Brad Thor Collectors' Edition #3

by Brad Thor

  “And Rafiq told him everything?”

  “Unfortunately, no. All he said was that it was a martyrdom operation geared for central London.”

  “Did he mention Piccadilly?”

  “Yes.”

  Harvath couldn’t believe it. “Do we have any idea where Rafiq may be?”

  “We think the cell is operating out of a mosque four blocks from here. The police are assembling their tactical teams now.”

  “Did he mention what kind of attack they had planned or what their secondary target was?”

  Ashford shook his head. “No.”

  “How well do you trust this source?”

  “I don’t know him. He’s run by the Yard. They say he has always produced good intelligence for them in the past. But it’s never been on this kind of scale before.”

  “How long have you been watching the interrogation?”

  “Since they brought him in. I think he’s genuinely worried about his brother.”

  Harvath was running the options through his mind. “If Rafiq got cold feet, they may have killed him already.”

  “Or they may have wooed him back. An already-recorded martyrdom video can be a very successful tool for cultural blackmail. They also may have threatened his family. We don’t know and frankly, I don’t care. I just want to stop this attack.”

  “So do I.”

  “Good, because as soon as we have our ducks in a row, we’ll launch the teams.”

  Harvath pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. He watched the two cops continue their interrogation. “Do we know if their attacks were going to use explosives?”

  “That’s been confirmed, but it appears to be the limit of what Saud was able to glean from his brother.”

  “When you say operating out of the mosque, what do you mean?”

  “We think they’re headquartered there,” said Ashford.

  “Do you think they’re building the bombs there too?”

  “It’s happened before. These people are smart. They know we’ll raid a mosque, but only as a last resort and only if we really have to. The PR fallout in their community is terrible. The PC moonbats everywhere else also go crazy.”

  “Makes you wonder whose side they are all really on.”

  “I know,” said Ashford. “What’s more, from a strategic standpoint, if the bombers have a willing imam, they’re probably better protected in a mosque than in a house or an apartment.”

  “And if that is what’s happening, you know the imam will claim he knew nothing about it.”

  “They’re always shocked to learn what was going on right beneath their noses.”

  Harvath took a sip of his coffee. “If today’s the day the attack happens, they’re going to be on edge.”

  “They probably have been up all night praying and getting ready. Hopefully, they’ll be sluggish when the entry teams hit the mosque.”

  “What if they’re not? What if they’re prepared for the teams?”

  “We have the element of surprise on our side,” the MI5 man replied. “What’s the motto Peaches was always so fond of? Speed, surprise, and violence of action?”

  Harvath nodded. “But what if they’re buttoned down?”

  “Meaning they have their fingers on the proverbial switch?”

  “Exactly. What happens if your teams kick the doors in and they detonate their packages?”

  “That’s one of the reasons they call it a high-risk entry. These teams have gone after bombers before. They know what’s at stake.”

  “With all due respect, they don’t know what’s at stake,” said Harvath. “This isn’t just about Piccadilly; one cell and one attack. This is about an entire terrorist network. We need these guys alive.”

  “What do you suggest then? Should we knock on the door and ask Mother, may we come in?”

  Harvath brushed aside the man’s sarcasm. “What information do you have about the mosque?”

  Ashford rolled his chair back and withdrew a file folder from his briefcase and slid it across.

  It was a general briefing and contained only a couple of pages. Harvath skimmed it until he found what he was looking for. “What if we could get operators inside?”

  “That sort of thing takes time; a commodity we have precious little of right now.”

  “It says in here that Scotland Yard has a confidential source unaffiliated with the Wadi family who attends this mosque.”

  Ashford nodded. “They’ve already dispatched a team to collect him. He’s going to provide us with detail as to the layout.”

  “What if he can also walk a small team of operators inside?”

  “Even if we had enough ethnic operators who could fit the bill, if Saud is correct about what is going on in that mosque, there’s no way they would allow a bunch of strange men in. Not today.”

  Harvath looked at him and replied, “Who said anything about men?”

  CHAPTER 45

  By the time Casey, Rhodes, Cooper, Ericsson, and Rodriguez arrived at the plumbing supply warehouse, two of the British tactical teams were already on site.

  Harvath had informed them that the Athena Team would be coming in with most of their own gear, but as a courtesy, they had set up a table with an assortment of items they thought the women might need. Once again, Harvath was reminded of how professional the Brits were and how much he enjoyed working with them. They were truly one of America’s best partners in the war on terror.

  The ladies stepped out of another nondescript van, each carrying a duffel bag and a large black Storm case. The only explanation Ashford and the tac team leaders had been given was that the women were part of a highly trained, U.S. covert operations team. Neither Delta nor the Department of Defense was mentioned. Harvath introduced them to the women and after checking out the equipment table the group walked back to the small conference room.

  In addition to coffee, bottled water and food had been brought in. The women helped themselves and then sat down and waited for the briefing to begin.

  Moments later, a gray-haired woman in her early sixties strode in and took over the meeting. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “My name is Rita Marx. I’m a detective with Scotland Yard’s SO15, or for the benefit of our American friends in the room, the Counter-Terrorism Command.

  “The mosques of East London in general and the Darul Uloom Mosque in particular fall under my jurisdiction. The man you will soon meet, Yusuf al-Fihri, has been a Scotland Yard asset for the last two years and has been attending the Darul Uloom for the last four.

  “Mr. al-Fihri hasn’t been told what will be taking place this morning, though I suspect he has a fairly good idea. Nevertheless, he has agreed to help get the team into the mosque. For that we owe him our thanks and the commitment to do everything we can to keep him safe. Is that clear?”

  Casey and company nodded.

  “Good,” said Marx, who nodded to a detective standing next to her. “As we have never conducted formal surveillance on the Darul Uloom, our information on it is rather incomplete. Jackets are being handed to you now with the pertinent information.

  “Mr. al-Fihri will be accompanying you to morning prayers and presenting you as female relatives. Once you have secured entry to the mosque, you will go to the section reserved for women and children. This next point is very important, so please listen closely. Neither the Metropolitan Police, MI5, nor the British government want any casualties.”

  Ashford cleared his throat to get the woman’s attention. “I believe we’re willing to tolerate certain casualties.”

  Marx grasped what he was implying. “These bastards like to hide behind women and children,” she said with a smile. “Let’s make sure they don’t get that chance.

  “Now, before I bring in Mr. al-Fihri, I want to introduce you to Mr. Saud Wadi. He is also familiar with this mosque and will help give you a feel for its general layout. Mr. Wadi is our source that provided the mosque intelligence and he is also the gentleman whose b
rother was a member of this cell before he went missing. If Rafiq Wadi is inside the mosque and you are able to facilitate his release, we’d like you to help extricate him.”

  Saud Wadi made his presentation, and pictures of his brother were handed out. He discussed what he knew of the plot and answered questions from the team. The ladies were then introduced to Yusuf al-Fihri, who would be taking them inside. He made sure the women were familiar with how to perform Salaat, the Islamic ritual prayer, and gave them tips on how to behave and where to go once they were inside the mosque.

  The female operators then asked al-Fihri questions about the layout of the mosque, where certain rooms could be found, how many people would be there, and so forth. Once they were satisfied that they had obtained all of the information they could from him, Rita Marx thanked al-Fihri and had him taken to another room to wait. It was time to talk about the assault itself.

  Al-Fihri had insisted that he could take in only three of the women. Casey didn’t like odd numbers and under pressure, al-Fihri had agreed to four. This way the women could break off into two, two-member fire teams. Deciding which of the women would go was another matter.

  All of them wanted in and all of them were qualified for the assignment. They each understood Muslim culture, could converse in a handful of languages spoken throughout the Islamic world, and were incredibly well trained in close-quarters battle. In the end, the decision came down to appearance. Megan Rhodes was too tall and too fair. She would be the odd woman out.

  That meant that Gretchen Casey, Julie Ericsson, Nikki Rodriguez, and Alex Cooper would be the ones to go in.

  The tac team commanders discussed strategy with their American counterparts and a plan was settled upon. It was simple, but simple plans were often the best, especially when violently executed. The only way success could be better assured was to have the plan well rehearsed. With the clock ticking down to morning prayers, rehearsals were not something they had time to carry out.

  Detective Marx left the conference room and came back with four shopping bags containing the Islamic garb the women would be wearing.

  From an ops standpoint, Casey and her team loved burqas. They allowed them to mix in the Muslim community without drawing undue attention to themselves and a lot of gear could be secreted beneath. The fact that they were employing one of the most preeminent symbols of Islamic oppression against women to get up close and stick it to the bad guys was an added piece of sweet irony.

  Opening their Storm cases, the team selected the weapons and equipment they were going to use. One of the items was a device Harvath had heard about, but had yet to deploy with—the new semiautomatic, multishot Taser X3. The new ECD, or Electronic Control Device, provided the opportunity to deploy a second and third cartridge immediately and could even incapacitate three subjects simultaneously.

  It was a sexy-looking piece of gear with a cool space-age design. It had dual laser sights, a thirty-five-foot range, and unlike the bright yellow device Taser was so well known for, this was as black as night. It also matched their burqas, an observation Harvath decided to keep to himself.

  Casey and Rodriguez walked back into the garage and selected several pieces of equipment from the tac team table and then Marx got them outfitted with radios. Before anyone knew it, it was time to launch.

  They gave their weapons and radios one last check before climbing into Yusuf al-Fihri’s car.

  As they pulled out of the garage and the vehicle disappeared down the street, Harvath had a bad feeling. But like his burqa observation, he kept it to himself.

  When he climbed into one of the backup vans and took his place alongside Rhodes, he could tell by the look on her face that she was feeling exactly the same thing.

  CHAPTER 46

  Gretchen Casey sat in front and studied Yusuf al-Fihri as they drove toward the mosque. She could tell he was nervous. “Are you a smoker, Mr. al-Fihri?” she asked from beneath her burqa.

  “Yes, miss,” he replied.

  “Why don’t you have a cigarette? It won’t bother us.”

  “I don’t like to smoke before prayers.”

  “It will help calm your nerves. I think it’s a good idea.”

  “Yes, miss,” said al-Fihri, who then fished out his cigarettes and lit one. He took a deep pull of smoke into his lungs and the soothing effect the nicotine had on him was instantly apparent.

  “You’re doing the right thing, Mr. al-Fihri. Remember that.”

  “I know, miss.”

  They found a parking space and then, as instructed, walked behind al-Fihri the rest of the way to the mosque. Casey reminded him to take his time. They wanted to get there as late as possible. They had no desire to stand around socializing before prayers.

  Approaching the front doors, al-Fihri nodded and said hello to several men he knew, but kept moving. He accompanied the women to a side entrance where he spoke a few words to a burqa-clad woman who appeared to be a greeter of some sort. Per the plan, he then berated Casey for making him late, shoved her inside along with the other women, and hurried back to the main entrance, which was for men only.

  The greeter further chastised the women, and after they had removed their shoes, rushed them up a narrow set of stairs.

  On the second floor, she shooed them into a small bathroom and waited outside while they performed their ritual purification. As they conducted their faux ablutions, Casey radioed a quick update over the bone mic in her left ear.

  When they reemerged, the doorkeeper hurried them into the packed women’s prayer room and pointed to where she wanted them to stand in the back row. She then took up a spot right between them and the door.

  The team was professional and maintained radio silence. Casey didn’t need to hear anything; she knew exactly what they all were thinking. The doorkeeper had just gone from being a pain in the ass to an actual impediment that would have to be dealt with.

  With their heads down, feet shoulder-width apart and their hands at their sides as they faced in the direction of Mecca, the ladies pretended to quietly utter their intentions to perform Salaat, the Islamic ritual prayer. Over her earpiece, Casey could hear Nikki Rodriguez reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. Right away, Cooper and Ericsson joined her. Casey did too.

  A voice crackled over the loudspeakers at the front of the room in Arabic and the Salaat began.

  The Athena Team followed along, voicing the appropriate phrases and adopting the proper postures, until Casey signaled over the radio that she was going to take out the doorkeeper.

  Rising from the floor, Casey wrapped her midsection and bent over as if she was in pain. She sat in that position until she could tell that she had gotten the doorkeeper’s attention. Standing up slowly, she then moved toward the exit.

  The doorkeeper met her halfway and tried to stop her from leaving.

  “I’m going to be sick,” she mumbled in Arabic and then added in heavily accented English, “Need toilet. Sick. Sick.”

  The woman stepped out of her way, but followed Casey toward the women’s bathroom.

  Approaching the door, she pretended to falter and the woman rushed forward to grab her arm.

  She helped steady Casey and steer her into the ladies’ room. As she did, she took the opportunity once more to chastise her. “Shame on you,” she hissed. “You should know better than to come to mosque when you are sick.”

  “I’m not sick, darling,” said Casey in her best Texas drawl as the door shut behind them and she reached over to lock it. “But I am getting pretty tired of what a bitch you’re being.”

  “I, I, I,” the woman stammered, suddenly aware that something very bad was happening.

  “Yup. You, you, you,” replied the Athena Team leader as she pulled her Taser from beneath her burqa and stun-drove it into the woman’s chest.

  The doorkeeper’s muscles seized up and Casey caught her as she fell forward. She was in the process of removing the woman’s burqa to bind and gag her when she heard Ericsson’s voice over
her earpiece, “We’re in the hallway. All clear.”

  Casey reached up and unlocked the door. Rodriguez and Cooper helped her secure the doorkeeper in one of the stalls as Ericsson continued to keep watch. Once they had her out of the way, Casey radioed Harvath that they were heading to the basement. Morning prayers would not last long, so they needed to move quickly.

  With suppressed weapons at the ready beneath their burqas, they descended the narrow staircase. Casey took the lead, followed by Cooper, Rodriguez, and Ericsson.

  On the ground floor they retrieved their shoes and proceeded to the end of the hallway where they found the door al-Fihri claimed led to the basement. Casey reached out and tried to open it, but it was locked.

  She stood back and signaled Cooper, who stepped forward, checked the door for any sort of alarm, and then pulled out a lockpick gun. Within seconds, she had the dead bolt taken care of. Nodding at Casey, she stepped away from the door, replaced the lockpick tool beneath her burqa and readied her weapon.

  Casey grabbed hold of the door handle and counted down quietly from three. When she said “Go” and opened the door, they followed her into the stairwell and down the stairs.

  Their presence on the stairs was greeted with a string of sharp words spoken in Arabic. A young man, no more than twenty-two years old, with a Glock placed on the prayer mat in front of him, demanded to know what they were doing.

  “Salam, salam,” peace, repeated Casey in the traditional Muslim greeting as she continued down the stairs toward him.

  The man was nervous. The women didn’t belong there.

  Had he not had a weapon sitting right in front of him, Casey would have transitioned to her Taser, but her primary duty was to protect her life and those of her teammates.

  Don’t go for the gun, she begged him under her breath, but he did. It was a bad decision and the last one the young man would ever make.

  Casey fired two suppressed rounds from beneath her burqa, both striking him in the face. It was a very difficult shot, especially having to aim down a set of stairs and firing from behind clothing.