by Brad Thor
It was a warm night and Harvath hoped that would help them spot their suicide bombers. Indonesian men wearing sweatshirts, sweaters, jackets, or bulky shirts would get very special attention.
Once a potential bomber was ID’d, the nearest team members would go to work. Posing as a tourist taking video of the red-light district with a camera phone, one member would try to get the man’s picture while the other would track him.
The picture would be sent to de Roon’s men on the Sacleipea. If al-Yaqoubi was awake, then he would be shown the picture to help confirm identification. If he wasn’t awake, they were going to be in a lot of trouble.
Assuming al-Yaqoubi would be able to ID the bombers, the rules of engagement became very clear. The target needed to be taken out. The only question was how to do it without starting a panic that would send tourists screaming.
De Roon’s men had come up with a solution that showed strong faith in their snipers. When the sniper was ready to take his shot, the AIVD team tailing the target would close ranks, come up right behind him, and catch him as he was being neutralized.
Harvath didn’t like it. There was too much that could go wrong. If the bombers were walking around buttoned down with a dead-man switch, the minute they released their trigger their device would explode. There was still a chance that any interdiction could happen within sight of the controller, who would then activate the device remotely. According to al-Yaqoubi, the cell phone detonators were sewn into each vest in the back. It wouldn’t be easy to get them out and deactivate them. Therefore, neutralizing the controller was an integral part of their plan.
Despite all of the risks, Martin’s men wanted to go ahead with the operation. Harvath had a tremendous amount of respect for them. They were a tribute to law enforcement officers the world over.
The evening progressed, and the crowds of tourists in De Wallen grew heavier. Harvath had been paired with Nikki Rodriguez, who was wearing a lace bra, matching panties, a garter belt with stockings, and a pair of high heels.
“Are you getting a good eyeful from there?” she asked Harvath.
“I’m not looking at you,” he said. “I’m watching the street.”
“Yeah, sure you are. How’s my ass look?”
He was used to inappropriate banter in tense situations, but normally, it was with men, not a very attractive, half-naked woman. “I’ve seen better,” he replied.
“You’re a liar.”
“No offense, Rodriguez, but you’re not my type.”
“What? A hot-looking woman in peak physical fitness turns you off?” she asked. “Honey, you can come look, I don’t have an Adam’s apple.”
Harvath chuckled. “I’m the Navy man, remember? I’ve been to some pretty interesting ports of call. If you had an Adam’s apple, I guarantee you I would have spotted it from a mile away.”
“So we’re agreed I’m all woman?”
“Absolutely,” said Harvath, “just like my fiancée.”
Rodriguez shook her head. “I knew it.”
“Sorry.”
“Just tell me she isn’t a goat.”
“She’s not a goat,” said Harvath with a smile, but the smile quickly faded from his face. “Look. Do you see that guy out the window?”
“Where?”
“Ten o’clock.”
Rodriguez looked and when she did, Harvath could hear her draw in her breath. The man was going to pass right beneath her window.
Harvath activated his radio, identified himself, and said, “Player one has entered the game.”
CHAPTER 59
CHICAGO
I don’t get it, Marwan. Are you trying to tell me that you trust him more than you trust me?” asked Abdul Rashid.
“It is not a question of trust, Shahab,” replied the older man. “It is a question of loyalty.”
They were sitting in the lobby of the Chicago Marriott on Michigan Avenue. Rashid was drinking a coffee, Marwan a Diet Coke.
“So what are you saying? That I should swear allegiance to Aazim Aleem?”
“As long as you are loyal to me, that’s all I care about.”
“How do we make sure we don’t repeat the mistakes that the brothers in Europe have made?”
“That’s not something you need to be concerned about,” said the older man.
Rashid set his coffee down and leaned forward. “I don’t even know what our plans are after Chicago.”
“And you’re not supposed to know. It is—”
“For my own good and the good of the operation,” said Rashid, finishing the man’s sentence for him.
“As long as you follow my orders, everything will go according to plan.”
“And whose orders do you follow? Aleem’s? I’m not exactly comfortable with the fact that he may be our supreme leader.”
“Don’t concern yourself with matters beyond your control.”
Rashid glanced around to make sure no one was listening to them before continuing. “Marwan, look at us. We’ve spent half the day surveilling hotel lobbies. Do you have any idea how crazy this is?”
“Circumstances have dictated that we change our methods.”
“Circumstances? What circumstances?”
Marwan took a sip of his Diet Coke and looked at his watch. “You will know this afternoon.”
“What’s happening this afternoon?”
“Insha’Allah, the final attack in Europe. Then it will be our turn.”
The young man lowered his voice. “Can I speak honestly with you, Marwan?”
“I should hope you always do.”
Rashid smiled and bowed his head. “Always. But I am concerned.”
“I’ve told you that you worry too much.”
“Maybe, but you made me operational director of the Chicago event. I helped train the recruits and do the planning. Now, you and Sheik Aleem want to throw all of our planning and all of our training out the window. That worries me.”
“It shouldn’t,” replied Jarrah.
“But it does. We have this operation perfectly planned, everything. Then, all of a sudden, you want to switch us to a Mumbai-style event.”
“Straying from what is comfortable is often stressful.”
“Marwan, it would take us months to get our men properly trained.”
“We don’t have months,” said the older man. “We only have two days.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard what I said.”
Rashid looked at him. “It’ll never work.”
“You must have faith. There is great wisdom in what Sheik Aleem has suggested.”
“I’m sorry, Marwan—”
The older man smiled and cut him off. “Let me finish. I have decided that the original event will continue as planned.”
“But—”
Marwan raised his hand to quiet his protégé again. “As a contingency, and hopefully to strike even greater terror into the hearts of our enemies, we will follow Sheik Aleem’s suggestion.”
Rashid shook his head.
“Sheik Aleem wants you to be in charge of both.”
“I am honored.”
The older man looked at him. “You should be.”
“But changing everything at the last minute will make success nearly impossible.”
“With faith in Allah, nothing is impossible.”
“Of course,” replied Rashid, “but where am I supposed to find men in two days with weapons experience who are willing to be Shahid?”
“Do you have faith in Allah?”
“Of course I do.”
“Good, for He has already provided you with everything you need.”
Rashid’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“Allah has already given you six Iraqi National Guardsmen.”
“Your thugs at the mosque?”
“They are not thugs. They are exceptional instruments if wielded properly.”
“I thought they were just muscle you used for security.”
“You should have told me about their backgrounds.”
“At the time, you did not need to know. Now that you do know, perhaps you will treat them with more respect.”
Rashid rubbed his mouth with the palm of his hand and said, “While we’re talking about respect, let’s talk about where I fit into the bigger picture.”
“One step at a time,” he replied as he changed the subject and gestured toward the second story of the atrium that overlooked the lobby where they now sat. “Aleem has suggested the men work in three teams of two. I think that is a good idea.”
“But two of your National Guardsmen were shot last night, remember?”
“They will be fine. One of them we will put up there, on the second floor, to act as a sniper.”
“That’s not really the plan, is it? We’re not just going to pick four hotels with the best fields of fire and turn the guardsmen loose, are we?”
“Why not? Anyone can walk into these hotels. There is no security whatsoever. Our men only need to make it as far as the lobby.”
Maybe it was the fatigue that caused him to take a moment to catch on. “Mumbai was a combination of bombings and shootings. It turned the entire city upside down. Police, fire, ambulances; none of them knew where to go. It was mass chaos.”
Marwan smiled, “Very good, Shahab.”
“I should have thought of that.”
“Yes, you should have. You have been focused on the success the brothers had in Bali and the 7/7 bombings in London. You must remember to always ask yourself, how can we do better. Mumbai was definitely better.”
Rashid nodded. “So three teams means three hotels?”
“Come, Shahab. You’re not thinking big enough. This is Chicago. The hotels sit side by side. The men will go from one hotel to another and then to another and another still. As our bombs rip through the city, the police will be overwhelmed.”
“And then what?”
Marwan removed a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and set it on the table. “You concentrate on succeeding in Chicago. The rest of the plan will take care of itself.”
CHAPTER 60
AMSTERDAM
Three hours ago, Harvath and de Roon had almost come to blows in the infirmary of the Sacleipea. With al-Yaqoubi barely clinging to consciousness, he had given them everything he could about the Amsterdam bombing cell, but Harvath had wanted more. He had wanted to know who the overall architect of the plot was. What were the cities targeted for attack in the United States? When and by whom? How could they be stopped?
Al-Yaqoubi had lost consciousness twice and both times Harvath had brought him back around again with the salts. The third time he lost consciousness, though, de Roon had stepped in. If Harvath hadn’t stopped, he would have killed the man. The accountant would have ceased being of use to anyone. De Roon needed him to be awake and alert enough to help ID the bombers if they were lucky enough to spot them.
Harvath had known his friend was right, but he also knew that he couldn’t stop until al-Yaqoubi gave them everything. In the end, Casey’s had been the voice of reason that had convinced Harvath to back down. The Amsterdam attack had to be neutralized first. The red-light district would be packed with Americans. That’s where Harvath’s focus needed to be. The accountant was cuffed to the bed of an infirmary of a confiscated ship in the Dutch port, its crew cooling its heels in a Dutch jail cell. Al-Yaqoubi wasn’t going anywhere. This was their chance to see if he was really telling the truth. If he was and they succeeded, then they could return to the ship and take the interrogation to the next level. She was right.
Harvath had apologized to de Roon, who called him a klootzak and suggested they formulate their plan and get their people into position. It had happened only three hours ago, but in the wake of the adrenaline dump it felt like three days.
But now, with fresh adrenaline pumping through his system, all Harvath could think about was taking out the bombers.
Back at the ship, al-Yaqoubi was awake and alert. He had ID’d “player one,” the man spotted by Harvath, as one of the cell members. One of de Roon’s teams was tracking him, but they were in a “shadow,” an area where none of the snipers could get a clean shot.
Harvath had faith that the problem would soon remedy itself. What bothered him, though, was that no one had ID’d the controller yet. He was the wild card; the one who could detonate the explosives remotely. He needed to be found and neutralized immediately.
As Harvath was trying to put himself inside the controller’s mind, his earpiece crackled with radio traffic. One of Martin’s men had been speaking in Dutch, and de Roon quickly reminded him to speak English. The operative apologized and repeated his transmission. The “soccer team” at one of the hash bars had just spotted “player two.”
With that sighting, the floodgates opened. Back-to-back, three more sightings were registered—Indonesian men overdressed for the weather. Each one was confirmed. That made five. If al-Yaqoubi was telling the truth, there was only one more left. Once the sixth bomber had entered De Wallen, the countdown would accelerate.
Hidden from view in the back of the room, Harvath removed the map de Roon had given him and plotted where the men had been spotted and the direction they were all moving. He still had the same question: Where’s the controller?
As the targets were confirmed via cell phone from the Sacleipea, the snipers locked in and held ready. They were all waiting for the final bomber to appear.
Harvath was tense. Sitting back with Rodriguez was driving him crazy. That sixth bomber was going to show up any minute, or worse, any second. They could no more wander around the red-light district aimlessly for hours without drawing attention to themselves than Harvath and de Roon’s teams could.
Suddenly, the sixth potential bomber was sighted. Two minutes later, he was positively identified by al-Yaqoubi. They were in the final stretch, except for the controller.
Moments later, the snipers reported that the targets were all changing direction. As Harvath studied his map, de Roon’s voice came over his radio. “They’re all converging toward the center. That’s where the attack is going to happen.”
“Hold on,” cautioned Harvath as something Rodriguez had said played through his mind. “We don’t know that. Everyone stay calm.”
He then told Martin to meet him on the corner. The Athena Team members wanted to get into the fight, but Harvath wasn’t exactly sure this was over and asked them to remain in place.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” asked de Roon when he met Harvath at the corner and they both headed for the center of the district.
“Why didn’t any of your people spot the controller outside De Wallen?”
“Maybe they didn’t see him,” replied the intelligence officer.
“Or maybe that’s not where he is,” said Harvath. “Maybe he’s actually inside the district.”
“Then why didn’t our teams spot him?”
“Because maybe they didn’t know what they’re looking for.”
De Roon stared at him, confused, but Harvath didn’t have time to explain. Within seconds, one of the bombers walked right past them. The chill of death surrounding him was almost palpable.
“Did you see his hand?” asked Harvath.
De Roon nodded and radioed the others that the bomber they had just passed was holding a dead man’s switch in his left hand.
“Okay,” said Martin when they arrived at the center of the district, the only point the bombers’ paths had intersected, “what are we looking for?”
Harvath’s eyes scanned the area until they fell on one particular window. “Her,” he said.
The intelligence officer looked, but couldn’t understand what Harvath was talking about. “The ugly prostitute in the blue cover-up?”
Harvath kept moving. “What do you think her nationality is?”
“Who knows? They all dye their hair blond.”
“Look at her fa
ce.”
He did, but he still couldn’t figure it out. “With all that makeup, she could be Palestinian, or she could even be Norwegian.”
“Look at the eyes,” said Harvath.
“Filipina?”
“How about Indonesian?”
De Roon saw it. “You think that’s the controller?”
“She, he, whatever, is the only hooker in De Wallen wearing a robe and a scarf in the middle of summer.”
De Roon understood that Harvath meant it was probably a man trying to disguise himself as a woman and watched as the American pulled his pistol.
Harvath kept the weapon hidden behind his leg as he approached the window. The man inside had been gyrating to music that couldn’t be heard out on the street. He stopped as he noticed Harvath’s approach.
The subtle change in the man’s demeanor wasn’t lost on Harvath. He kept walking forward and said to de Roon, “Tell the snipers to get ready to fire.”
Either the man in the window was an incredible lip reader or he saw on Harvath’s face that his cover had been blown.
Out of the blue, he lunged for his purse and that’s when Harvath raised his pistol and fired.
The glass of the window erupted and people began screaming and running in every direction.
Harvath took the steps up to the little private room two at a time and kicked the door open. The figure with the scarf around its neck lay dead, a pool of blood rolling across the sloped wooden floor toward the front of the room.
Behind the man’s left ear, Harvath saw a thick, ropey white scar. “Take them down,” Harvath said over his radio. “Take all of the bombers down now.”
He looked up to locate de Roon and as he did, a burst of traffic came over the radio. Less than a second later, an enormous detonation shook the entire red-light district as a roiling fireball exploded into the night sky.
CHAPTER 61
Leaving de Roon’s men to process the corpse and secure the scene, Harvath raced in the direction of the explosion.
“What the hell happened?” he screamed over his radio.
