by Brad Thor
Harvath was about to say as much when Ron Parker looked up from his laptop and interrupting his thoughts by saying, “We’ve got activity in the chat room.”
Chapter 35
SANTIAGO DE QUERÉTARO, MEXICO
T he city of Querétaro was hot, dirty, and crowded. Though its population was just under 1.5 million, most of them seemed to crowd into the historic downtown—a UNESCO World Heritage Site, so recognized for its well-preserved Colonial Era architecture.
Depending upon whether you were a Mexican or a Spanish historian, Querétaro was known as the cradle of Mexican independence or as a hotbed of revolutionary activity. It was in this city that the plot to overthrow the Spanish and push them back to Spain was born. It was also where the peace treaty known as the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was signed, ending the Mexican-American War and ceding parts of the modern-day U. S. states of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Wyoming, as well as all of California, Nevada, and Utah. In return, the United States agreed to take over $3.25 million in debts owed by Mexico to American citizens.
With both radical Islamic fundamentalists and a good majority of the Mexican government intent upon bringing down the United States, Querétaro seemed a perfect place for Ronaldo Palmera to call home.
When word came from the Troll of Palmera’s whereabouts, Ron Parker was actually disappointed that he wasn’t holed up in one of the training camps. With all of the ex-Special Operations people on the Elk Mountain payroll, he had hoped they could assemble their own strike team, slip across the border, and take out an entire camp.
Harvath would have liked that too, but grabbing Palmera in Querétaro had some distinct advantages. Foremost among them was that the city was at the crossroads of Mexico and had one of the most dynamic economies in the entire country. This meant that large amounts of American and European capital as well as large numbers of businessmen moved through Querétaro on a regular basis. With their shaved heads, Parker and Finney weren’t exactly going to blend—not the two of them together and especially not Finney. He was so big that he stood out everywhere he went, but Harvath had a good idea of how they could turn that to their advantage.
Operationally, Parker and Finney had enough tactical knowledge and experience to pull off what Harvath wanted to do. What’s more, a three-man team was as big as they dared put together for this operation. As good as the guys from Valhalla and Site Six were, the crew for this kind of assignment was best kept small.
When their jet touched down at Querétaro International Airport, a well-dressed Finney and Parker took up bodyguard positions around an even-better-
dressed Harvath.
Once through customs and passport control, Finney and Parker unpacked radios from their bags, affixed them beneath their sport coats, and placed Secret Service-style ear buds into their ears. The policemen guarding the terminal studied their movements, but no more intensely than they did those of any other wealthy foreign businessman who came through the airport. Americans and Europeans were still a thing of both wonder and envy in Querétaro.
Halfway along the main road into the city, Finney instructed Parker to pull off. They followed a poorly paved road for about seven miles into one of the worst Mexican slums any of them had ever seen. Rental car or not, this wasn’t a good place to be driving a shiny, new American luxury four-door.
After doubling back twice, they finally found what they were looking for. As they pulled up in front of the tiny auto parts store with its hand-painted signs and rusted bars across its windows, Finney looked at Parker and said, “Keep it running.”
Climbing out of the car, Finney spotted an old man in a T-shirt and sandals sitting in a lawn chair propped up against the front of the building. When the old man smiled, he showed a row of gold teeth.
Finney approached him and asked a question about the road into Querétaro. When the old man gave him the predetermined response, Finney then asked him if he had a spare tire that would fit their car. The old man raised himself from the wobbly lawn chair and motioned for Finney to follow him inside.
Harvath and Parker watched from the car. This wasn’t part of the agreement, and neither of them liked it, but they had little choice but to sit and wait.
Moments later, Finney re-emerged with what they assumed was their tire wrapped in a large garbage bag. The old man came around the back of the car and knocked twice with his gnarled knuckles on the trunk. Parker depressed the trunk release, and Finney carefully laid the tire inside.
Ten minutes later, they pulled the car off to the side of the road and got out. Popping the trunk, they removed the plastic bag from around the “spare tire.” Duct-taped inside the tire was everything Harvath had asked for. The Troll had charged them dearly for the weapons, but seeing as how they had no sources in Mexico and Harvath couldn’t tap any of his D. C. connections for fear the president would find out what he was up to, they’d had little choice but to agree to buy what they needed from the Troll and his extensive network.
Harvath was glad to have the weapons. If Ronaldo Palmera was as dangerous as everyone said he was, they were going to need them.
Chapter 36
T hough Palmera could have lived anywhere in Querétaro, he preferred the hardscrabble El Tepe neighborhood where people minded their own business and didn’t ask a lot of questions.
He kept an unassuming two-story house not far from the main market square. In the rear was a patio of sorts where he had planted an extensive garden, the highlight of which was neat rows of dwarf fruit trees.
Gardening was a pastime Palmera had come to late in life and it had become a reliable way to soothe his nerves and take his mind off all he had seen and all he had done.
To represent the five pillars of Islam, he had planted five different types of trees: apple for the testimony of faith; apricot for the ritual of daily prayer; cherry for the obligatory almsgiving; nectarine for fasting, and peach for the pilgrimage to Mecca—a journey Palmera had yet to undertake.
As he tended to each type of tree, he was reminded of his commitment to Allah and focused his mind on what that particular pillar of Islam meant to him. In the midst of an all-too-secular world, Palmera’s garden was his sanctuary, his earthly Paradise. It was also the weakest link in the defense of his home.
Early on, Harvath had abandoned the idea of snatching Palmera off the street—too many witnesses and too many things that could go wrong. Their best chance was to take him at his house.
From what the intel revealed, Palmera lived alone and didn’t travel with any bodyguards—his reputation being all the protection he needed. The one thing that Harvath was worried about, though, was how extensively Palmera had the neighborhood wired. Spreading your money around to local charities, churches, and families in need was a great way to purchase loyalty and eyeballs that would alert you to any indication someone had come looking for you.
In the end, there simply was no way for Harvath and his team to know. Therefore, they had to adopt the attitude that every single person within a four-block radius of Palmera’s house was on his payroll and ready to drop a dime at a moment’s notice. Trying to sneak into the neighborhood was out of the question. They would have to go in bold as brass.
And that’s exactly what they did.
They parked the rental car a block away from Palmera’s house and paid a couple of shopkeepers a hundred bucks apiece to keep an eye on it. Though Finney spoke very little Spanish, it was clear what would happen to the shopkeepers if they returned and something had happened to their vehicle.
He took up his position behind Harvath and Parker and they walked to the corner and turned onto Palmera’s street. Harvath talked animatedly and pointed at different buildings, a roll of blueprints under his arm.
Three-quarters of the way down the block, Harvath spotted the narrow gangway that led to the rear of Palmera’s house, and he stopped. Removing the blueprints from underneath his arm, he unrolled them across the hood of a parked car and appeared to study them intently.
Taking a small digital camera from his pocket, he handed it to Parker and ordered him to start taking pictures.
The neighborhood people had no idea who the man with the blueprints was, but based on the size of his bodyguard he had to be somebody very important. If he was visiting El Tepe, that could only mean one thing—redevelopment. And redevelopment meant money, lots of money.
They watched as the man studied his plans and his assistant took photographs of their shops and buildings, while the dutiful bodyguard stood by, ready to discourage any unbidden approach.
Eager to look worthy of the businessman’s interest in their neighborhood, several of the shopkeepers along the street shuffled inside to get brooms and began sweeping off their sidewalks.
Harvath continued to gesture, using his pen to point out how the power cables entered several different structures. Satisfied that they had garnered the right kind of attention, Harvath studied his blueprints for a few minutes more, then pointed at the gangway just ahead of them. Tucking the drawings for Tim Finney’s new riding arena at Elk Mountain under his arm, he began walking. This would be one of the most dangerous moments of their entry plan.
Tom Morgan had covertly piggybacked onto an NSA satellite that allowed him to monitor everything that was going on from back in Colorado. As of this moment, Ronaldo Palmera’s home was empty. If they were going to get inside, now was the time to do it.
Receiving the “all clear” over his earpiece, Ron Parker relayed the message to Harvath, and they casually turned into the narrow gangway. It was strewn with garbage and smelled like urine. Harvath had smelled worse.
He ignored the smell and even a rat that looked as if it could have been a contender at Churchill Downs and made his way to the end of the passageway.
He had his lockpick gun halfway out of his pocket when he arrived at a heavy wooden door laced with black iron bands and realized they’d have to think of something else. The door looked as if it had been pulled from a medieval castle or fortified Spanish mission, and its thick iron lock was just as forbidding. They’d have to go over the high stone wall.
Fortunately, they were fairly well concealed from the street, and Harvath got right to work.
Taking two steps backward, he counted to three and then leaped for the top of the wall. He latched on and gave a silent thanks that it wasn’t capped with broken glass—a common security measure in third world countries. He pulled himself up, swung his legs over, and dropped into the garden below.
As he did, he heard something that turned his blood to ice.
Chapter 37
T he animals tore out of their makeshift doghouse and barreled down on Harvath with amazing speed. His vision narrowed. All he could see were their contorted, hideous faces with their grisly teeth and pitch-black eyes.
In an instant, they were airborne—their mouths wide open, ready to tear at his flesh. Harvath had time neither to draw his weapon nor to get out of the way. His only reaction was one of pure instinct. He raised both his arms to protect his face.
There was the sound of two quick pops as the animals slammed into Harvath and knocked him back against the wall. Quickly, he spun away from them, surprised to have his arms free.
Harvath readied for the dogs to launch their next assault and then realized it wouldn’t be coming. He looked up and saw Ron Parker straddling the wall, his silenced pistol clasped in both hands. His eyes quickly scanned the garden for any other threats. Seeing none, he hopped down and joined Harvath.
“Tom Morgan sends his apologies,” said Parker, as he made sure the animals were dead. “He never noticed the dogs.”
Harvath looked down at the two bodies on the ground. The animals were absolutely vile. They appeared to be some sort of pit bull-Doberman cross that had gone horribly wrong. They were revolting to look at. All the same, Harvath regretted having to kill them. He loved dogs.
But there was no question that these boys would have torn him apart. He was lucky Ron Parker was such an exceptional shot.
“Thank you,” said Harvath as he pulled his weapon.
“That’s one you owe me,” replied Parker as Finney came over the wall and landed just a few feet away.
“Those are the ugliest dogs I’ve ever seen,” said Finney as he grabbed them by their hind legs and pulled them toward the corrugated metal doghouse.
While Finney hid the carcasses, Parker scanned the adjacent windows for any sign they’d been discovered, and Harvath worked the locks on Palmera’s back door.
When he had the door open, he signaled Finney and Parker and they slipped inside behind him.
Just as the Troll had said, Palmera didn’t have an alarm system. But somehow the Troll had overlooked the dogs. Harvath made a note to take it up with him later.
With their weapons drawn, the men quickly swept through the house, clearing each room as they went. There was no sign of Palmera or anyone else. That gave Harvath a few extra minutes to look for something.
With Finney watching the front door and Parker the back, Harvath started searching. He began with the downstairs closets, and when those turned up empty, he headed upstairs.
He looked through all the closets, under the bed, and was pulling up a chair to gain access to a hidden attic space when Finney called for him to come back down.
“What’s up?” whispered Harvath from the top of the stairs.
Finney tapped his ear bud. “Morgan’s got a car inbound that matches the description we’ve got for Palmera.”
“How long?”
“Forty-five seconds, tops,” replied Finney. “We need to get in place.”
Harvath glanced over his shoulder toward the bedroom where he’d found the tiny attic space and decided it could wait.
Harvath was halfway down the stairs when he heard his friend say, “Guys, we’ve got a little problem here.”
Harvath hurried down the rest of the stairs and joined Finney near the windows at the front of the house. He was right. They did have a problem. Ronaldo Palmera wasn’t alone.
Chapter 38
P almera climbed out of his Toyota Land Cruiser accompanied by two additional men—neither of whom looked Mexican.
The pair were both just a hair shorter than the six-foot-tall Palmera, and had obviously been spending a lot of time out of doors. Their skin had been darkened by the sun, and while they might have been able to pass for South Americans with some people, their facial features immediately gave them away to Harvath. These two were Arabs; most likely connected to one of Palmera’s training camps.
If that was true, they posed a very serious threat. Harvath had to think fast.
One of the most popular covert methods of subduing a dangerous suspect was to hand him a ticket for a five-second ride via a Taser X26. When the electricity began coursing through the subject’s body, his neuromuscular system was impaired and he collapsed to the ground. Some screamed, but most were so locked up they just fell to the ground where their hands and feet could be Flexicuffed and a strip of duct tape could be placed across their mouth.
That was how a Taser was used against a single suspect. Three men was something else entirely.
Harvath checked the secondary cartridge holder below the Taser’s handgrip. He wasn’t surprised to find it empty. The weapon had probably been used before it had made its way into his hands. For what, he didn’t want to know.
The absence of a secondary cartridge left Harvath and his team with very few options.
Finney and Parker would do what it took to get the job done. They weren’t afraid of getting their hands dirty, but they couldn’t just pop Palmera’s buddies because they looked Arab. Though they probably were a couple of dirt bags involved in some very bad things, there were still some things Harvath wouldn’t do, and killing men who hadn’t given him a reason was one of them.
That said, when it came time to do the deed, Harvath didn’t often need a lot of convincing. He could tell just by looking at most people what kind of men or women they were. Maybe it was
his Secret Service training. Maybe it was the years he’d spent in dangerous professions, but the bottom line was that having killed on numerous occasions, he recognized that ability in others instantly—the hard, implacable face, the ever-watchful eyes, it was always there. A person familiar with killing wore it like a hundred-dollar haircut—it was unmistakable.
Harvath had no doubt that Palmera and his companions were going to be trouble. The trick was to take them down before any of them could react. Harvath, Finney, and Parker had the element of surprise on their side. The only question was, with this sudden addition of two new players, could they still use it to their advantage? They didn’t have much choice. They had to.
Harvath indicated to Finney and Parker what he wanted them to do, and the men took their places.
With his hand wrapped around the Taser, he prayed his plan would work.
Chapter 39
F rom his vantage point at the windows, Finney watched as the men walked up the sidewalk. Suddenly, he exclaimed, “Oh, shit!”
Harvath raced from his hiding place just in time to see Palmera and his accomplices turn down the gangway and head toward the rear of the building.
The entire plan had been predicated on their coming through the front door. Now they were going to come in through the back, and to do that, they were going to have to come through the garden. The moment the dogs didn’t respond to their entry, Palmera would know something was up.
The only thing Harvath hated more than coming up with a hastily formed plan was coming up with a second hastily formed plan because the first one tanked. Each time they changed their tack the odds were more heavily stacked against them.
Even so, Harvath had been trained to adapt and overcome—to think quickly on his feet and to succeed no matter what the odds. The plan that now sprang to his mind was pure military instinct born from years of practice.
