Free Full Black by Brad Thor

kneeled over the body. Riley pointed to where defibrillator paddles would normally be placed and then stood back. “Here we go,” said Harvath, indicating that he was ready.
    When Riley nodded, Harvath counted to three and pulled both the Tasers’ triggers at once.

CHAPTER 13

     
    T he young Muslim’s body went rigid, his head rolled back, and his back arched off the floor.
    Harvath withdrew the Tasers and rocked back on his heels as Mansoor’s body landed with a thud on the dirt-covered barn floor. Riley reached forward and placed two fingers on his neck to see if he had a pulse.
    “Anything?”
    Riley shook her head. “Scot, this is not going to work.”
    Harvath ignored her. “Stand back,” he said.
    “Scot.”
    “Stand back,” he repeated.
    When she was out of the way, Harvath reapplied the Tasers, gave the warning he was about to deploy another charge, and then pulled the triggers.
    The prisoner’s body went stiff once more and then came to rest on the floor. “Check his pulse,” Harvath said.
    Riley did as he asked. Feeling nothing, she shook her head and scooted back.
    “Damn it,” cursed Harvath. “Everybody back up. I’m going to hit him again.”
    Riley and Bachmann did as they were told. Placing the Tasers against Mansoor’s left and right chest walls, Harvath applied yet another stun drive of electricity.
    As had happened each time previously, the young man’s body convulsed and then dropped back to the dusty barn floor.
    “He’s gone,” said Bachmann.
    “He doesn’t get to choose when he goes,” snapped Harvath. “I’m not done with him.”
    Without any warning this time, Harvath repositioned the Tasers and pulled the triggers. Mansoor’s body stiffened and then dropped back down.
    “Check him again,” he said.
    Riley moved forward and reached out her fingers. “Nothing.”
    “Fuck!” Harvath yelled.
    Abandoning the young man’s right and left chest walls, Harvath placed both Tasers directly over Mansoor’s heart and pulled the triggers. When the body fell back to the ground, he did it again, and then again once more.
    “Scot,” Bachmann said, but Harvath ignored him. Angry at the prisoner and even more angry with himself, Harvath pulled the triggers two more times.
    Riley said something, but Harvath didn’t listen to her either. She put her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. It wasn’t until she grabbed his arm just above his triceps in a viselike pinch that she broke the spell.
    “Son of a—” he began, as he turned his anger toward Riley.
    “He twitched,” she said.
    “He what?”
    Riley shoved Harvath aside and laid her fingers on Mansoor’s carotid. She then leaned her ear over his mouth. “I think I can feel a breath.”
    Tilting the prisoner’s head back, she pinched his nose, placed a CPR barrier over his mouth, and delivered a breath of air. She waited for several seconds and then repeated the process two more times until he began breathing on his own.
    “Is he alive?” asked Harvath.
    “Barely,” replied Riley. “We need to get him warm and get an IV started.”
    Bachmann wrapped Mansoor with the blanket Harvath had brought with him and then went to the farmhouse to gather more.
    Harvath handed Riley the items she requested from her medical bag and then rigged up a makeshift IV stand.
    Once she had the fluids running into the young Muslim’s arm, Harvath asked, “How long until he’s ready to be interrogated again?”
    Riley looked up at him. He couldn’t tell if what he was seeing on her face was admiration or disgust. He figured it was probably a mixture of both. “You’ve got to be one of the luckiest people I’ve ever met. Don’t push it.”
    Harvath had often said it was better to be lucky than good, but he didn’t offer that sentiment to her. “I need to know how soon I can start asking him questions again.”
    Riley shook her head. “First he’s got to regain consciousness.”
    “How long?” Harvath