by Brad Thor
Harvath and Casey went over details as they ate at a small Thai restaurant off Regent Street. When they were finished, they walked to Piccadilly Circus to begin gathering intelligence. The area was packed with Britons and tourists alike. People took pictures of the blazing neon signs and of each other standing in front of the Shaftesbury memorial fountain.
Most of them appeared not to have a care in the world. Undoubtedly they were aware of the attacks in Paris and Rome, but if they were concerned, they didn’t show it. Those who were out and about were all smiles and laughter.
Harvath reflected on what his friend Colonel Dave Grossman liked to say, “Sheep only have two speeds—graze and stampede.” As a sheepdog, Harvath wanted to guarantee that nothing would happen to them. The sheer size of the traffic circle, or circus as it was known in Roman times, made him question whether they were doing the right thing. Even if they flooded the area with operatives, there was no way they could check every face; follow every suspicious person. It was an overwhelming task.
Casey had brought along a digital video camera. She used it to blend in with the other tourists and film as much of the area as possible. As she did, Harvath tried to put himself in the mind-set of the bombers.
Rome had been a single bombing, but Paris had been a quantum leap forward with multiple bombings in multiple locations. Each event was created to have maximum impact, but also to be different from the last. From a tour bus bombing to multiple bombings in one city, to simultaneous bombings in two cities, the terrorists wanted to keep shaking people up. They wanted to keep citizens and law enforcement off balance while continuing to create spectacular attacks.
Taking in everything as they walked, he asked himself how he would pull this off if he was them. Would he detonate in the Tube station and then have a secondary device waiting for all of the survivors who then flooded out on the street? How about placing a lone device or suicide bomber near the fountain with secondary bombers on every street leading away from the circus?
He tried to think of everything. He studied the fixed railings all along the sidewalks that funneled pedestrian traffic and only allowed crossing at recognized crosswalks. He studied what buildings people might run into for safety. He watched how traffic moved into, around, and out of the circle. He forced himself to examine every detail and by the time they left, he was exhausted.
Back at the Belgravia house, he and Casey compared notes. They discussed where the most efficient kill zones would be. They explored what a single bomb would do versus multiple bombs. Based on the devices used in Paris, they queried each other on where similar devices in London might be placed. Then they discussed the topic Harvath was most concerned with. What if it wasn’t bombs in backpacks or suicide vests they were planning to detonate?
What if they were going back to a vehicle-bomb model as had been used in Rome? What if there was more than one? What if they all converged in Piccadilly at the same moment and detonated en masse? Buildings would be leveled, and the carnage would be off the charts. The only scenario Harvath feared more than that was actually being there when it happened.
Bob Ashford had been right to bring his people on board. There were too many what-ifs here and it was far too large an operation for Harvath and Casey to get their arms around by themselves.
When the rest of the Athena operatives had gathered at the house, they designated the dining room as a makeshift ops center. Sitting around the table, each team reported their findings and delivered an assessment.
Everyone was in agreement that screening and managing traffic in and out of Piccadilly Circus was far outside their ability. That task was going to have to fall to the Brits. But if the bombers came in on foot, as they had in Paris, then that would be a different story.
The largest gathering place for tourists was around the Shaftesbury fountain. That’s where most people stood to take in the neon signs and it was also where the Tube stop was. This was where bombers leaving backpack bombs or detonating suicide vests would get the biggest bang for their buck.
It was also the most obvious, and that’s what bothered Harvath. While it made the most sense to strike near the fountain, the terrorists weren’t stupid. With the Paris bombing, security had already been stepped up at tourist sites across Europe, and London was no different. He and Casey had seen plenty of uniformed officers as they did their reconnaissance of Piccadilly and they had noted several plainclothes officers as well.
And they weren’t limited solely to Piccadilly Circus either. They had picked up concentric rings of security the moment they had left the restaurant and had begun walking down Regent Street. The closer they got to Piccadilly, the more intense the police presence became. The terrorists would be doing dry runs as well and would have to know this.
So what were they planning? How did they intend to subvert the police and get close enough to strike? Harvath had reached out to Reed Carlton twice, hoping for news that Adda Sterk had revealed more information about the bombings to the interrogation team, without any luck. He’d inquired as to whether or not the Dutch authorities had had any success on the Amsterdam attack and whether or not the interrogators had come up with more information on who had hired Sterk, but so far everything seemed to be a bust.
With cameras everywhere, they knew the Brits would be scanning every face coming and going from Piccadilly. They also knew, though, that the cameras wouldn’t prevent a determined terrorist attack. Whereas pickpockets and purse snatchers might be concerned with the police hunting them down after they had committed their crime, martyrs didn’t really have that problem.
If the bomb or bombs were going to be vehicle-borne, Rhodes brought up a very good point. According to Sterk, the London and Amsterdam attacks were supposed to be simultaneous. That meant that a vehicle, or vehicles, would have to arrive at Piccadilly at a precise time. This would mean that the terrorists would have to commit drivers. They couldn’t simply plant a bomb as they had done in Rome and hope that the vehicle they had planted it in arrived at Piccadilly on time and didn’t get held up or change course.
It was an excellent point. Harvath made a note to bring it up with Ashford. They needed to make sure that any regularly scheduled traffic that passed through Piccadilly, such as public buses or guided tours with set routes and pickup/drop-off times, were monitored.
If the terrorists did try to drive in, then hopefully, London police would be able to identify and neutralize them before they reached Piccadilly, and before they could detonate their explosives.
Harvath didn’t like having to hope for successful outcomes. He liked to tilt the playing field so far to his advantage that his opponent didn’t have a chance. This was a different game entirely.
He was still very concerned with how little they had to go on. The odds were much more in favor of the terrorists. Maybe keeping the alert level low was a mistake. Maybe people did have a right to know.
With his cognitive abilities nearing zero and his head still filled with doubts, Harvath walked upstairs to grab a few hours of sleep before Ashford came to pick him up.
He thought about calling Reed again but realized the Old Man would call him when he had something to report.
Climbing into bed, Harvath forced his mind to relax and he fell into a deep, dreamless, black sleep.
Three hours later, a buzzing near his ear dragged him back. He was more tired than when he had first turned in and it felt like he had been asleep for only a few minutes. He brushed at his ear and reached for his watch to see what time it was. That’s when he saw the light on his phone blinking as it vibrated on the nightstand.
Picking it up, he flipped it open. “Yeah?”
“It’s Ashford. Scotland Yard just got a tip. They’re moving on the target within the hour.”
Harvath swung his feet out of bed and sat up. “What target? What tip?”
“A car will be there in ten minutes. I’ll explain when you get here.”
With that, the MI5 man disconnected the call and the
line went dead.
CHAPTER 44
TUESDAY
By the time Harvath stepped outside, his ride was already waiting for him. It was an older, navy blue van with the words David’s 24 Hour Plumbers, Home of the Royal Flush painted along the side. The driver looked like a heavily tattooed thug, barely into his twenties.
When he spotted Harvath, he stepped out of the vehicle and opened the sliding door. “You’ll have to ride back here.”
Harvath climbed inside and tried to get comfortable. It was still dark outside and the morning rush was several hours off.
The van headed east. The driver didn’t speak. A half hour later, it pulled into the garage of a plumbing supply warehouse in East London.
When Harvath’s door was opened, Bob Ashford was waiting for him.
“Sorry for the subterfuge,” he said. “Unfortunately, in this neighborhood Anglo-Saxons stick out like sore thumbs.”
“I’ve ridden in worse conditions. Don’t worry about it. What have you got?”
Ashford led Harvath to a small office with a coffeemaker and a scarred conference table. The walls were lined with shelves stocked with plumbing parts. In the corner was a television set. The MI5 man switched it on while Harvath helped himself to some coffee.
A thin Pakistani man sat at a small desk. There were what appeared to be two plainclothes detectives in the room with him. One was sitting while the other stood leaning against the wall.
“That’s a feed from the room down the hall,” said Ashford as he followed Harvath and poured a cup of coffee for himself. “The man you see there is named Saud Wadi. The men with him are Metropolitan anti-terror police.
“Mr. Wadi is one of their informants. Last night, he learned of a terror cell planning to carry out an attack in the very near future.”
“How do you know it’s the cell we’re looking for?”
“Because his youngest brother, Rafiq, is a member.”
Harvath turned and looked back at the image on the TV as Ashford continued. “Apparently, Rafiq has already made his martyrdom video, but he got cold feet. He reached out to his big brother to help him figure a way out. But before Saud could do anything, Rafiq disappeared.”
“And Rafiq told him everything?”
“Unfortunately, no. All he said was that it was a martyrdom operation geared for central London.”
“Did he mention Piccadilly?”
“Yes.”
Harvath couldn’t believe it. “Do we have any idea where Rafiq may be?”
“We think the cell is operating out of a mosque four blocks from here. The police are assembling their tactical teams now.”
“Did he mention what kind of attack they had planned or what their secondary target was?”
Ashford shook his head. “No.”
“How well do you trust this source?”
“I don’t know him. He’s run by the Yard. They say he has always produced good intelligence for them in the past. But it’s never been on this kind of scale before.”
“How long have you been watching the interrogation?”
“Since they brought him in. I think he’s genuinely worried about his brother.”
Harvath was running the options through his mind. “If Rafiq got cold feet, they may have killed him already.”
“Or they may have wooed him back. An already-recorded martyrdom video can be a very successful tool for cultural blackmail. They also may have threatened his family. We don’t know and frankly, I don’t care. I just want to stop this attack.”
“So do I.”
“Good, because as soon as we have our ducks in a row, we’ll launch the teams.”
Harvath pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. He watched the two cops continue their interrogation. “Do we know if their attacks were going to use explosives?”
“That’s been confirmed, but it appears to be the limit of what Saud was able to glean from his brother.”
“When you say operating out of the mosque, what do you mean?”
“We think they’re headquartered there,” said Ashford.
“Do you think they’re building the bombs there too?”
“It’s happened before. These people are smart. They know we’ll raid a mosque, but only as a last resort and only if we really have to. The PR fallout in their community is terrible. The PC moonbats everywhere else also go crazy.”
“Makes you wonder whose side they are all really on.”
“I know,” said Ashford. “What’s more, from a strategic standpoint, if the bombers have a willing imam, they’re probably better protected in a mosque than in a house or an apartment.”
“And if that is what’s happening, you know the imam will claim he knew nothing about it.”
“They’re always shocked to learn what was going on right beneath their noses.”
Harvath took a sip of his coffee. “If today’s the day the attack happens, they’re going to be on edge.”
“They probably have been up all night praying and getting ready. Hopefully, they’ll be sluggish when the entry teams hit the mosque.”
“What if they’re not? What if they’re prepared for the teams?”
“We have the element of surprise on our side,” the MI5 man replied. “What’s the motto Peaches was always so fond of? Speed, surprise, and violence of action?”
Harvath nodded. “But what if they’re buttoned down?”
“Meaning they have their fingers on the proverbial switch?”
“Exactly. What happens if your teams kick the doors in and they detonate their packages?”
“That’s one of the reasons they call it a high-risk entry. These teams have gone after bombers before. They know what’s at stake.”
“With all due respect, they don’t know what’s at stake,” said Harvath. “This isn’t just about Piccadilly; one cell and one attack. This is about an entire terrorist network. We need these guys alive.”
“What do you suggest then? Should we knock on the door and ask Mother, may we come in?”
Harvath brushed aside the man’s sarcasm. “What information do you have about the mosque?”
Ashford rolled his chair back and withdrew a file folder from his briefcase and slid it across.
It was a general briefing and contained only a couple of pages. Harvath skimmed it until he found what he was looking for. “What if we could get operators inside?”
“That sort of thing takes time; a commodity we have precious little of right now.”
“It says in here that Scotland Yard has a confidential source unaffiliated with the Wadi family who attends this mosque.”
Ashford nodded. “They’ve already dispatched a team to collect him. He’s going to provide us with detail as to the layout.”
“What if he can also walk a small team of operators inside?”
“Even if we had enough ethnic operators who could fit the bill, if Saud is correct about what is going on in that mosque, there’s no way they would allow a bunch of strange men in. Not today.”
Harvath looked at him and replied, “Who said anything about men?”
CHAPTER 45
By the time Casey, Rhodes, Cooper, Ericsson, and Rodriguez arrived at the plumbing supply warehouse, two of the British tactical teams were already on site.
Harvath had informed them that the Athena Team would be coming in with most of their own gear, but as a courtesy, they had set up a table with an assortment of items they thought the women might need. Once again, Harvath was reminded of how professional the Brits were and how much he enjoyed working with them. They were truly one of America’s best partners in the war on terror.
The ladies stepped out of another nondescript van, each carrying a duffel bag and a large black Storm case. The only explanation Ashford and the tac team leaders had been given was that the women were part of a highly trained, U.S. covert operations team. Neither Delta nor the Department of Defense was mentioned. Harvath introduced them to the women and after checking
out the equipment table the group walked back to the small conference room.
In addition to coffee, bottled water and food had been brought in. The women helped themselves and then sat down and waited for the briefing to begin.
Moments later, a gray-haired woman in her early sixties strode in and took over the meeting. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “My name is Rita Marx. I’m a detective with Scotland Yard’s SO15, or for the benefit of our American friends in the room, the Counter-Terrorism Command.
“The mosques of East London in general and the Darul Uloom Mosque in particular fall under my jurisdiction. The man you will soon meet, Yusuf al-Fihri, has been a Scotland Yard asset for the last two years and has been attending the Darul Uloom for the last four.
“Mr. al-Fihri hasn’t been told what will be taking place this morning, though I suspect he has a fairly good idea. Nevertheless, he has agreed to help get the team into the mosque. For that we owe him our thanks and the commitment to do everything we can to keep him safe. Is that clear?”
Casey and company nodded.
“Good,” said Marx, who nodded to a detective standing next to her. “As we have never conducted formal surveillance on the Darul Uloom, our information on it is rather incomplete. Jackets are being handed to you now with the pertinent information.
“Mr. al-Fihri will be accompanying you to morning prayers and presenting you as female relatives. Once you have secured entry to the mosque, you will go to the section reserved for women and children. This next point is very important, so please listen closely. Neither the Metropolitan Police, MI5, nor the British government want any casualties.”
Ashford cleared his throat to get the woman’s attention. “I believe we’re willing to tolerate certain casualties.”
Marx grasped what he was implying. “These bastards like to hide behind women and children,” she said with a smile. “Let’s make sure they don’t get that chance.
“Now, before I bring in Mr. al-Fihri, I want to introduce you to Mr. Saud Wadi. He is also familiar with this mosque and will help give you a feel for its general layout. Mr. Wadi is our source that provided the mosque intelligence and he is also the gentleman whose brother was a member of this cell before he went missing. If Rafiq Wadi is inside the mosque and you are able to facilitate his release, we’d like you to help extricate him.”
