Path of the Assassin

by Brad Thor

  Beneath the Middle Easterner lay the almost lifeless body of another man, who appeared to be a passenger. He had taken two rounds to the chest, but was still alive—barely. Harvath found a blanket nearby and after folding it, quickly applied it to the man’s wounds as a makeshift pressure bandage.

  “Is he okay? Is he alive?” came a voice from behind him in the aisle.

  With his MP5 up and ready, Scot whirled and locked the little red dot of his laser sight onto the forehead of one of the female passengers. Harvath couldn’t believe his ears. With almost all of the passengers running for their lives, this woman wanted to know if another passenger was going to make it.

  “He’s pretty bad. Come over here and keep the pressure on this blanket. Don’t let him lose any more blood.”

  Georgia Bormann did as she was told, and as she took over for Harvath, a faint whisper escaped Bernard Walsh’s lips. “Find, Meg. Help her.”

  Harvath had no idea what the man was talking about, nor did he have time to figure it out. The aircraft was not yet secure. Hashim Nidal was somewhere on board. Scot could smell him. This wouldn’t be over until he had him in his sights and made him pay for all of the killing he had been responsible for.

  With Bormann tending to Walsh, Harvath made his way to the carpeted stairwell. Carefully, he looked over the railing down toward the workout facility. Between choking waves of smoke, he could see three bodies lying motionless on the ground. Part of Alpha Team was down. As much as Harvath wanted to help them, he couldn’t. There were still hijackers aboard and it was his job to find them.

  He decided to move forward, up to the first-class section, and as he passed the main forward door, he noticed that it was indeed wired with explosives. He took a red paint marker from his pocket and drew a fat X on the door’s porthole-style window, warning any teams on the other side not to use the door, as it was rigged from the inside with explosives.

  When Harvath got into the first-class section, he looked from right to left with his NODs and was amazed. It was completely empty. No United CEO, no Chicago mayor, nothing. His first thought was that maybe they had all evacuated. As he was sweeping the cabin again with his night-vision goggles, he heard, “Now!”

  Immediately, he was blinded by a powerful emergency flashlight that had been turned on him. Once again, he reflexively hit the deck. It took him a moment to clear the spots from his eyes, but when his vision returned, he could see that the first-class passengers had been hiding behind their seats waiting in ambush. Now he looked up at no fewer than six submachine gun muzzles pointing down at him.

  “Drop your weapons. Do it now!” commanded Harvath, raising his MP5.

  “Identify yourself,” said one of the voices.

  “Delta Force. Now, put that flashlight and your weapons down. I’m not going to tell you again,” said Harvath as he pushed himself to his feet. With his right hand still holding his MP5, he used his left to tear a Velcro’d piece of fabric from his right upper arm area. Underneath was a bright red, white, and blue American flag.

  “We’re here to get you out,” he continued. “Is everyone okay?”

  “Everybody’s okay,” said Mayor Fellinger, who tilted his head in Meg Cassidy’s direction. “Thanks to her.”

  Even through his goggles he could tell the woman was beautiful. She had been put through the ringer, but she was still gorgeous. He tore his mind away from the vision in front of him and got back to business. “I don’t know how you got those weapons,” he said, “but I want you to set them down.”

  “Set them down?” said the United CEO, confused.

  “There are Egyptian commandos entering the aft of the aircraft as we speak. We don’t want any of you folks to get confused for hijackers and shot,” replied Harvath. “Now drop those weapons and get yourselves down on the ground between the seats. This thing isn’t over yet. Don’t move until someone comes for you.”

  “And what about you?” asked Meg Cassidy, her eyes riveted on Harvath.

  “Me? I’ve got a bone to pick with someone whose parents should have practiced better birth control. Now, everybody on the floor.”

  After a moment of studying the mix of sheer determination and icy calm written across his face, Meg followed suit with the rest of the people around her, setting her weapon on a nearby seat and getting down on the floor.

  Harvath made his way out of first class and back through business class to the stairs that led to the upper deck. When takedowns came, hijackers traditionally fled to what they believed was the safest place on the plane—the cockpit. Though cockpits on all planes had been significantly fortified after September 11, there wouldn’t be enough fortification in this plane’s cockpit to prevent Scot Harvath from getting in and getting what he wanted. He swore to himself that the only way Hashim Nidal and any of his remaining men were going to be leaving this plane was feetfirst.

  As Scot climbed the stairs, he noticed that the walls were charred and pitted. Small pieces of shrapnel littered the carpeting. It appeared as if a fragmentation grenade had gone off in the stairwell. That must have been one of the explosions he had heard after breaching the rear of the aircraft. It seemed too dangerous a weapon for the Alpha Team to have used in a hostage situation. Then Harvath was reminded of what the CIA team’s top priority in this mission was. Still, a frag grenade was excessive, even by Morrell’s standards.

  Before reaching the top landing, Harvath pulled a flash bang from his vest and hurled it over the railing into the upper-deck lounge. He averted his eyes, waited for the detonation, and then sprinted up the remaining stairs and stormed onto the upper deck. Right at the top of the stairs, he almost tripped over the dead body of another Middle Easterner. He figured it was a hijacker and guessed that this had something to do with how the passengers in first class had gotten their weapons.

  He cleared the lavatories, the galley, and then searched behind every seat, as well as the bar. He found the bodies of two more Middle Easterners as well as a large Caucasian man who appeared from his clothes to be American. Harvath pegged him as a sky marshal or one of the mayor’s bodyguards. His build and style of dress screamed law enforcement, and knowing how good the sky marshals were at blending in with other passengers, Harvath figured the man had been one of Mayor Fellinger’s police bodyguards.

  Throughout his search, Harvath kept one eye on the cockpit door, ready for it to spring open at any minute.

  When he got to the thick outer flight-deck door, he could see up high where the half-inch, fifty-caliber rounds from Bullet Bob’s sniper rifle had penetrated clean through the cockpit and had probably kept flying through the upper deck area. The question now was how to breach the door? He could blow it with a ribbon charge, but if there were flight crew on the other side, they might end up seriously injured. That was a risk Harvath would have to take. Injured was better than dead any day of the week. He reached into the demo sack and was about to remove the explosive when he heard a noise and the cockpit door began to open.

  Scot leapt back, his MP5 raised and ready. The first thing to appear was a hand covered in blood, gripping the outer edge of the doorframe. Harvath could just make out an aviator chronograph watch strapped to the man’s wrist. In an instant, the full form of a man in a flight crew uniform was visible as he stumbled out of the cockpit and fell to the floor. He was badly injured. Scot checked his pulse. It was weak, but steady. He hated to leave the man, but he needed to sweep the cockpit. It only took a moment. Both the captain and the first officer were dead.

  There was the faint thumping of boots from the stairwell in the lounge and Harvath spun to see a Delta Force team cresting the landing and fanning out across the upper deck. A disjointed chorus of “Clear…clear…clear…” rang throughout the upper deck as the Delta team swept for any hidden hijackers.

  Harvath stepped forward, identified himself to the team leader, and said, “I’ve got a man injured here.”

  The team medic raced over and produced a small bag and began tending to
the flight crew’s injured navigator.

  Once Harvath felt sure the man was in good hands, he approached the team leader. “Did we get Nidal?”

  “I’ve got no idea. It looks like a fucking shooting gallery down there. We’ve got several Alpha Team members down, a badly injured flight attendant, one passenger with multiple gunshot wounds, and about three hundred plus other passengers jumping out of any exit they can find. They’re all running around the tarmac in the dark. At this point, there’s no telling where your guy is.”

  Harvath’s blood ran cold.

  23

  Harvath was just about to ask why the lights hadn’t been turned back on yet, when all of the airport lighting came to life. There’s that Egyptian efficiency, he thought to himself. A moment later external power was attached to the aircraft and the interior lights came back on as well. The upper deck looked exactly like a war zone.

  When Harvath made his way down to the vestibule outside the lower-level workout facility, Morrell was already on-scene triaging his men.

  “How are they doing, Rick?” asked Harvath.

  “One of the guys lost a couple of fingers, but for the most part just superficial injuries to exposed arms and legs. The vests and those Kevlar helmets saved them.”

  “What happened?”

  “Apparently, when Alpha Team breached from down below, there was a short firefight through the stairwell, and then the hijackers dropped a concussion grenade followed by a fucking frag.”

  “Jesus. I thought that’s what it was,” said Harvath.

  “These guys were very well trained. They only went for chest or head shots and didn’t waste a second between ejecting spent clips and inserting fresh ammunition into their weapons. They knew how to handle themselves in a firefight.”

  “Did we get them all? What about Nidal?”

  “Too hard to tell at this point. They were dressed just like civilians from what we can tell. Delta’s still evacuating passengers.”

  “Have you secured the perimeter?”

  “Of course we have. We’ll isolate all of the passengers to make sure none of the hijackers are trying to mix in with them. We’ll go through them one by one. God, this thing turned into a goat fuck,” said Morrell.

  “It could have been a lot worse. Next time, let’s leave the Egyptians at home.”

  Morrell didn’t like I told you so’ s, no matter how veiled they were, and let Harvath know it. “You know what? If I have anything to say about it, there won’t be a next time. That crap you pulled up on the Jetway was totally unacceptable.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Harvath, growing angry with Morrell as well.

  “I’m talking about you assaulting one of my men, commandeering his demo sack, and making a jump for this aircraft. All against my orders.”

  Scot lowered his voice, but gave it to Morrell with both barrels. “Against your orders, my ass. You couldn’t fucking think straight up there. The Egyptians jumped the gun and it threw your whole plan out of whack. Face it. For all the training you and the rest of your SAS monkeys think you have, hostage-rescue situations require a more delicate touch than you’re capable of. Had we waited for you to come up with another plan, who knows how many of the passengers would be dead right now. Be glad this turned out as well as it did.”

  “What I’ll be glad about is confirming that we have taken out Hashim Nidal. I just pray that we got him, so that our little special working relationship here can be over.”

  “I can’t wait to get rid of you either.”

  Harvath turned to walk up the stairs, but had to wait for a group of passengers being led by a Delta operative to come down. As he looked up, Scot recognized the faces as those he had seen earlier in first class.

  “Great, what the hell is this?” said Morrell to the Delta operative when he reached the bottom landing.

  “These are the VIP passengers from first class and those who were involved in a direct standoff with the hijackers. We’ve been instructed to see to their secure evac and get them to the EgyptAir clubroom for debriefing. It’s a madhouse upstairs, so we’re taking this group out Alpha Team’s rabbit hole and down the ladder.”

  The Delta operative didn’t wait for Morrell’s permission; he didn’t need it. He already had his orders. He politely but forcefully indicated with his weapon that Morrell should back up, and then he waved his group toward the exercise facility.

  As Meg Cassidy made her way down the stairs, Scot could tell that his original assessment of her had not been wrong. She was definitely beautiful. She had also definitely been through the ringer. Her eyes were glazed over and she was shaking. As she neared the bottom step, she faltered and fell forward right into Harvath.

  He deftly moved his weapon out of the way and caught Meg with his left arm. He helped her regain her feet, but knew that if he let go of her, she would fall to the ground like a rag doll.

  “Are you all right?” Scot asked.

  Meg didn’t respond.

  “What’s happening? Is she okay?” came the voice of Mayor Fellinger as he broke ranks and came back to see what was going on.

  “I think she might be in shock, sir,” said Harvath.

  “Wait a second. I know you, don’t I?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir, we met about a year ago in Chicago at a party fund-raiser.”

  “That’s right. I remember you now. You were on President Rutledge’s Secret Service detail, correct?”

  “Yes, sir. Agent Scot Harvath.”

  “I guess I shouldn’t ask what a U.S. Secret Service agent is doing all the way in Cairo with a Delta Force team, should I?”

  “Probably not. You do have quite a memory, though, Mr. Mayor.”

  “I never forget a face. Let’s hope Meg here doesn’t either.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Harvath, who motioned to one of the Delta guys at the top of the stairway to throw a blanket down to him.

  “From what I’ve been told, no one has found the two hijackers dressed in black jumpsuits. They were the ones running the show. They wore masks, but Meg said she saw the face of one of them. She also said she shot him in the head. She’s an amazing woman. We all owe our lives to her.”

  The Delta operative upstairs whistled to get Scot’s attention and threw him down a couple of blankets. Harvath wrapped them tightly around Meg as he continued to help hold her upright. For her part, all Meg could do was stare straight ahead. Scot quickly took her pulse. He wanted to know who this woman was and what role she had played in helping to subdue so many of the hijackers. But it would have to wait.

  “She’s going to need medical attention,” said Harvath.

  “If she’s seen who I think she’s seen,” broke in Morrell, “she’s going to need to be debriefed first.”

  Meg stiffened under Scot’s arm. It was very subtle, but Harvath felt it nonetheless.

  “Back off, Rick. The first thing this woman needs is medical attention, and that’s the first thing she’s going to get.”

  Ex-Army and now a career politician, Mayor Fellinger could smell a pissing match coming a mile away, and diplomatically stepped in. “Agent Harvath, I’d like it if you could see your way clear to escorting us off the plane and helping Ms. Cassidy get the medical attention she needs. The president and I go way back, and I am sure he would appreciate any assistance you can give us. That is of course”—Fellinger paused to look directly at Morrell—“if you can be spared.”

  Morrell had no idea why people liked Harvath. In his opinion, the guy was nothing but trouble and he would be glad to be rid of him. “Fine. Go ahead,” he said. “But I want to know where this woman is at all times, and once she receives medical treatment, I want to talk to her. Understood?”

  “You’re all heart,” said Scot as he pushed past Morrell into the exercise facility.

  The room looked like a bomb had gone off in it, which was pretty much what had happened. Alpha Team’s ribbon charge had blown a rectangular hole clean through the underside
of the airplane and up through the floor of the exercise room. Weights and splintered cables were scattered everywhere. Exercise bikes and treadmills were overturned, and all of the plate-glass mirrors, which once covered the walls surrounding the room, were now shattered.

  Harvath helped direct Meg Cassidy through the maze of twisted metal and broken glass that littered the floor, and then gently lowered her down the ladder to Mayor Fellinger.

  When Scot hit the tarmac, he wasn’t surprised to see soldiers and police everywhere. The perimeter was so tight, not even a scorpion could have sneaked through. If Hashim Nidal was not already among the dead and was somehow trying to hide among the passengers, he’d be nailed for sure. There was no possible way he could get out of this one.

  24

  Hashim Nidal was a fool. Trying to have his way with the American woman was an unwise and unprofessional act. She may have been beautiful and may have represented everything he hated about America, but he had allowed his desire to consume him. By molesting the American woman, half-witted Hashim had brought consequences upon them that could never have been foreseen. Though he had been warned once, he still could not help himself, and that had cost them dearly.

  Hashim’s masked comrade had discovered him lying on the floor of the upper deck, where the American woman had left him to die. Praise indeed belonged to Allah in that the bullet had not entered his skull, but had just grazed him. It had been enough to make him lose consciousness and he had bled profusely, but he would live. The scar it would leave would hopefully serve as a reminder to him of his foolishness. His mistake had cost the organization not only millions, but tens of millions of dollars, which could have been smuggled out of the airport along with them.