Grabbing bin Mohammed by the back of the neck, Harvath dragged him inside and threw him against a large white column. As he removed two pairs of Flexicuffs and secured the man’s hands behind the pillar, Harvath said, “Ten days ago, you killed a very good friend of mine. I’m here to repay the favor.”
The man looked up at Harvath. “I am not afraid to die.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” said Scot as he removed two glass vials from a pouch on his belt and showed them to Mohammed. “Each of these little things are known as Dermestes maculatus. Museums use them to strip flesh away from carcasses so the skeletons can be studied. Once they start eating, they just can’t seem to stop.”
Unscrewing the top of the first vial, Harvath grabbed Mohammed in a headlock and inserted the vial into his ear. Instantly, the man began screaming. Harvath removed a lighter from his pocket and heated the vial until the beetle ran, scurrying into Mohammed’s ear canal. Once he was sure the creature was in good and deep, he repeated the process on the other ear and stood back.
Like a rabbit trapped by a cave-in, beetles will dig furiously to try to extricate themselves. If they happen to be in someone’s ear, the resultant frenzy is enough to drive that person mad. Harvath had read about it in a book a long time ago, and though he wasn’t one to stay up late at night devising new means of torture, this had always been one of the things he thought would be exceptionally worth trying.
Stepping back, Harvath watched as the man writhed and shrieked, trying to shake the insects from his head. He was in the grip of sheer terror. Though it delivered a certain degree of satisfaction, it still wasn’t enough to make up for everything else the man had done.
Raising his pistol, Harvath pulled the trigger and sent one searing hot round into Mohammed’s stomach. It was considered one of the most painful ways a person could die, and victims could languish for many hours in unbearable agony until their bodies finally succumbed. As far as Harvath was concerned, it was still too good for Mohammed bin Mohammed.
He was contemplating kneecapping the al-Qaeda terrorist, when a noise from the veranda caught his attention.
Having affixed a makeshift pressure bandage to the wound in the dog’s chest, Harvath gently slung the enormous beast over his shoulders and stepped right over Mohammed’s twitching body as he carried it from the villa. Outside, he had the very real feeling that the only thing preventing a bullet from being fired at him from a rather bizarre weapon was that, hidden somewhere out in the dark night, the dying dog’s owner understood that Harvath was trying to save his animal.