by Brad Thor
Pulling his plate carrier from the bag, he threw it over his head and then snatched up his MP7. Opening the door, Harvath leaped out of the truck and bolted into the building. It was exactly what he had been trained not to do. Even if the explosion was a booby-trap rigged to the front door, or had been set off by the terrorists inside when they realized they had been compromised, there could still be a secondary device, a device meant to kill any rescuers who then rushed into the building. That was all true, but Harvath didn’t care. Those were his men up there. If any of them were alive, he was going to get them out.
As Harvath charged up the stairs three at a time, the temperature soared and thick, black smoke filled the air. It was nearly impossible to breathe. Pulling his T-shirt up from beneath the vest and over his mouth and nose, he exposed the flesh of his midsection. It felt as if the surface of his skin was being blasted with a blowtorch. He was starting to burn, but he pushed it from his mind.
The deafening roar of the fire grew as he neared the third floor. Coming up to the last flight of stairs, he saw that the blast had blown the metal fire door completely off its hinges and it was now blocking the stairwell.
Harvath reached for the railing to leap over it, but the railing was so hot that he snatched his hand right back.
Striking out with the heel of his boot, Harvath kicked at the door until it dislodged and he shoved it down the stairs behind him. He tried to crouch beneath the smoke, but it was so heavy, so thick, and so voluminous that there was just no bottom to it. Hoping to get some sort of break once he actually got into the hallway, he bent his head and charged the rest of the way up to the landing.
He could feel the hair being singed off his arms as he lunged through the empty door frame and into the hall. There was debris everywhere. Harvath was going to shout, to see if there were any survivors and if they could hear him, but he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs. The heat was unbearable.
The bright orange blaze burned hotter and the flames leaped higher. Harvath knew he should get out. There was no way that anyone could have survived that explosion. But Chase and Schiller and the rest of the team were his responsibility. If only one of them was still alive, Harvath needed to find him, so he pushed deeper into the burning hallway.
He had gone no further than a few steps when there was an earsplitting crack as a larger section of the floor above came pancaking down.
With visibility next to zero, Harvath would have been crushed had it not been for a hand that reached out, grabbed him by the drag handle of his plate carrier, and yanked him into the stairwell.
“We’ve got to get out!” yelled Pat Murphy who had burst into the building from the back.
“No,” Harvath shot back.
“They’re all dead. Let’s go.”
“We don’t know they’re dead.”
“They’re dead,” Murphy insisted as he dragged Harvath away from the landing.
After the first couple of steps, Harvath began moving on his own. When they hit the ground floor and exited the lobby, a crowd had already formed in the street. The people blanched when they saw the two ash-and-soot-covered men exit the building carrying weapons.
Someone noticed that they were wearing Swedish Security Service plate carriers and started to ask Murphy questions in Swedish. The ex–Green Beret ignored him.
“The other car is about two hundred meters behind the woods,” said Murphy, leaning in so Harvath could hear him, but keeping his voice low enough that the onlookers couldn’t discern that he was speaking English. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Harvath had no choice but to agree. There was nothing they could do here. If they stayed, they’d be arrested and an already tragic situation would be made much worse.
Harvath nodded at Murphy, and the two set off for the back of the building, the woods, and the car parked just beyond. Neither the truck nor the car with the book on the dashboard could be traced back to them, so Harvath didn’t think twice about abandoning them. The key now was to get out of the country as quickly as possible.
They were about to swing around the side of the burning apartment complex and disappear, when there was the sound of breaking glass and screams from the crowd of onlookers.
Harvath spun just in time to see a man falling backward out of a fourth-story window of a building across the street.
CHAPTER 26
Chase now knew that Karami had been sketching the windows. Somehow he had figured out the signal he had created with the blinds. Karami had either known or suspected an attack was coming and he’d set up an ambush across the street, duplicating Chase’s entire signal. And if he had done all that, then he had to know Chase was not who he said he was. Therefore, the young operative wasted no time.
He was dramatically outnumbered and the only thing he had on his side was surprise. Surprise, and the shock the men in the room around him were in due to the explosion from across the street.
As soon as he knew he was going to have to fight his way out, he again wished he’d brought along the shiv he’d made.
The hookah was the nearest and best weapon he had available and it broke over the head of the first jihadist he struck with it. Unconscious or dead, Chase didn’t care. The man dropped to the floor and that left three.
Chase slashed the second Islamist’s throat with the jagged, broken glass base of the hookah as the two remaining men turned on him.
They charged in unison. Chase caught the first man with a low thrust kick to the knee and the other with a foreknuckle strike to the throat.
The man who received the kick to his knee fell to the floor screaming in pain. The other man, who had been struck in the throat, was a different story. His windpipe should have been crushed, but Chase had failed to grab his hair or his clothing and pull him into the strike. The man had recoiled just as the punch came in, lessening its severity. Like an enraged bull, he gathered himself and charged again. This time, Chase would not screw it up.
As the man came in, he bent his head and ran at Chase with his fingers spread and his hands outstretched like claws. Wherever he had grown up, apparently it was his mother who had taught him to fight.
Chase slipped between the man’s arms and caught him right beneath the chin with a perfectly placed uppercut. Chase drove him backward with two jabs to his face.
The man swung wildly and got lucky, punching Chase in the side of the head. The blow hurt like hell and immediately his ear felt as if it was on fire. Chase let his anger get the better of him.
Spinning, he kicked the man directly in the center of his chest, sending him out through the glass window down to the street below.
Chase knew he couldn’t have survived the fall and didn’t bother to look to see if he had. There were five men left in the apartment and he moved quickly. He wasn’t about to wait for them to come find him.
He had made it almost all the way to the doorway when he saw the barrel of the rifle. He wasn’t surprised that the terrorists had had guns hidden away. Grabbing the weapon, he tried to twist it away from his attacker.
There was a rapid burst of fire as the rifle erupted. Where all of the rounds went, he had no idea. All he knew was that one had torn right through his right bicep and hit the bone. The pain was excruciating, and he immediately lost the use of his arm.
Sweeping his left arm, he came up underneath the barrel and knocked it off him just as another volley of shots was fired. The noise at such close range was deafening.
By moving the weapon, Chase had his opponent off-balance. Finding the weapon’s upper handguard, he pushed down with all his might, forcing the man to lean forward. As he did, Chase snapped his head forward. There was a spray of blood and a sickening crack as Chase connected with the bridge of the man’s nose.
It was game over. Chase snatched the rifle away from him. Balancing the buttstock against his left shoulder, he depressed the trigger and put a three-round burst right through the man’s chest.
He then spun and capped
the jihadist with the blown-out knee who was coming back at him from behind. Five down, four to go.
He could sense movement from out in the hallway and didn’t bother looking to see who it was. Propping the gun up against his shoulder once more, he fired a burst directly through the wall.
There was a scream and the sound of a weapon clattering to the floor. Shooting without identifying the target was usually a bad thing, but Chase didn’t give a damn. Even if he had capped Karami, this was kill or be killed.
He doubted Karami would have come down the hallway himself. That’s what cannon fodder was for. He hoped he’d just nailed Sabah, but he doubted it. It was probably one of the two goons from the garage.
Bending his left arm into an L shape, he positioned the stock in the crook of his elbow, up against his good bicep. Popping the weapon around the edge of the door frame, he sprayed the hall with another burst.
He waited for any return fire, and when none came, he risked a quick look. His guess had been right. Lying facedown on the floor in a pool of blood was the man from the garage who had gone out and bought him the bandages and energy drinks. Six down.
Chase now had a decision to make. Duck back inside the room and wait the other three out, or take the fight to them. Neither option was that appealing. In a matter of seconds, the street outside was going to be filled with police and other first-responders. He needed to capture Karami and Sabah if he could, do a quick sweep of the apartment, and then get the hell out of there. He had no choice but to step out into the hallway and risk exposure.
Wedging the rifle against his shoulder again, he took a deep breath and swung into the hall. His right arm hung limp at his side. Blood was rolling down his hand and dripping off the tips of his fingers.
With his heart thudding in his chest, Chase moved forward as quietly as he could. His senses were hyper-alert, attuned for any sudden movement or noise he might hear above the ringing that might give his remaining attackers away. The apartment, though, was quiet. Too quiet.
As he moved, he was plagued by the thought that the technique he had used would be used against him, and any moment now he would be shot through the drywall. Hagakure, he reminded himself. Hagakure.
He carefully peeked into the first room he came upon. It was empty. After a quick scan, he turned his attention back to the hallway. The rifle was growing heavy in his left arm.
The next room was a bathroom, which was empty as well. He stopped repeatedly and strained his ears for any sign of where the others might be hiding. There was nothing. Growing ever closer to the room that Karami and Sabah had disappeared into earlier, he had a good idea of where the remaining three men were. Sure enough, the door to that room was closed.
Chase was a risk-taker, but he wasn’t an idiot. There was every reason to believe that kicking the door in could only result in all sorts of bad news for him. There could be three heavily armed men waiting for him on the other side, or the door itself could be booby-trapped.
Stepping into the bathroom, which had only a shower, no tub, Chase crouched behind the toilet and balanced the rifle’s magazine on the seat. At this angle, he could see only a very narrow sliver of the door he was shooting at. Taking aim, he squeezed the trigger and let another hail of lead fly.
The rounds chewed up the left side of the door, splintering the frame. Chase waited for a response, but none came.
Picking up his weapon, he walked into the hall and put another burst through the door as well as through the drywall. No response.
Against his better judgment, he decided to kick the door open. He counted to three and let his foot fly.
The moment his shoe connected, he heard a roaring barrage of gunfire.
CHAPTER 27
Harvath ran across the street and charged directly into the building he’d seen the man fall from. He didn’t know if his mind was playing tricks on him or if he’d actually caught a glimpse of Chase in the upper window.
Murphy was right behind Harvath, and they ignored the elevator and headed right for the stairs. They were halfway up to the fourth floor when some Islamist skidded to a halt on the landing above them and tried to bring his weapon up to fire. The man never had a chance.
Harvath and Murphy both drilled him with suppressed rounds to his chest and face. The man’s finger pulled down on the trigger in spasm and his weapon discharged wildly. Rounds ricocheted through the stairwell, sending Harvath and Murphy diving for what little cover there was.
When the dead terrorist’s weapon fell silent, Harvath double-tapped him with two quick shots to the head just to make sure. After kicking his weapon away, they resumed their charge up the stairs.
When they got to the fourth floor, Murphy covered Harvath as he stepped into the hall. There were only four apartments per floor, and based on the window the body had come out of, Harvath knew exactly which one they were looking for. He just prayed that Chase was inside and that he was still alive.
Covering the apartment door with his weapon, he signaled for Murphy to come forward and join him.
Harvath studied the door frame for any sign that it was wired. He didn’t see anything, but that by no means meant it was safe. Schiller and his team hadn’t seen anything either, and the entire third floor of the building across the street had been incinerated. This apartment could be rigged to explode as well.
If it wasn’t rigged, and they did have Chase inside, was he sitting there with a gun to his head? Would they shoot him if Harvath kicked open the door and rushed in? Without knowing how many there were, could he and Murphy take them out before they did anything to Chase?
It was a big gamble. Five men on his team were already dead. Whatever Harvath decided to do, he’d better be sure he was absolutely certain about it. He already had gallons of blood on his hands. He needed more information.
Taking a deep breath, he placed his ear against the door and listened. He heard a noise from inside. It was faint at first, but the longer he listened the louder it grew.
It sounded like a scuffle. Then Harvath realized it wasn’t a scuffle at all, but rather the sound of somebody turning the place inside out.
He signaled Murphy to be ready, and then, taking a step back, Harvath raised his boot and kicked the door in.
Nothing exploded, except the door off its hinges from the force of Harvath’s kick. He figured he had a fifty-fifty chance of being right. If someone was turning the place over, it meant he was looking for something. And you don’t bother looking for something if you’re about to blow yourself up. At least that was what Harvath hoped. Lucky for them, he’d been right.
Harvath moved quickly inside, his weapon up and at the ready. Murphy was right behind him. They hadn’t even made it through the living room when there was a burst of automatic weapons fire and rounds came slamming through the wall at the other end of the room. Harvath and Murphy hit the floor.
The Green Beret came up onto his elbows and prepared to return fire, but Harvath waved him off. They had no idea where Chase was. They couldn’t just fire blindly through the walls.
“Phoenix Three!” Harvath yelled. “Are you in here?”
“Harvath?” came the reply.
“Roger that.”
“I’m coming out. Don’t shoot.”
Chase stepped out into the hallway and walked toward them. His arm was covered with blood.
“Is there anyone else here?”
Chase shook his head. As Murphy swept the rest of the apartment, Harvath ripped open Chase’s sleeve and checked his wound.
“Does it hurt?”
“A lot. It hit bone.”
“We’ll get you taken care of,” replied Harvath. “Right now we’ve got to get out of here. Is there anything worth gathering up?”
“Maybe. I turned the place upside down fast and dirty, but couldn’t find anything. If we had more time—”
“We don’t.” Already the sounds of approaching emergency vehicles could be heard in the distance.
“The apart
ment is clean,” said Murphy as he rejoined them. “What do you want to do?”
Harvath knew what he didn’t want to do. He didn’t want to walk through the throngs of people out on the street, around behind the burning building and off into the woods to pick up Murphy’s car. Too much could go wrong. His car, the one with the book on the dashboard, though, was parked right outside. It didn’t matter if people saw it or gave a description to police. They wouldn’t be using it long enough to make a difference. All they needed to be able to do was make it back to the barn.
With Murphy on point, the three men exited the apartment and quickly made their way down the stairs. They laid Chase down on the backseat. Murphy rode shotgun and Harvath slid behind the wheel.
The onlookers stared, their mouths agape. They didn’t know what to make of any of it. The last thing the trio heard as they sped off were the cries of revulsion from the crowd as Harvath drove over the body of the dead terrorist still lying sprawled in the middle of the street.
CHAPTER 28
Two extensive medical kits had been allotted for the operation. One was with Riley Turner and Mansoor, who, along with Andy Bachmann, had already left for the airport near Stockholm. The other belonged to the assault team and was sitting in the back of the moving truck that had been abandoned at the scene of the failed safe house raid.
Harvath, though, had a couple of items in his bag of tricks that he never traveled without. As he debriefed Chase and cleaned up his wound, he unwrapped a tampon, cut off about an inch, and packed it into the hole. He then wrapped Chase’s arm with duct tape. It would do for now, but Chase was going to need professional medical help.
Riley had arranged to delay the flight until they could get there. It was a big enough aircraft and the three additional passengers would be posing as the security detail for the wealthy Arab patient. As long as Chase didn’t start bleeding, they should be okay. Just to be sure, Harvath wrapped a few more pieces of duct tape around his arm. It was going to be a pain in the ass to get off, but that was a problem for later.
