by Brad Thor
When the men were almost on top of her, she opened fired with her Steyr as Harvath popped up and started shooting in rapid, controlled bursts from the other side. Until this point, the Middle Easterners had pursued their quarry thinking they only had one handgun between them. The machine gun fire, coming from both directions, completely altered the equation, and the two men retreated toward the tunnel at the far end of the cavern.
Harvath chased them with every round he had loaded in his Steyr and when Meg caught up with him, he took hers and fired until there was nothing left. He had no idea if they would regroup or not, but he reloaded before he and Meg proceeded down the tunnel.
They had gone only twenty feet when they came upon the body of the first man Harvath had shot. With a hit to his chest and one to his forehead, he lay on the ground with the submachine gun still clasped in his dead hand. Harvath fished through his pockets, but only came up with several hundred Euros. Whoever he was, he was professional enough not to be caught with any ID. Harvath shouldered his Steyr and picked up the dead man’s Spectre. He checked the fifty-round magazine and saw that it hadn’t even been fired.
Meg covered Harvath as he ran down the tunnel to see what had happened to their two remaining attackers.
At the end of the passageway was an old freight elevator, which was on its way down. When the large wooden door was rolled open, the first man to step out was Hashim Nidal.
Harvath didn’t wait to be noticed. He turned and ran back into the tunnel, where Meg was waiting.
“It’s Hashim Nidal. Don’t let him out of your sights,” said Harvath as he ran past her.
“What if he moves?” asked Meg.
“Then shoot him,” he said over his shoulder as he ran back into the mausoleum.
Harvath kept running until he got to the group of Stinger missile cases he had seen earlier. He grabbed one and pulled it off the stack. When he opened it, it was empty, so he cast it aside and reached for the next one. This one was much heavier. He opened the case and pulled out the launcher. Just adjacent to it was a pyramid of machined aluminum tubes. He grabbed a tube, emptied the missile, and loaded the launcher. Next, he primed and readied the system. There would be no need to acquire a target as he had done in the Libyan desert.
Harvath ran back to where Meg was staring down the optical sight of her Steyr at the elevator emptying its load of terrorists. Harvath could clearly make them out from where he had lowered himself to one knee. Their two attackers were cautiously making their way toward the tunnel with several other men, including the man who had been driving the Mercedes that afternoon.
Harvath forwent his usual safety check before firing the Stinger. He depressed the launch switch, the missile uncaged and flew straight toward the first target it could acquire.
The minute the missile was loosed, Harvath dropped the launcher, grabbed Meg Cassidy’s hand, and the two ran like hell for the mausoleum.
66
Harvath’s first instinct was to make for the embassy as soon as they were free of the underground system of tunnels, but he knew it would take too long. He needed to get to a phone and brief Gary Lawlor on everything they had learned.
After coming back up the passageway and through the armoire of the fabric shop, Harvath decided they would just walk straight out the front door. When they hit the street, they immediately set out for the nearby piazza, which they hoped would be crowded with tourists. It had seemed like a good choice. No one was in the shop, nobody suspicious was on the street, and when they got to the square, it was relatively busy.
It had been easy. Too easy.
Suddenly, two rather large looking Middle Eastern men appeared from one of the small side streets. One of them stuck a hand beneath his sport coat, but Harvath was faster, drawing the Browning and pointing it directly at the man’s forehead.
People began screaming, and instantly, it became a mad rush as everyone ran for cover. Scot and Meg pushed their way into the swelling mob, which knocked over café tables and chairs as it surged forward. As soon as they found an open space, Harvath and Meg took off for the far side of the piazza.
They ran as fast as they could, constantly looking over their shoulders for several blocks. When they finally slowed down to catch their breath, police and security checkpoints seemed to be everywhere. Harvath didn’t understand why until he realized that they were nearing Rome’s Palace of Justice. He quietly hoped the heavy police presence would dissuade the two men from pursuing them any further.
Harvath steered Meg into the first hotel he saw, and they slowly walked through the flower-filled lobby, with its brocaded sofas and European antiques, toward the pay phones. As he punched in the numbers, said his name, and then added “unsecure line” for the call, Meg began going through the papers she had taken from the mausoleum. In addition to the airbills, she had also found a map of Rome and its outskirts. The Roman hill town of Frascati had been highlighted in red pen with concentric circles that radiated outward. There was also a long blue line, which began in Rome and ended in Frascati’s main square. In the upper-left-hand corner were the letters CDR, followed by a short series of numbers.
Meg picked up only snippets of Harvath’s half of the conversation. He was speaking as quietly as possible so no one passing the pay phones would hear him.
“High-grade explosives…assault rifles…RPGs…and radioactive material…already sent via FedEx and UPS to operatives in the United States…. Hold a second.”
It took Meg a moment to realize Harvath was talking to her.
“…map. Meg? Hello? Are you listening to me?” whispered Harvath.
“What? I didn’t know you were talking to me.”
“I am. What’s that map?” he said as he took it from her hands and stared at it.
“I took it with the rest of the papers.”
Harvath turned back to the pay phone and said, “I’m positive about the attack. Yes, the peace summit in Frascati. I have the map right here. They’ve circled ground zero, with concentric rings based on the success of the device…. Make it fast. I don’t think we have much time.”
While Lawlor had Harvath on hold, Meg whispered, “Where did they get all that stuff?”
Harvath looked around before replying. “Iraq. Iran. North Korea. For all we know it could have come out of Russia.”
“That’s terrifying. How can it just be out there floating around?”
“Unfortunately almost anything is available if you can afford it.”
“Do you think Adara plans to use a radiological bomb at the peace summit?”
“It sure looks like it. Even if she just uses a small percentage of what she has in that arsenal, the result will be devastating. I don’t think she and her people know how powerful the attack will be. That’s why your map has all those circles on it. It’s got to be either a blast radius or a fallout radius.”
Meg was about to say something else when Lawlor came back on the line and Harvath’s attention was drawn once again to his call with Washington. The next words she heard from Harvath, coupled with the stress in his voice, chilled her to the bone.
“This is a legitimate threat…. They have no choice but to postpone…. It’s not giving in to terrorism…. If they don’t believe us, tell them to look in those catacombs themselves.”
67
The Italian Rapid Reaction Force Augusta A 109A helicopter that touched down in the wide piazza to pick up Harvath and Meg flew south southeast at over one hundred eighty miles per hour and was able to cover the distance between Rome and the hilltop town of Frascati in less than ten minutes. The sleek chopper circled in over the sixteenth-century Villa Aldobrandini and landed in the ornate gardens before a large statue of Atlas holding up the world.
Heavily armed Carabinieri met Harvath, Meg, and the six Italian Special Forces soldiers when they landed. The soldiers carried a wide array of sensors, which they hoped would help them locate any radioactive or explosive device inside the villa. With more of the property dedic
ated to the expansive gardens than to the actual buildings themselves, the helicopter lifted off again to conduct a coordinated search of the grounds.
While the soldiers swept the buildings, Harvath had Meg translate his questions to the staff, including questions about deliveries, probing for anything that might be out of the ordinary. What came back was that the level of security in place for this summit was unprecedented. No one could remember security ever being so high. The Rapid Reaction Force soldiers were not finding anything either. In fact, as they talked with the Carabinieri, they were convinced that every conceivable measure had been taken to protect the summit members.
Harvath was quickly running out of answers. As the soldiers moved outside the villa to sweep the nearby shops, parked cars, restaurants, and other buildings, Harvath had a moment to talk with the summit’s chief of security, who had been guiding the soldiers through the different rooms inside. When Harvath showed him the map, the man’s eyes instantly widened.
“Where did you get this?” he demanded.
“Why? What do you see?”
“Those three letters followed by the numbers,” he replied, jabbing his finger at the upper-left-hand corner of the map. “And this blue line.”
“What is it?” asked Harvath as he stared at the map.
“That is a frequency designator for the helicopter transporting guests from the airport in Rome.”
“And the blue line is the flight pattern, correct?”
The man nodded his head and said, “You hold in your hand one of the most closely guarded secrets of this summit.”
“So if the helicopter is the target, it could be anybody they’re after.”
“No. Only the Palestinians are using the helicopter. The Israeli prime minister arrived in Rome with his people yesterday and is staying with the Israeli ambassador. As today is the Sabbath, he is not traveling. He arrives tomorrow by car. There is only one guest arriving in the helicopter and he arrives this evening—Ali Hasan, the chief Palestinian negotiator. We must change the flight pattern immediately.”
“Maybe not,” said Harvath.
“What are you saying?” asked the security chief. “We are trying to prevent a war here, not start one. The security of the summit participants is our highest priority.”
“How much time do we have until Ali Hasan is expected to arrive?”
The security chief looked at his watch and said, “Two hours.”
“Do you have a more detailed map of the area we can compare this one to?” asked Harvath as he pointed at the map Meg had taken from the catacombs.
The security chief shouted to one of his men, who quickly brought over a detailed map and laid it on the table in front of them. Harvath took a pencil and, using the straight edge of a clipboard, drew an identical line from Rome to Frascati, reproducing the flight pattern. “Just because we haven’t been able to find any explosive device at the villa or in the surrounding area doesn’t mean that the summit itself still isn’t the target. Your men need to keep looking. At the same time, I think we need to consider the very likely possibility that there is going to be an attack on the helicopter which will happen somewhere along this line.” Harvath retraced it with his pencil. “The question is, though, where?”
“It could happen anywhere during the flight,” replied the security chief.
“True, but there is a lot of air traffic around Rome. With only the frequency designator to go on, it would hard to get a visual lock on the target. If I was doing it, I would wait for the helicopter to get out here into the countryside, where it’s an easy mark.”
“Of course,” replied the man as he pointed to a section of the flight path. “This corridor along here has been set aside as restricted airspace.”
“So the only aircraft coming through there—”
“Is going to be the summit helicopter,” answered the security chief, finishing Harvath’s sentence.
“That narrows things down, but where along this line am I going to get the cleanest shot?” wondered Harvath aloud. “I would have spent a lot of time studying the area. I need a big open space, not a lot of trees. Something easy. I want to give myself plenty of time to be able to identify the helicopter and launch my attack. Where can I do that?”
The man surveyed the map for several moments and then, pulling out a red pen, circled the location he felt would be the most likely. “Here.”
“What’s that?” asked Harvath.
“The perfect place. They would be able to see the helicopter coming from almost two kilometers and would have plenty of time to prepare. The Fontana Candida vineyard.
68
The fact that there was a Buon Ricordo restaurant within driving distance of the vineyard was simply icing on the cake for Harvath. When Adara Nidal had tried to impress Scot and Meg with her worldliness and lull them into cooperating, little had she known that the dinner would come back to haunt her.
The crew of the Rapid Reaction Force helicopter had gotten in as close as they dared, dropping off their passengers on a small access road five miles away. The Frascati vineyards of the Fontana Candida estate were shrouded in an ever-deepening mist, and the night air had an unnerving chill as Harvath and Meg crept slowly over the rich volcanic soil and down perfectly manicured rows of vines. Once they had penetrated far enough into the vineyard and had covered the appropriate distance, they stopped. Harvath pulled up his sleeve and looked at his watch. It had taken almost the entire two hours to coordinate his plan and put it into effect. Now it was all just a waiting game.
Scot picked up the sound of the approaching helicopter and pulled the slide back on his Browning to double-check that he had a round chambered. Meg did the same with the nine-millimeter Beretta she had been given by one of the Italian Special Forces soldiers. She was still amazed at how the men had simply seemed to vanish as they entered the first row of vines.
As the sound of the helicopter grew louder, Harvath’s body tensed. He knew it would happen at any moment. The large helicopter appeared over a far hill and banked to make its pass over the vineyard. Harvath held his breath and counted the seconds.
As he reached five, a bright flash, two hundred yards to their left, lit up the night sky. A streak of fire raced toward the helicopter. Immediately, the pilots of the Rapid Reaction Force Augusta took dramatic evasive action and deployed their countermeasures. The Stinger missile took the bait and veered dramatically off course. Arriving in advance and posing as the Palestinian leader’s helicopter by emitting the same radio frequency had worked.
Harvath’s victory was cut short by an off-pitch whine from the Rapid Reaction Force Augusta. It was losing altitude fast. The pilot had banked too hard to avoid the Stinger and had lost control. It was going down hard. As the helicopter disappeared over a nearby hill, Harvath heard the sound of heavy machine gun fire erupt from within the vineyard.
Because the Italian Special Forces soldiers had only a rudimentary grasp of English, Harvath had decided that Meg should carry the headset and radio they had offered. Reports, and not good ones, starting coming in the minute the shooting started.
“Man down,” translated Meg as they hurried in the direction of the area from which they had seen the Stinger launched.
A minute later, Meg again announced, “Man down. That’s two men down. And the pilots are not responding.”
Bursts of weapons fire echoed throughout the vineyard and seemed to be coming from all directions. Meg reported two more men getting hit and that the soldiers couldn’t get a fix on their target. Whoever was shooting at them kept changing position.
“Ask them if there’s a pattern. Does the shooter seem to be moving in any one direction?”
Meg asked, and once she had her answer, replied, “They thought it was toward the southwestern edge of the estate, but now it looks like the main buildings.”
“Tell them we’re going along the outside and will try to get there first.”
Meg relayed their plans and then ran with Harvath
toward the main Fontana Candida buildings. There was a fierce barrage of fire as they reached the bottling plant followed by total silence. Harvath and Meg crouched against a wall and tried to catch their breath. Moments passed. The night was quiet, too quiet.
“Ask them for a sit rep,” whispered Harvath.
Meg tried to raise the soldiers, but not a single one responded. Meg tried again, but still there was nothing. It was as if no one was there.
Harvath peered into the misty night and thought he saw movement at the edge of the vineyard. As he squinted his eyes to get a better look, a form completely wrapped in shadow raced out from behind the last row of vines and began running across the driveway. Having not heard from any of the Italian Special Forces members and assuming the worst, Harvath decided to open fire. He took three quick shots, aiming low. The figure stumbled and then pitched forward behind a short rock wall. Harvath heard what sounded like a weapon clatter onto the driveway.
Carefully, Harvath and Meg made their way forward to where the figure had fallen. Meg covered his back as Harvath swung around the wall and pointed the Browning, ready to fire. There was no one there. He bent down to examine the path of crushed gravel behind the wall. There were splatters of blood leading toward the villa, which served as the estate’s main offices. Several feet away, on the edge of the driveway, Harvath discovered an Israeli Galil assault rifle. What the hell is that doing here? he wondered.
They followed the gravel path, but soon lost track of the blood. Harvath tried the main office doors, as well as several of the windows, but everything was locked up tight, and there was no sign of any forced entry. Whoever he had shot was not inside the villa. That meant they had to be somewhere on the grounds outside.
Harvath and Meg hugged the building’s stone walls as they slowly worked their way around to the back. They kept trying every door and every window they came across, but just as in front, they were all securely locked.
