inside her operation?”

“Tony set all that up. I was just a middleman.”

Harvath had figured as much. “What was her name?”

“I don’t know. I was just the go-between. Tony handled everything. I just passed the information to Dominique.”

Harvath was about to ask another question when he felt the cell phone he was carrying vibrate. It was one of the clean SIM card phones from the safe house in Madrid, the one he was using to communicate with Nicholas.

“I’ve got a name,” he said as he connected the call and raised the phone to his ear.

“You’ve got to get out of there,” said the Troll. “I just learned the entire hotel is wired. The new owner is a blackmailer. He’s got mics and cameras in every room.”

“But I swept the room when I got in,” said Harvath.

“As does every guest who knows even a little bit about security. This is all new equipment they’re using. You’ve been blown. There is a security team about to kick down your door. Get out of there now!”

Harvath heard the soft click of his door being opened and tightened his grip around Leveque’s throat. Quietly, he pulled the concierge to his feet. He then got behind him and, placing his pistol in the small of the man’s back, clamped his left hand down around Leveque’s mouth.

If the luxurious lobby was an indication of the “money is no object” approach of the hotel’s billionaire owner, Harvath had to assume his security team was going to be top-notch as well. Any hope that they might be nothing more than sides of beef in dark suits was dashed when they chose to enter his room quietly instead of breaking down the door.

Harvath assumed the men now entering his room were very well trained, either former FSB operatives, or Spetsnaz-Russian special operations soldiers.

He had his answer the minute they stepped all the way into his room. Their weapons were drawn, but they weren’t in any tactical formation. At worst, these were FSB. At best, they actually were slabs of beef in dark suits. In the end, it didn’t matter. Harvath was the only person with any cover. Whether he’d agree or not, the concierge was earning his $1,000 tip.

The only weapon Harvath had was his Glock. The three security operatives facing him all had ear pieces and he assumed they were getting a play-by-play from someone somewhere in the hotel who was watching via their hidden-camera system.

“Put the gun down,” said the lead security agent in heavily accented English. “Now.”

Harvath kept Leveque between him and the three Russians at all times as he shuffled toward his backpack. If he could get to it, he might have a chance of getting out of this.

“Stop moving and put gun down!,” the same man yelled.

Harvath talked as he moved, careful to remain hidden behind Leveque. He doubted any of these apes could get him with a headshot, but he didn’t want today to be the day one of them got lucky. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble.”

“Stop and put gun down now or we shoot.”

That made three warnings. Harvath doubted there would be a fourth. Tucking his Glock in the back of Leveque’s waistband, he removed his cell phone, flipped it open, and held it up so the security men could see it. “I have a bomb.”

The lead security man laughed. “There is no bomb.”

Lowering the phone, Harvath slid it back into his pocket. As he drew his Glock he shoved Leveque at the security team and said, “You’re right.”

His first two shots kneecapped the lead security agent. Hitting the floor, he rolled to the right and drilled the second agent in the hand and the third in the shoulder. With Leveque in their way, none of the Russians were able to fire. Harvath gave a small prayer of thanks that they were professional. Had they been strictly gangster muscle, they would have filled the room with lead and sorted out the dead once the smoke cleared.

Grabbing his pack, Harvath charged for the door. He fished a Guardian Protective Devices pop-and-drop pepper fog canister and activated it in the hallway before running to the stairs.

He knew that his every move was being watched and that the rest of the security team was being activated. They would know exactly where he was and, because this was their home turf, exactly how to get to him. The only thing he could do was put as many obstacles in their path as possible. And the best way to do that was to activate the fire alarm.

As it began blaring, he charged for the lobby. He encountered a security team of two. He fired close enough to scare the hell out of them, but not anywhere near enough to hurt them. They retreated momentarily back in the direction they had come.

The next team was waiting just beyond the chaos of the lobby. With the fire alarm and shots fired, guests ran in every direction. There were four security men between Harvath and the cars outside.

He saw a young woman hiding behind one of the couches in the lobby and he grabbed her. She screamed as he pushed her forward and tried to lash out at him. As soon as he had his pistol up underneath her chin she stopped.

“I promise I won’t hurt you, but you’ve got to cut that out and cooperate.”

He had no idea if she spoke English or not, but she seemed to understand. Shoving her toward the door, he encountered no resistance.

Harvath hoped that the security men outside were as professional as the ones upstairs had been. As he stepped through the doors with his hostage, the men exchanged quick remarks and lowered their weapons as they backed away.

Looking for his car, Harvath saw that it was blocked in by two large Bentleys. Idling in the drive was a Saleen S7. While the paint job was a little flashy for his taste, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Pushing his hostage through the driver’s side into the cramped cockpit, he pulled down the gull wing door and took off.

Even though he didn’t need to look in his rearview mirror to see what was going on, he did so anyway. Commands were being shouted as the security team scrambled for their vehicles.