by Brad Thor
Traffic in Dubai was always a nightmare, especially at night. If it hadn’t been for the heavy blue chrome tint applied to the Mercedes’ windows, Harvath never would have trusted Hanjour to sit in the backseat. All it would have taken was for him to mouth Help me to someone in another car rolling alongside, and cell phones would have come out, the police would have been called, and all hell would have broken loose. It would have been very difficult for them to escape.
Glued to their back bumper was the black BMW with four very special CIA operatives. If anything happened, they were the counterassault team. Harvath’s job would be to get Hanjour away safely. The men in the BMW would stay and fight.
With each intersection they approached, visions of what had happened in Karachi passed through Harvath’s mind. He kept his eyes wide open and proceeded with an abundance of caution.
Finally, they arrived on Palm Jumeirah. Per their plan, the vehicles split. Harvath, Levy, and Cowles took Hanjour to Oceana, while the team in the BMW would remain nearby and on call.
A scanner read the special decal on Hanjour’s Mercedes and automatically the Oceana gates opened. The process repeated itself at the underground parking entrance beneath his building. Hanjour directed them to a parking space and they exited the vehicle.
Harvath had been marking the positions of CCTV cameras since they had driven onto the property. He had seen two more since driving into the garage. There would likely be one in the elevator vestibule, maybe another in the elevator itself.
Per Harvath’s suggestion, Cowles had placed a pair of sunglasses on Hanjour to make his face more difficult to read. Wearing sunglasses at night would also help reinforce their ruse.
As they got out of the Mercedes, Levy walked up to Hanjour’s right side and slipped her arm through his. Cowles stood on the recruiter’s left side and held on to Hanjour’s arm as if trying to steady him. Harvath walked in front, weaving just enough to make it appear to anyone watching that they were a group of friends returning home from an evening of drinking. Any security personnel watching them via CCTV would think nothing of it. Dubai had the reputation of being the one spot in the Muslim world where Allah “couldn’t see you.” Everyone overindulged here—especially Muslims.
They used Hanjour’s key card to access the elevator and ascend to his floor. His apartment was a corner unit with floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The view of the Dubai skyline was stunning, but they weren’t here for the view. They were here for what Hanjour had in his office.
After they swept the apartment to make sure it was safe, they took Hanjour back to the master bedroom, which he also used as his office, and Harvath recited the list of things he wanted. Reluctantly, Hanjour led Harvath toward his king-sized platform bed. Beneath the mattress was a safe, whose door opened with the assistance of two pistons. Hanjour gave Harvath the combination.
As soon as it was open, Harvath began pulling everything out and handing it to Levy, who organized it along Hanjour’s desk.
The man had been a meticulous, practically compulsive record keeper. Dates, times, amounts of money, clients he had worked for, the people he had recruited and placed, it was all there. The CIA was going to have a field day with this information, especially with the names of the six men Hanjour had recruited and dispatched to the United States. Those were the files he was most interested in seeing.
The data Hanjour had assembled lived on two laptops, multiple external hard drives, accordion files, manila envelopes, and ledger books. Harvath knew better than to touch any of the electronic data. Hanjour could have it buttoned down, ready to self-destruct if the correct password wasn’t punched in within moments of the computer being booted up. Setting aside the electronic items, he and Levy focused on Hanjour’s printouts and notes while Cowles kept an eye on their prisoner.
In one of the ledgers, Levy found what appeared to be payments to the six engineering students. After each were the initials AA. She was concerned it stood for American Airlines. “What does AA stand for?” she demanded.
“Al Ain. It’s where the engineering students were recruited from.”
Harvath was familiar with it. It was a town about seventy-five miles south of Dubai on the border with Oman. It was home to several universities and health facilities, as well as a falconry hospital Harvath had targeted in a previous operation when he was last in the UAE. “What about these other entries, below the names of the men you recruited for Ahmad Yaqub?”
“Those are family members of the men,” said Hanjour. “As part of the arrangement, their families receive support.”
Harvath had already grilled Hanjour back at the safe house over the attack. He claimed, and Harvath believed him, to know nothing about the details. He had been hired to recruit six engineering students and facilitate their entry into the United States.
“You told me that you helped secure student visas for the men,” Harvath stated.
Hanjour nodded.
“For that to happen, they would have had to have been accepted for enrollment at American universities. Where’s the list?”
“There is no list.”
Harvath looked at him and then, removing the key fob for the Mercedes, tossed it to Cowles. “Go down and get the Storm Case from the trunk.”
Hanjour held up his hands. “There is no list because they were not accepted to any American universities.”
Harvath signaled for Cowles to wait. “If they didn’t have letters of acceptance, how were you able to get them student visas?”
“There was an internship program they were particularly qualified for.”
Harvath didn’t notice Hanjour giving off any tells, but there was something odd about what he was saying. “From what you’ve already told me, there was nothing remarkable about these six men. They weren’t hardcore jihadists and were mediocre students at best. What could they possibly be particularly qualified for?”
“All that mattered was that they were Muslims.”
Harvath looked at Levy. None of it made sense to her either. An American internship program that recruited foreign students and based acceptance on whether or not they were Muslim? It was beyond ridiculous.
Looking back at his prisoner, Harvath asked, “Who sponsored this Muslim internship?”
Hanjour smiled. “NASA.”
CHAPTER 19
* * *
* * *
Harvath couldn’t believe it. NASA? The National Aeronautics and Space Administration had sponsored the visas of six would-be Muslim terrorists? America’s visa program was absolutely screwed up, but that screwed up? How the hell could an agency of the United States government not only have imported six terrorists, but have actively sought them out? It was beyond insane.
He locked his eyes on Hanjour. He still didn’t buy it. “Why would NASA create an internship program for foreign Muslim students?”
Hanjour shrugged.
Harvath was about to press him, when Levy spoke up. “I know why.”
“You do?”
“A couple of years ago, there was an interview on Al Jazeera TV. It caused a lot of controversy back in the U.S. The director of NASA was being interviewed. It was during the previous administration. He said that when he took the NASA job, the President wanted him to do three things. I thought it was a joke when I heard it. The President said he wanted the NASA director to inspire children to learn math and science, expand international relationships, and at the top of the list, he wanted the director to find a way to reach out to the Muslim world to help them feel better about their historic contributions to science, math, and engineering.”
“What the—?” Harvath began, his voice trailing off. “Are you kidding me?”
Levy shook her head.
“No wonder NASA was forced to scrap the space shuttle program. Raising Islamic self-esteem must be an around-the-clock operation.”
Harvath shook his head in disgust. Political correctness was the biggest weakness in America’s national security. The TSA was a joke, A
merica refused to learn from the Israelis, and now NASA had gone from exploring the reaches of outer space to soothing the innermost reaches of the Muslim world’s feelings. The weakness that had been projected by the United States was astounding. It was a wonder that it hadn’t been invaded yet. It would take years to repair the damage.
At least for now, Harvath had helped the country take another step in the right direction. “We need to get on the phone to the FBI,” he said. “Have them swoop in on NASA and round these guys up.”
“You won’t find them,” Hanjour replied.
Harvath looked at him. “Why not?”
“Because it was a summer internship. They’re gone now.”
“Gone where? Back to Al Ain?”
“Wherever their handler needed them. The internship program was just the means to get them their visas, get them into the country, and get them acclimated. Once the internship was over, NASA assumed they would return home.”
“Which they didn’t,” Harvath stated.
Hanjour nodded.
FedEx and UPS could track millions of packages a day, but the U.S. government couldn’t track down foreigners who overstayed their visas. It was a disgrace. Coupled with the directive for NASA to help enhance Islamic self-esteem, Harvath couldn’t help but wonder if there were politicians and bureaucrats intent upon hastening the country’s collapse, which brought him back to China.
No matter what America’s problems were, none of them would matter if America ceased to exist. Whatever the Snow Dragon attack was, it had to be stopped—by any means necessary.
He and Levy spent another forty-five minutes poring over all the materials, asking Hanjour repeatedly for clarification on his notes. Harvath asked for pictures of the six men he had sent to the U.S. Hanjour stated that they were on one of the laptops. When Harvath asked him for the “control files”—the dossiers he had built on each man—Hanjour also claimed those were on the computers. Until the NSA could go to work on them, those would have to remain beyond Harvath’s reach.
Harvath pressed him on Ahmad Yaqub and the students. Hanjour asserted that he had communicated solely with Ahmad Yaqub. Once he had found and recruited the engineering students, he had guided their applications to the NASA program. Once they had been accepted, NASA had handled the visas.
Harvath learned that Hanjour had received six cell phones via messenger, which he assumed had been from Yaqub and which he had distributed to the students. They were to turn the phones on once they arrived in the United States, keep them charged, and await further instruction.
Hanjour claimed to have no idea what the telephone numbers were, what carrier the phones used, or if any pictures or instructions might have already been loaded on the phones. According to him, that wasn’t his job and he hadn’t wanted to know.
Once the phones had been handed out and the men had left for the U.S., Hanjour’s only responsibility was disbursing the agreed-to sums to the men’s families. The students had been made aware that if they screwed up, not only would the money stop, but their loved ones would be targeted. Whoever was behind the plot had been serious about a carrot-and-stick approach.
After wringing what they could from Hanjour, Harvath had a decision to make. He had no intention of letting the recruiter go. Maybe, at some point way in the future, he could be used as an asset, but right now—just like Ahmad Yaqub—he was headed for a dark cell and a hell of a lot more questions.
In the meantime, Harvath had to get everything from Hanjour’s safe back to the United States. He wanted to be on a plane with it and on his way out of the United Arab Emirates ASAP. That would require a little bit of tap-dancing with the authorities, some diplomatic immunity, and a VIP big enough to take any attention off him and his less-than-fully-backstopped black passport.
He asked Cowles to remove Hanjour from the room for a moment. Once they were gone, Harvath turned to Levy and asked, “Does anyone owe you any favors at the embassy in Abu Dhabi?”
“A couple,” she said. “Why?”
“I need you to call in a big one.”
CHAPTER 20
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* * *
NORTH KOREA
Eric Tucker looked up at Fordyce and shook his head. Les Johnson was keeping watch while Tang spoke soothingly to the boy in Korean. It was a total cluster. The sun would be up in an hour. They had some serious decisions to make.
Running away, the boy had stepped into a hole and had broken his right leg. That had been the pop Fordyce had heard.
“See how it’s all loose between the knee and ankle?” Tucker asked.
Fordyce looked down. Tuck had used his shears to cut up the length of the boy’s right pant leg. The little boy was scared to death and in a lot of pain. “How bad?” Fordyce asked
Tucker shook his head once more and unsealed one of the two-hundred-microgram Fentanyl lollipops the teams carried. “Bad,” he replied. “It looks like he’s got a tib/fib fracture.” He handed the lollipop to the boy and said to Tang, “Tell him to put this in his mouth and to suck on it slowly. Make sure he doesn’t bite it. Tell him it’ll help take away the pain.”
Tang nodded and translated the instructions as Fordyce continued to study the boy’s leg. He had played rugby at the Naval Academy and had seen some pretty bad bone breaks. And while he wasn’t a corpsman, he knew a tib/fib fracture was pretty serious. The kid wasn’t going to be able to walk on that leg.
Johnson shifted his eye from his rifle sight down to the boy. “What’s the plan?” he asked. “What are we going to do with him?”
“First we’re going to splint his leg,” stated Tuck.
“And then what?”
“And then,” Fordyce said, “we’re going to see where he’s from and what he knows.”
Johnson shook his head. “Bad idea. Sun’ll be up soon. People are going to come looking for him.”
Holding the boy’s hand, Billy Tang looked at Johnson. “So what are we supposed to do, bail? We’d be lucky to make the ridgeline by sunrise.”
“Hold on,” Fordyce interjected.
“We’d be exposed, in broad daylight,” Tang continued. “Not to mention the fact that our ride won’t be here until tomorrow night.”
Johnson hadn’t liked the CIA man from the get-go. Turning his attention back to his weapon sight, he repeated, “People are going to come looking for that boy.”
He was right. Fordyce knew it. They all knew it, including Billy. But Tang was also right. They were stuck. The sun would be up soon. Even if they wanted to pull the plug, they couldn’t. There was nowhere to go, not in broad daylight.
To make matters worse, the kid had probably left a trail behind him that even Helen Keller could follow. If someone did come looking for him, and they knew what they were doing, every broken twig and bent leaf of grass was going to lead them right to this spot.
The only way to prevent the team from being uncovered was to stop any search as soon as possible. To do that, they’d have to give up the boy. The drawback to that plan was that as soon as he began talking, the North Koreans would be after the SEALs and it would be Afghanistan 2005 and Operation Red Wings all over again. Fordyce wasn’t going to let that happen.
“Les is right,” Fordyce announced. “People are going to come looking for that kid.”
There was something about the way he said it that Tang didn’t like. “What are you suggesting?”
“His leg is already broken. We’ll make it look like he also hit his head.”
“We’re going to kill him?” Tang exclaimed. “Dude, I’ve got a boy almost his age.”
“And that’s exactly who you should be thinking about,” Fordyce ordered. “If this operation fails, your boy and millions of other children back home are going to get wiped out.”
Tang turned his attention back to the little boy with the broken leg and began asking him questions.
“Tang,” Fordyce insisted, but the CIA man ignored him. “Tang,” he repeated. “Quit talking to that ki
d. That’s an order. We’ve got to get this done and our trail scrubbed before the sun is up. Can you not fucking hear me?”
Johnson was closest to Tang, and pulling his foot back, he kicked him hard in the side.
Tang fell to the side, only to come up with his pistol. Leveling it at Johnson, he said, “You touch me again and I’ll kill you.”
Johnson was about to respond when Fordyce interrupted, “Tang, you’ve got two seconds to unfuck yourself. Put your weapon down.”
Tang continued to eyeball Johnson and ignore Fordyce.
Johnson smiled. He could see something Tang couldn’t. “You got him, Tuck?”
“I do,” said Tucker, who had snatched up his own weapon and now had it pointed right at Tang’s head.
“I’m giving you one last chance, Billy,” Fordyce commanded. “Put that fucking weapon down, right now.”
“We’re not killing this kid,” said Tang.
“That’s not your call. Put your weapon down. Do it now.”
“This kid has a sister,” Tang stated as he continued to converse with the little boy.
“I told you to stop talking to him,” Fordyce said. “It’s only going to make it harder. This is the last time I’m going to tell you to put your weapon down, Billy. I will order Tucker to shoot you. Do you understand me?”
“I thought SEALs were honorable.”
“Shoot him,” Johnson said to Tucker.
“Shut up, Les,” Fordyce commanded. “I’m in charge here. I give the orders.” Focusing on Tang he said, “Billy, I’m going to count to three. If you do not put your weapon down, you’re going to leave me no choice. One—”
The little boy, who seemed to know what was at stake, rushed off a string of sentences, intelligible only to himself and Tang. The boy was so emphatic, Fordyce paused his countdown.
As soon as the boy stopped speaking, Tang laid his pistol down. Johnson looked as if he was about to butt-stroke the CIA man with his rifle, but Fordyce raised his hand and signaled him to back off.
