by Brad Thor
In front of a blue-roofed building labeled McCreery Aviation, he shut the plane down and the gaggle of cheerful passengers disembarked. As he had done for customs and for immigration, Harvath mixed himself into the middle of the crowd. It was amazing how many Regios had blond hair and either green or blue eyes. They were also a very international set, which played well for him at immigration, because two women had girlfriends visiting from Germany and another had a male friend in from Spain. Harvath’s Italian passport didn’t even draw a second look.
Waiting just beyond the McCreery building was a fleet of stretch limousines. Their drivers were holding up pieces of paper with the names Melendez, Casas, Calleja, and Esquivel written in heavy black marker.
Harvath wasn’t looking for a name, though. He was looking for a symbol: three triangles that looked like jagged mountain peaks or a row of shark’s teeth.
Once a handful of passengers had piled into one of the limos and it pulled away, he spotted a white Ford F-150 pickup with the three triangles painted on the side, along with the words Three Peaks Ranch.
As he moved toward it, his eyes swept the parking lot for any sign of danger. Fifteen feet from the vehicle, the driver’s side door opened and an attractive woman with long blond hair, blue jeans, and cowboy boots climbed out.
CHAPTER 31
Maggie Rose introduced herself to Harvath, and the pair shook hands. She looked to be about his age, or maybe a couple of years younger, and spoke with a Texas drawl.
“We’ve got about an hour’s drive,” she said. “Is there anything you need before we get going?”
“Where exactly are we headed?” he asked.
Maggie was wearing an embroidered polo shirt with the Three Peaks Ranch logo, and tilted it toward him. “Your room’s already made up and everything.”
Harvath was apprehensive and hadn’t gotten into the truck yet. “If you don’t mind, Maggie, who sent you to pick me up?”
The ranch manager smiled. “A little fella with two of the biggest dogs you’ve ever seen.”
“Did he give you his name?”
“No, sir, he didn’t.”
“How about my name?” asked Harvath. “Did he give you that?”
“No, sir, he didn’t give me that either. He simply told me when your flight was coming in and that you’d find me.”
“That’s all?”
“He also told me I was supposed to play this for you,” she said as she jumped back in the truck and turned up the stereo.
Harvath recognized the song immediately—“Rubber Duckie” by Bootsy Collins. There was no longer any question that Nicholas had sent Maggie to pick him up.
One of their first moments of détente had been over beers in Brazil. In the background as he cooked lunch, Nicholas was playing music. The song was “Rubber Duckie.” Harvath had the original Ahh… The Name Is Bootsy, Baby! album in both vinyl and digital. The fact that the two shared a love of American funk was only the first of many things he would go on to learn about the little man.
Harvath walked around to the passenger seat of the truck and climbed in. Maggie got in on the driver’s side and closed her door.
“Is all of that for you?” he asked looking at the grocery bags on the backseat.
“No, sir. That’s for the other gentleman at the ranch. I came down early to do some shopping for him. A lot of the ingredients he likes I can’t find up by us. A bit too exotic.”
“And you were able to find them here in McAllen?”
“I found a couple, but most of the time people just looked at me like I was speaking Chinese.”
She was definitely shopping for Nicholas. “How long has he been staying at the ranch?”
“Not long,” Maggie replied as she navigated the truck out of the lot and onto the street. “Since the beginning of the week.”
“He’s a charming man, isn’t he?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, sir. He’s very polite.”
“You can call me Scot, Maggie. You don’t have to call me sir.”
“Okay, Scot.”
“So, tell me a bit about this ranch we’re headed to.”
∗ ∗ ∗
As they drove, Maggie gave him a history of south Texas and its major ranches, focusing a lot on the world-famous King Ranch, which was over 825,000 acres and comprised portions of six Texas counties.
From the major Texas ranches she gave the history of the Three Peaks Ranch—who had owned it before the Knight family and what types of cattle had been bred there. It was a fascinating history, and Harvath was looking forward to catching a glimpse of some of the exotic animals the Knights had imported.
As the conversation continued, Harvath slowly pulled subtle details from Maggie about the ranch’s security measures and its staff. Aside from a simple ADT home security system and a handful of security cameras, there really weren’t any other active measures when the family wasn’t in residence.
When the Knights were in residence, they brought with them their own security team that manned a twenty-four-hour checkpoint at the gate, as well as roving patrols and agents who watched the security camera feeds. Pushing a bit harder, he learned that there was a license plate camera at the front gate, as well as pressure plates that alerted the gatehouse and the main house when someone was coming up the driveway. The 3,000-acre exotic animal enclosure was surrounded by ten-foot-high “game” fences.
By the time they finally arrived at Three Peaks Ranch, Harvath had built a good rapport with Maggie and had assembled a much better picture of how the ranch operated, what its security was like, and who the staff were.
Off in the distance, he noticed buzzards flying over a windmill of some sort. “Somebody lost some livestock out there.”
Maggie followed his gaze. “That’s not our property. It belongs to the ranch next door, but they’re not grazing cattle over there right now. The windmill pumps water into a trough, so it still attracts a lot of animals. A coyote or something probably took down a deer that had stopped to take a drink.”
“Must have been a really big deer to get that many buzzards circling.”
She smiled as she pulled up to a keypad and punched in her code. “As they say, everything’s bigger in Texas.”
The wrought-iron gates, emblazoned with the ranch’s three-triangle brand, slid open and they pulled through.
As they drove, she pointed out the buildings. They had been built from Texas limestone, known as Ol Yella, quarried near San Antonio and brought down on flatbed trucks. There was also a hefty complement of Austin stone. The roofing tiles were clay. The wood beams, columns, rafters, and decking were cypress, while the hand-carved doors, cabinets, and accents were Texas mesquite. Saltillo tiles covered the interior floors, and the walkways outside were Oklahoma Sugarloaf flagstones.
In addition to the main house were a large guesthouse, the ranch manager’s home, six small staff casitas, a vehicle storage building along with a walk-in freezer and game-processing area, stables, and a recreational building that included kitchen, dining hall, bar, arcade, and exercise facility. As they passed it, Maggie commented on the “liar’s pit,” a stone firepit that the Knights and their guests liked to gather around in the evenings with drinks.
From the moment she picked Harvath up, she hadn’t asked him any personal questions or made any inquiries about Nicholas. They were the Knights’ guests; that was all she needed to know.
Pulling up in front of the guesthouse, she smiled, put the truck in park, and said, “Here we are. I’ll just get these groceries inside and—”
“Don’t worry about the groceries,” Harvath replied as he reached into the back and picked up the bags. “I’ve got them.”
“Well, if you find there’s anything you need, just let me know. My numbers are on the fridge inside and all the phones have me on the speed-dial list, home and cell.”
“There is one thing. I’m going to need some clothes.”
“The Knights keep a whole closet full of casual cloth
es for guests, in the rec building. If you don’t find anything to your liking there, I can recommend a couple of places nearby, or if you give me a list, I’d be happy to go out and pick up whatever you want. Just let me know.”
“I will,” he said as he stepped down from the truck. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied and then, remembering the CD Nicholas had given her, she pressed the eject button on the player. “Don’t forget your ‘Rubber Duckie.’”
“You keep it,” Harvath answered. “I’ve got a bunch.”
Maggie smiled and pushed the CD back into the player. As she put the truck in reverse and began to back up, he could hear the song beginning again.
Mounting the guesthouse stairs, he was just reaching for the door when it opened from within and Nicholas greeted him with Argos and Draco at his side. “You made it. Thank God.”
“Where do you want these?” Harvath asked, holding up the grocery bags.
“You can put them inside. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
CHAPTER 32
Nicholas introduced Nina to Harvath and briefly outlined his friendship with Caroline. He then asked Nina if she could give them some time alone. They had a lot to catch up on, much of which was too sensitive to be discussed in front of her. He did his best to frame it so that she wouldn’t be offended.
“I understand, Nick,” she replied, setting aside the paperback she had been reading. “I think I’ll take a walk.”
Nina rose from the couch and as she walked past, she smiled and gave his arm a little squeeze. “See you later.”
Harvath was fascinated. He’d never seen Nicholas interact with a woman before. Once the front door had closed, he turned and said, “She calls you Nick?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“She’s an incredible woman. She reminds me a lot of her sister.”
“And you two…” Harvath let his voice trail off.
The little man didn’t answer. His silence spoke for him.
“I wouldn’t have figured you for the goth type.”
“This isn’t about her looks. We have a connection like you wouldn’t believe.”
He was right—Harvath didn’t believe it. The only female companionship Nicholas had ever known had come with a price tag attached, but suddenly, in the middle of an absolute shit storm, he had stumbled into a budding romance with an attractive woman likely half his age. It made the contrast with his own personal situation that much more stark.
“Riley’s dead,” Harvath said. It was an abrupt and perhaps cold change of subject, but in all fairness, there were much more serious things happening than Nicholas’s relationship with Caroline Romero’s sister.
To the credit of the large heart that beat within his little body, Nicholas took no umbrage. “I’m sorry, Scot,” he said. “What happened?”
From the way Harvath had spoken about Riley in the past, he had suspected there might have been something more than just professional respect between the two, and as Harvath recounted what took place in Paris, Nicholas realized that his friend had indeed developed feelings for her.
Once Harvath had filled him in on everything that had happened, it was Nicholas’s turn. Before he started, he walked into the kitchen, grabbed a beer for each of them, and returned to the living room. He handed one to Harvath and began to speak.
Layer by layer, Nicholas brought Harvath up to speed on what he had uncovered. He detailed his friendship with Caroline Romero, along with her background at Adaptive Technology Solutions. Harvath was unfamiliar with ATS, so Nicholas read him in.
From there, the little man explained how Caroline had mailed a box to her sister in Texas, with a recordable greeting card containing instructions and an advanced flash drive. He then described how he had unlocked the drive and what he had learned from it so far.
When he was done, Harvath stood up and fetched them another round. Returning from the kitchen, he remarked, “You said Caroline characterized what ATS was doing as a sort of ‘digital panopticon.’ What is that?”
“It’s based on a concept developed in the late eighteenth century by a British social theorist named Jeremy Bentham. The panopticon was a vision for the perfect prison. The building was like a wheel, with all the cells facing the hub. In the center of the hub was an enclosed circular guard tower with highly polished windows. The guards could monitor any of the prisoners at any time without their knowing exactly when they were being actively watched.”
“And Caroline Romero believed ATS was doing the same thing, only digitally?” asked Harvath.
“Yes, and not to prisoners but American citizens. She cataloged how ATS was steering like-minded members of the U.S. government in order to create a fully encompassing, fully functioning digital panopticon. Hence the term Total Surveillance.”
“But what does it have to do with me being accused of treason, or our organization being penetrated and Riley getting killed?” Harvath asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t, you’re right. That’s why having a better understanding of what Caroline discovered might help us figure this all out. She made a big deal about a study from the Brookings Institute. Entitled ‘Recording Everything: Digital Storage as an Enabler of Authoritarian Governments,’ its premise was that as the costs for data storage fall, it becomes ‘more cost effective for governments to record every scrap of digital information’ its citizens produce.
“The easier and more cost effective that is, the more incentive there is to do it. The technology not only enables authoritarianism, it encourages it. Governments simply cannot say ‘no’ when offered more power. And as we know, information, and thereby knowledge, is power.
“Caroline saved a blog entry that summed it up best. Every e-mail, all your Internet activity, the entirety of every single phone conversation, every piece of GPS data, all your social media interactions, every credit card transaction, every single electronic detail about your life, like it or not, is being placed into a safety deposit box that you have no control over. The government can come in at any point, open that box, and conduct retroactive surveillance on you. They will be able to create a perfect profile of your behavior, and they’ll be exceptionally well armed if they deem your behavior to be in opposition to the best interests of the state.
“While Brookings estimated that the conversations of every citizen could be recorded for seventeen cents a year, Caroline showed that ATS and the NSA were not only already doing it, they had gotten the cost down to only five cents a year. They’re storing all of your e-mails, GPS data, text messages, and Web activity too, for even less.”
“Is there any data on private citizens they’re not collecting?” Harvath asked.
Nicholas shook his head and filled him in on the testing of streetlights in Michigan that could record audio and video and then explained how ATS via the NSA had been behind the explosion in surveillance cameras in Manhattan and Chicago. Caroline had downloaded a PowerPoint presentation that outlined how ATS could have one surveillance camera for every five citizens up and running within three years.
There were new Japanese cameras ATS liked that recorded every single person who passed by and stored the information in perpetuity in a digital library. Using breakthrough facial recognition software, the camera could go back into its database and scan 36 million faces per second until it found the one it was told to look for.
Anticipating resistance because of the cost of all this surveillance technology, ATS had its in-house governmental lobbying firm craft a step-by-step case showing how Congress could orchestrate a “public safety” tax, whereby the citizens being surveilled would bear the cost themselves.
“Evil doesn’t even seem to begin to describe these people,” said Harvath.
“No it doesn’t,” said Nicholas. “And all the surveillance right now is being done without a warrant. Americans have no idea. But that’s not even the worst of it.”
CHAPT
ER 33
Caroline believed that while ATS had built this amazing, all-encompassing surveillance apparatus under the premise of national security, their goal actually had nothing to do with national security at all,” Nicholas explained. “Their goal was control—complete and total control of every man, woman, and child in the United States.”
“How the hell is that even possible?” asked Harvath.
“ATS is like an organism that survives only by feeding off a host. In this case, the host is the U.S. and its citizens. But ATS needs politicians, judges, bureaucrats, and innumerable other cogs in the Big Government wheel to help legitimize and push their agenda. Those whom they can’t buy, they blackmail.”
And he was being accused of treason. Harvath shook his head.
“Sometimes, though,” Nicholas continued, “there are those who won’t toe the line. That’s when pressure is brought to bear. The targets can be individuals, or entire swaths of the citizenry, and they can be guilty of nothing more than holding an idea that the state finds threatening to its existence.”
“I thought we were talking about ATS.”
“We are. For all intents and purposes, ATS is the state. Caroline described that when people refer to a ‘shadow government,’ they’re actually talking about ATS, whether they realize it or not.”
“And they’re planning to target Americans simply because of ideas they hold?” Harvath asked.
“They’re not planning. It’s already happened. The Department of Homeland Security recently issued a report identifying ‘disgruntled’ military veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan as potential ‘right-wing’ terrorists. Supporters of politicians and political causes that called for smaller government with greater accountability to American citizens were also labeled as potential terrorists. Owning guns, ammunition, or more than a week’s worth of food now classifies you as a potential terrorist. Even certain political bumper stickers or flying the bright yellow Don’t Tread On Me Gadsden flag can now qualify you as a terrorist.
