by Brad Thor
After he had finished and they had fired questions back and forth about ATS, Carlton looked at Harvath and said, “You’re right about the political fallout. An accusation alone, without some sort of corpus delicti, isn’t going to be enough to bring them down.”
“What about what’s on the flash drive?”
“Even if I had read through all of the material, I don’t think I’d want to bet all the marbles on it.”
“What about testimony?” Harvath asked. “You’ve got Vignon. We’ve got Schroeder, and we can roll up Bremmer at any time.”
“All three of whom were kidnapped by us at some point in this process and will refuse to testify on grounds of self-incrimination. They’ll only talk with some sort of immunity deal. To get that, we’ll have to go to either the President or the Attorney General and give them something substantial—something tangible and incriminating.”
“That’s all well and good, but we don’t have that kind of time. This attack is about to happen, and you know what? I don’t give a damn about political repercussions. I want to prevent this attack. We can worry about the fallout later.”
Carlton took a sip of coffee, the gears turning inside his mind. “I agree. No matter what we gave to the President or the DOJ, because of the players involved, they’re going to make damn sure they’ve investigated this up one side and down the other before they make a single move.”
“In other words, paralysis.”
“No, not paralysis. We’re talking about political and career radiation from any misstep or mistake. I think exceedingly meticulous caution is what the watchwords will be. But you’re right. It’s going to move very slowly. They’re going to do everything by the book, dot every i and cross every t.”
“And that’s fine. The bigger the case they can build, the better. All I care about, though, is disrupting the attack.”
The Old Man took another sip of coffee. No one spoke. The only sound was the ticking of a Regulator grandfather clock out in the hallway.
Finally, Carlton looked and him and said, “What do you want to do?”
Harvath didn’t need to formulate an answer. He knew exactly what he wanted to do. “I want to go in. Tonight. Now.”
CHAPTER 66
Mike Strieber was a godsend. Flying people back at night, he had taken the initiative to bring along the new rifle Rhodes was using, as well as night vision equipment for Harvath. It was part of the multiple Storm cases’ worth of gear Harvath, Casey, and Rhodes had loaded into the Suburban before leaving D.C. to meet up with Reed Carlton. Now, as Harvath made his way through the darkness of the wooded, northern edge of the ATS estate, he was very appreciative.
Schroeder had sketched out what he knew about the estate, but it was Vignon, the security chief, who really provided them with the best overall view. Of course, it was under extreme duress, but there was enough there to help in planning a halfway decent assault.
Most helpful were the anticipated personnel levels, what their backgrounds were, and how likely they were to engage an intruder they viewed as a threat. Vignon didn’t mince words, especially when it came to the last issue. The estate security agents were highly skilled and were authorized to kill any hostile intruders. As Harvath wasn’t pedaling up on a bike selling magazine subscriptions, he had no question which category he’d be placed in if they caught him. The key was not to get caught.
As he picked his way through the woods, Riley Turner popped into his mind. He couldn’t allow himself to think about her, not now. He needed to focus. Placing her back inside the iron box he kept in that far, dusty corner of his mind, he slammed the lid shut and locked it. There’d be time to come to terms with Riley’s death; now wasn’t it. Shifting his attention to what lay ahead of him, he went back over everything he had been told about the ATS compound.
According to Vignon, they didn’t use dogs on the estate. That was a big relief. But according to Schroeder, and this was seconded by Vignon, they did use multiple layers of highly sensitive intrusion detection systems. Luckily, Schroeder had helped install and centralize them. From his loft back in D.C., with Nicholas supervising his every move, Schroeder was able to create dead zones through which Harvath could slip and approach the main building. He also helped their radios pierce the signals blackout that normally blanketed the estate.
When Harvath came across the first guard patrol, right about the distance Vignon had assured him they would be, he quietly alerted Rhodes to their position. “Overwatch. This is Norseman. Do you copy? Over.”
“This is Overwatch,” she replied. “I copy you, Norseman. Over.”
“I’ve got two guards on foot just east of my position. Can you see them? Over.”
“Negative, Norseman. Stand by.”
Seconds passed before Rhodes came back over Harvath’s earpiece and said. “Norseman, this is Overwatch. I have them now. Over.”
Mike Strieber had brought along one of his high-end M4-style rifles, which had been zeroed in with a powerful night vision scope. It wasn’t lost on Harvath that he was launching an operation very similar to the one ATS had launched against him in Texas. Reflecting on this, he had warned Rhodes to be careful not to get ambushed.
While Rhodes covered Harvath’s approach from the rear of the property, Casey was coming at the property from the front. Her job was to be there and create a diversion if necessary to draw attention away from any escape Harvath might need to make.
It was a good night for an assault; cold with thick cloud cover. The wind rattled the branches of the trees and sent patches of leaves skittering across the ground. It was the kind of night where senses got dulled standing a security post. The more the wind blew, the more apt you were to attribute things to it. A lot of second-guessing happened on nights like this, and Harvath was counting on that.
Staying in the trees, he moved southeast. The idea was to limit his time in open terrain as much as possible. The problem was that sweeping expanses of manicured lawns predominantly surrounded the main house. It was only by coming up on it at an angle, where the support buildings were, that an intruder had any chance of cover. ATS knew this too, though, and had focused heavily on defending this approach. For Harvath, it wasn’t the technology being employed that was a problem, it was the amount of personnel.
One of the advantages he had on his side was surprise. Another was that none of the men standing guard tonight had expected to do so. Middleton’s decision to rush them to the estate had been very last-minute. As a result, most of them were probably tired and more than a little bit punchy. That didn’t mean, though, that they weren’t a threat. Harvath could last longer than most without sleeping. And while he didn’t like it, it didn’t lessen how deadly he was. In fact, it might actually heighten it, as lack of sleep often put him in a bad mood.
What also put him in a bad mood were terrorists, and that was exactly how he saw Middleton and everyone else associated with ATS. Spouses and family members aside, there were no innocents on this property tonight. That thought was at the forefront of his mind as he came to the edge of the trees, one hundred yards from the beginning of the support buildings.
From where he crouched, he could see another patrol of two men. Hailing Rhodes again, he said, “Overwatch. This is Norseman. Do you copy? Over.”
“Norseman, this is Overwatch. I copy. Over.”
“I have another patrol. Two guards on my side of the long utility shed. Do you have eyes on? Over.”
“Roger that, Norseman. Overwatch has eyes on. Two guards, north side of the utility shed. Over.”
“Do you see anything else? Over.”
“Negative, Norseman. There was movement near the stables, possibly another patrol, but it has moved on. You’re good to go. Over.”
“Roger that,” replied Harvath. “Stand by.”
He was carrying a suppressed, hyperaccurate short-barreled OBR rifle chambered in 5.56. Mounted to the top was an EOTech XPS3 holographic weapon sight and behind it a PVS-14 night vision monocular. W
ith it, Harvath had been scanning the darkness for threats, and that was how he had picked up the first two patrols. Steadying his breathing, he peered through the optics once more, scanned the area, and then said over his radio, “Overwatch, this is Norseman. You are clear to fire at utility shed guards. Over.”
“Roger that, Norseman. Overwatch is cleared hot. Engaging guards on north side of utility shed in three… two… one…”
Harvath watched as the first sentry was shot in the head, followed immediately by the second. Before either of the bodies had hit the ground, he had already taken off running.
It was one of the fastest one-hundred-yard dashes he had ever run. Skidding to a stop in the loose gravel and dirt behind the utility shed, he almost lost his balance.
After sweeping the area for threats, he dragged the first sentry and then the second closer to the shed where their bodies would be harder to spot in the shadow of the building.
He was now in an area where it would be difficult for Rhodes to cover him. There were too many buildings and miscellaneous pieces of equipment he would be using for cover that would impede her view. Only in the final sprint to the house would she be able to see him again. “Overwatch to Norseman. Good luck. Overwatch out.”
Harvath took a deep breath, let it out, and then listened. The wind was really blowing and he thanked God again that they weren’t using dogs. They would have smelled him coming from a mile away, especially now that he had begun sweating.
Keeping his back against the wall of the utility shed, he slid down to the far corner. Readying his weapon, he counted to three and poked around the corner ready to fire. There was no one there. Quietly, he made his way up the small hill, using the shed to hide him from view of the main house. So far, so good.
At the end of the shed, there was an open area about forty yards long before the next building. Parked two-thirds of the way between was one of the estate’s utility vehicles. After using the night vision device to scan for threats, Harvath took off for it.
Coming to another abrupt stop, he crouched behind the engine block and listened. There was nothing he could discern, other than the wind.
Peeking around the front of the vehicle, he scanned for threats with his weapon site and, seeing nothing, stood up and took off running once more.
The next building was the stables. This was where Rhodes had said she had seen movement. Moving around the back of the structure, Harvath hugged the outer stable wall.
Halfway up, his foot caught on the edge of something and he almost tripped, but was able to recover his balance. No sooner had he done so than two armed men appeared. They were talking to each other and were obviously taken by surprise. Before they could get their weapons up and fully on target, Harvath depressed his trigger dropping the first man and then shifted to the second and did the same.
“Guards down,” he whispered over his radio as he crept toward the riding arena. Beyond the arena was a long row of garages and after that, the final sprint to the house.
Harvath moved past the riding arena and made it behind the garages without any further incident. He now only had one last open area to cover, which they had code-named “the bridge,” to get to the main house.
“Norseman to Overwatch. Do you copy? Over?”
“Roger that, Norseman. I copy. Over.”
“Ready to cross the bridge. How does everything look? Over.”
“A team just moved through. You should hit it before they come back. Over.”
“Roger that,” replied Harvath. “Stand by.” He swept the area with his weapon, took three deep breaths, and then said, “Now!”
Springing from behind the garages, he ran for the back of the house. It was another hundred-yard dash, and then some. He ran with all the speed he could summon.
He was less than halfway there when he caught movement out of the corner of his left eye. There were two more sentries, and there was no way he’d be able to spin and engage them in time.
CHAPTER 67
Before Harvath could turn and engage the shooters, he heard Rhodes over the radio say, “Guard down,” followed by another, “Guard down,” as the bodies dropped at his nine o’clock.
Rhodes was amazing. She obviously had his back, so he kept moving as quickly as he could.
When he finally arrived at the house, his lungs were on fire. He pulled up alongside, crouched out of view, and drew large breaths until he’d oxygenated his blood and steadied his heart rate. Throughout the entire process, he never moved the muzzle of his weapon, which was trained on the back door.
As soon as his pulse and breathing were steady, he prepared himself to enter the house.
According to Vignon, the security staff came and went through the kitchen, so the door was left unlocked. Sliding over to it now, Harvath gave the knob a slow twist, and found that it was indeed unlocked. Over his radio, he whispered, “Norseman making entry in three, two, one.”
Pulling the door open, he came into the kitchen low. There were two guards at the kitchen table and a third doing something at the sink. He double-tapped each of them and cursed under his breath when the man at the sink dropped the coffee mug he was holding and it shattered in the sink.
Had anyone else heard it? It had sounded earsplitting to him, and not just because his finely tuned senses were on high alert and he was allergic to making noise. It had been loud. Too loud. Damn it. Time to move.
Stepping to the far side of the room, he pulled even with a set of stairs that led up to where the bedrooms were. Vignon had laid out who normally stayed in what rooms, all of which were named after characters from literature. But before Harvath went upstairs, he wanted to clear downstairs.
Moving through the kitchen, he checked a small breakfast atrium and then scanned an adjacent butler’s pantry. Stepping into the formal dining room, he made a quick check before sweeping back into the kitchen and up the servants’ hall to the front of the house. As he did, he heard a noise from somewhere behind him.
Pressing himself up against the wall near the entrance to the dining room, he strained to discern what it was. He picked up the sound of footsteps. They were slow and methodical, cautious even. Based on the fact that there had been three guards in the kitchen, Harvath was willing to bet he was listening to the approach of a fourth, who must have been somewhere sneaking a cigarette or in one of the home’s bathrooms.
Allowing the weapon to hang from its sling, Harvath unsheathed a flat, skeletonized dagger and made ready.
When the figure appeared in the doorway, Harvath wrenched his pistol to the side and drove the dagger into his throat. He quickly thrust up toward the man’s right ear and tore through and back toward his left.
Easing the large man to the floor, he withdrew the dagger, wiped it, and slid it back in its sheath.
He transitioned back to his OBR and swept through a card room, a rather substantial library, and then the living room. There was no sign of life. At least there hadn’t been until he exited the opposite end of the living room where light spilled from an open doorway across the hall. Very carefully, Harvath made his way toward it.
Sweeping into a lavishly decorated study, with animal heads on the wall and a huge fireplace, Harvath found Craig Middleton. He was seated in a high-backed leather chair at an ornate partner’s desk. A pair of reading glasses were balanced on his nose as he studied a series of maps laid out in front of him. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and his jacket and tie lay across a nearby chair. In his right hand he held a rocks glass with what looked like scotch.
“Don’t move,” said Harvath as he entered the room.
Middleton looked up from his papers. A smile slowly unzipped across his craggy face. “Look at this. The mountain has finally come to Mohammed.”
“Don’t move includes not moving your mouth.”
Middleton rattled the ice in his glass, as if his right hand were trembling.
“Who else from the board is in the house?”
“How about a drink first
?”
Harvath replied by firing two rounds into the top of the leather chair on either side of his head.
“Four,” Middleton replied. “Though I heard a car about an hour ago, so there could be a fifth. I’ve been a little bit busy.”
“I’ll bet you have. Get up. You’re coming with me.”
Middleton smiled at him and leaned back in his chair. “I’d offer you a real nice position with us, but I know you wouldn’t take it. It’s a shame. We could use a man of your talents. The world is changing, quite rapidly, in fact. Guys like you are going to have to adapt or be crushed underfoot as our country progresses forward.”
Harvath put two rounds through the desk, barely missing each of Middleton’s knees. “I said get up.”
Middleton scooted himself back from the desk and took a long draught of his drink. “I hope wherever we’re going, there’s plenty of this.” Sitting the glass down on the desk, he smiled and added, “Are you a scotch fan, Mr. Harvath? I mean a fan of really, really good scotch. I’ve got a special bottle I have been saving for tomorrow.”
Harvath was about to tell him to shut up and step from behind the desk, when there was a pop and two barbed probes embedded themselves between his shoulder blades.
When the electricity ripped through his body, his muscles seized and he fell forward like an oak tree that had just been chopped down. He hit the floor face-first and blood gushed from his nose.
They rolled him on his back and stripped away his pistol and rifle. When his brain came back online and he was able to process what was going on, he was stunned to see Chuck Bremmer standing right next to Middleton, the Taser gripped in his right hand.
“It took all night,” he said with disdain, “but we knew you’d be here eventually.” With that, Bremmer pressed the Taser’s trigger again and held it down, giving Harvath an excruciatingly long shock.
When he stopped and Harvath had regained his faculties, Bremmer stepped forward and kicked him as hard as he could, right in the ribs. “That’s for using a sniper to target my fucking wife.” The kick was very painful but not as painful as the one that followed, which caught him under the chin and sent a searing lightning bolt right through his skull. “And that’s for targeting my daughter. My daughter! You son of a bitch.”
