by Brad Thor
“Who knows? Maybe there’s honor among thieves, after all. Maybe the lieutenant was very valuable to him or had information buttoned down somewhere as an insurance policy. There’s a million possible reasons.”
“Yes, but only one makes sense. The face Cassidy saw belonged to Hashim Nidal, period.”
“Revise the profile, Rick.”
“What, and go solely by a set of eyes? Because that’s all anyone has seen of the other hijacker.”
“It’s a good start.”
“It’s a waste of time. Just like this conversation is. We’ve got the right man and we’re not diverting our focus.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“And you’re free to leave any time you like,” said Morrell as he began walking away. “You’ll excuse me, but I’ve got a schedule to keep.”
37
It didn’t take long for Meg’s training at Harvey Point to grow monotonous. It was based upon intelligence the CIA had been able to gather from its Indonesian sources, who believed Hashim Nidal’s base of operations was on one of the Moluccas Islands, formerly known as the Spice Islands.
During the day, Meg worked with Rick Morrell and his sniper teams, learning how to identify and call out targets. In the evenings, they would do the whole thing all over again, only this time aided by night-vision devices. Meg’s free time was never her own. She was plonked down in front of monitors and subjected to hours of images relating to suspected and known terrorists. It soon became overwhelming. Despite her resolve, everything began getting to her—the heat, the humidity, the insects, the incessant training schedule…Morrell had planned everything down to the minute. They went through the same drills over and over again until the execution was perfect, and then they did them again.
They practiced amphibious assaults launched from both the Perquimans River and the Albemarle Sound. Meg grew accustomed to speeding silently across the top of the water in the black rubber Zodiacs, only to slip over the side hundreds of yards from shore and have to swim the rest of the way in.
Meg turned out to be an excellent swimmer. As a matter of fact, there wasn’t much that Morrell and his men had thrown at her that she couldn’t handle.
Harvath understood Morrell’s need to repeat drills over and over again. The goal was to become so accustomed to them that they became second nature. Under the stress of a real operation, you would know what to do automatically and the “fog of war” would have a far lesser impact. On the flip side, though, nobody ever knew how an operative was going to perform in combat until that operative actually saw combat.
Harvath had no doubts that Meg would come through, but what bothered him was that the training Morrell had laid out for her was extremely limited. Morrell didn’t even plan to issue her a weapon, and in Harvath’s mind, that was a mistake. Teaching her simply to keep up and keep out of the way was not good enough.
By not giving Meg better counterterrorism training and not allowing her to carry a weapon, Morrell was making her overly dependent on the rest of them. If she was going to be one of them, she needed to function just like everybody else—she needed to have the self-confidence of knowing she could operate on her own if she had to.
In addition, there was a change in Meg’s personality that was troubling Harvath. While he thought it might be the frustration of the repetitive training schedule and the hurry-up-and-wait scenario that they were all facing as conflicting reports continued to pour in about Hashim Nidal’s whereabouts, there was a chance something else was involved. Over the nine days they had been at the training camp, her temper had grown shorter and shorter, with the smallest things setting her off, and Harvath wanted to know why.
When they finished their training that night, Scot told Meg he had a surprise for her and to knock on his door in an hour. At the appointed time, she knocked, and when the door opened, she was greeted with an unexpected sensation.
“You finally got your air conditioner fixed,” she said as she walked into Harvath’s comfortably climate-controlled room.
“Not exactly,” he said with a smile as he pulled a large bucket filled with ice and Corona beers from underneath his desk. “Compliments of our fearless leader, Mr. Richard Morrell.”
“Wait a second. He fixed your air conditioner and gave you a bucket full of beer? That doesn’t sound right. What’s going on here? I thought there was no alcohol allowed at the Point.”
“There isn’t,” said Harvath, his smile turning to a mischievous grin as he popped open two of the bottles and handed one over to Meg.
“So where’d it come from?”
“Morrell. Just like I told you,” he said as he took a long swallow of the ice-cold beer, letting his words hang in the air.
“How many of these did you have before I got here, because you’re not making any sense.”
“I just got them.”
“How could he have just given them to you? I thought he and his men went into town tonight.”
“They did.”
“Then what gives?”
“What takes might be a better question.”
“So, these weren’t given to you?” asked Meg, slowly catching on.
“Very good, Ms. Cassidy. They’ll make a CIA operative out of you yet.”
“How’d you get into his room? Wait, better yet, how’d you find his room?”
Meg sat down in a chair and made herself comfortable. This was a story she couldn’t wait to hear. If Harvath had one-upped Morrell, it would be priceless.
“Chocolate?” asked Harvath as he produced a family-sized bag of M&M’s.
“You bet,” said Meg taking a handful. “I assume these were his too?”
“The guy’s got a sweet tooth like you wouldn’t believe. Always has, ever since I’ve known him. You should see all the stuff in his room.”
“So you did get in there! You’ve got to tell me how you did it.”
“Well, nobody, I mean nobody, would tell me what room he was in. I knew it was here in the building, but that was it. I even tried to scam the operator without any luck. Finally, I wondered if he might just lead me to his room himself.”
“But he always makes sure we’re on our floor before he disappears again.”
“As much as I don’t care for a lot of his tradecraft, I figured it would be really hard to track him. Plus if he caught me, it would have been a little embarrassing.”
“So how’d you do it?” asked Meg as she leaned forward and grabbed another handful of M&M’s.
“Do you remember a few nights ago when we used that paint to mark our trail?”
“The kind that only shows up with the night-vision goggles?”
“That’s the stuff. I stole a can of it before we went out on our maneuvers last night. Remember how I jumped out of the Suburban before you and Morrell?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I poured a little on the steps outside.”
“And after tucking us in, he walked through it and made his way to his room?”
“Yup.”
“But what about—”
“The night-vision goggles?”
“Yeah, I thought we were supposed to turn them in with the rest of the gear.”
“I did. I just pulled them back out of the case when nobody was looking.”
Meg was having such a good laugh she had to set her beer on the floor for fear of spilling it. “You have got to show me his room,” she said.
“When we finish the beers, I will. Enjoy the AC while you can. I think you’re going to find Morrell’s room very uncomfortable.”
“You switched air conditioners?”
“Um-hum.”
“That’s classic.”
“I’m not done yet.”
“Oh, no?”
“Nope, there’s something else I owe him.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you know what short-sheeting is?”
“Are you kidding me? This isn’t my first summer camp experience.”
/> “Well, I take it a step further.”
“How?”
“We’re going to short-sheet him, but we’re also going to take out all but two of the supports from his mattress frame.”
“When he gets into bed, he’s going to hit the floor?”
“Yep, and when he realizes he’s been short-sheeted, he’s going to hit the ceiling.”
Once again, Meg started laughing. After another beer, she confided in Harvath that it felt good to laugh because she hadn’t been feeling herself lately and didn’t know why. When asked what her symptoms were, Meg stated that she’d almost completely lost her appetite, had tons of energy, and seemed to get angry at the drop of a hat. Sometimes she even got the shakes coupled with what felt like heart palpitations. She figured it had something to do with the vitamin supplements she was being given, but when she asked the CIA doctor about it, he had told her it was just stress and not to worry about anything.
“You’re being given vitamins?” asked Harvath skeptically.
“The doctor prescribed some stuff that first day we got here. Remember when I had the physical? I think you had arts and crafts,” said Meg, giggling.
Harvath didn’t want to alarm her and so smiled and asked, “Can I see the vitamins you’re taking?”
“Nope,” she said as she took another long swig of beer.
“Why not?”
“I don’t have any on me. They give them to me at breakfast in the morning. I think that’s why Morrell is so adamant about me not being late. There’s always one of the doctor’s assistants there.”
“I’ve seen him. I just figured they were checking in to make sure you were feeling okay.”
“Yeah, he does that too. Asks a lot of questions.”
“Questions like what?”
“Like do I feel happy, sad, angry…You know, things like that.”
“So it’s more emotional than physical?”
“They ask physical questions, but for the most part, it’s emotional.”
“Interesting,” said Harvath, letting the subject drop, but not before asking, “Would you mind doing me a favor tomorrow?”
“Sure, as long as you agree to do me one.”
“What do you need?”
“Hand me another beer.”
Harvath laughed and popped the top on another Corona.
“How come you don’t have any limes for these?” asked Meg.
“That’s what we get for ripping off someone with no class.”
Meg started laughing again. “So what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to palm your vitamins tomorrow.” Harvath gathered up a handful of bottle caps and began to show her. “Lift your hand to your mouth and pretend to pop them in—”
“I know what palming is, Scot, but why? Is there something wrong with them?”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t worry about it. Just bring them to me tomorrow so I can check them out.”
“Fine. Consider it done. God, this beer tastes good.”
“Twice as good since we didn’t have to pay for it,” said Harvath.
By the time they made it to Morrell’s room, both Scot and Meg were feeling no pain. They short-sheeted his bed and removed all but two of the bed frame supports, and in a fit of sophomoric genius, decided to take all of the left shoes from his closet and scatter them around the Point.
When they finally made it back to their rooms an hour later, they knew there might be hell to pay, but neither of them cared. As they said good night, Meg wrapped her arms around Harvath. She planted a deep kiss on his lips and Harvath did nothing to pull away. This time, it was Harvath who finally broke their embrace, and Meg retreated into her room and locked the door for the night. It was the best she had felt in she couldn’t remember how long. While she fell asleep smiling, Harvath took a long time before drifting off, worried that things between them might be going too far. They had been at the Point for only a little more than a week, and there was no telling how much longer they would be working together. He couldn’t let anything develop between them that might jeopardize the operation.
38
At breakfast the next morning, Meg Cassidy’s slight hangover from several Coronas and way too many M&M’s didn’t do much to improve her mood. When the doctor’s assistant doled out her vitamins, Meg palmed them just as Harvath had asked, and returned with them to the table.
Scot looked through the multicolored tablets and shook his head.
“What is it?” asked Meg.
“You’ve heard of better living through chemistry?’
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, this is better soldiering through chemistry.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry to tell you, but these aren’t all vitamins.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m no pharmacist, but I’m pretty sure I recognize one of these little guys.”
“Which one,” asked Meg as she leaned in and stared at the pills in Harvath’s hand.
“This one,” he said as he rolled an oblong capsule off to one side of his palm. “They call them Unkies.”
“What the hell’s an Unkie?” asked Meg as she rolled the pill around with her finger.
“You know how they say, ‘The Lord loves a workin’ man’? Well, we used to always say ‘Uncle Sam loves a fightin’ man.’ Some adjunct of the Special Operations community a ways back came up with an anabolic steroid derivative which was supposed to safely increase strength and stamina, but had the nasty side effect of putting a mean edge on people’s tempers.”
Concern was etched across Meg’s face. “Were there any other side effects?”
“Like regular steroids, they could mess up your complexion with acne and that kind of stuff.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“You know what?” said Meg, anger sliding into her voice. “I’m getting pretty sick and tired of people deciding what Meg Cassidy should and shouldn’t worry about. I want you to tell me, right now, what the other side effects were!”
“Don’t get pissed at me. I didn’t prescribe these.”
“You’re not answering my question.”
“Fine. The biggest side effect was that your testicles could shrivel up,” said Scot as he wondered how that one was going to sit with Meg.
“So there are potential reproductive side effects?”
“As far as I know, only if you have testicles,” said Scot, trying not to laugh.
“You think this is funny? This is not funny. This is my body we’re talking about here. I didn’t give any of these goddamn CIA mad scientists permission to monkey around with my body. What the hell are they thinking?”
“I think they’re thinking they want you a bit more aggressive.”
“Aggressive?” repeated Meg, her voice now incredulous.
“They want you to be a real eat-glass-and-drink-gasoline kind of gal. They don’t want you falling apart crying on the battlefield if things get tough.”
“So are you telling me you support this?”
“Absolutely not,” said Harvath in all seriousness. “No one but you has a right to decide what goes into your body.”
“You’re goddamn right,” said Meg. “What is it with you men?”
“Hey don’t lump me in there again.”
“Oh, who cares? You’re all the same, always trying to control women’s bodies!”
Meg was reaching critical mass, and just as Harvath was attempting to calm her down, Rick Morrell entered the lodge. He was fuming, obviously intent on a heated confrontation over the pranks that had been played on him the night before. Little did he know that Meg was even hotter under the collar than he was. Before Harvath could stop her, she jumped from the table and made a beeline straight for him.
“Get out of my way,” said Morrell as Meg approached him. “My beef’s not with you, it’s with Harvath.”
“You’d better think again, miste
r. Your beef is most definitely with me. Just who the hell do you think you are?”
Morrell had obviously never been confronted by an extremely angry woman before. He had no idea how to handle the situation. If Meg Cassidy had been a man, it would have been easy, but she wasn’t. So, Morrell did what most men normally did in a situation like this and just stood there with his mouth agape and a stupid what’d I do? expression on his face.
“Do you get off on controlling people? Is that what this is all about? Is it?” railed Meg. “You have got to be the ultimate micromanager, you know that? I’ll have you know that I am NOT one of your operatives, and I will not—”
Morrell, having recovered some of his sense of dignity interjected, “Why don’t you just calm down?” BIG mistake number one.
“Calm down? Calm down?” screamed Meg, even angrier now. “Of all the arrogant, chauvinistic…You just snap your fingers and expect little ole me, the woman, to just do as you say. Is that it?”
“Ms. Cassidy, I don’t know what the problem is—”
“The problem appears to be that I’m not aggressive enough for you. Is that it correct? Is that what the problem is here, Mr. Morrell?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Whatever this is, you are obviously overreacting.” BIG mistake number two.
Out of nowhere, Meg Cassidy hit the enormous CIA operative with a very well placed right hook. While it didn’t send Morrell slumping to the floor, he’s knees did buckle, and he was sure everyone in the room had seen it.
“Now that’s overreacting! I hope it was aggressive enough for you,” said Meg as she sidestepped Morrell and left the building.
Harvath was right behind her. On his way out the door, he couldn’t help but take a shot at a dazed Morrell. “You’ve got a hell of a way with the ladies, Ricky. A hell of a way.”
39
The lone assassin entered Saudi Arabia just as before, via a series of intermediaries and paid conspirators along the Yemeni border. As with the previous mission in Medina, the objective was the same—wreak maximum terror and maximum devastation. This time it would be at Mecca, the very heart of the Muslim world.
