by Brad Thor
Luckily, the heavy tires finally bit into the riverbed, found purchase, and moved them over and onto the opposite bank. They had made it through the worst of it. From that point forward, it would only be ruts, bumps, and mud.
Harvath turned his attention out his window. Before leaving the ranger station, he had checked his phone again. He was using it in conjunction with a satellite system that would allow him to send and receive text messages, as well as make phone calls, as long as he had a relatively unimpeded view of the sky. Lara had still not replied to any of his messages.
He didn’t like the fact that he was thinking about her while he was on an assignment. He was supposed to compartmentalize these things. He had chastised other operatives in the field for making the same mistake. If your head wasn’t a hundred percent in the game, you quickly became a trouble magnet.
This wasn’t like him. He usually kept everything wired tight. Part of it was because he knew Lara was pissed at him and had every right to be. He had told her that he had taken this assignment because he had to. That much was true. He believed he was the best person to handle the job. But that would have been true of almost any assignment that the Carlton Group had been tasked with. Where he had lied to her was in telling her he had no choice.
Of course he had a choice. He could have said no. The thing was, he didn’t want to say no. He wanted to take this assignment because he hadn’t done something like it before. He relished the challenge. He also knew that the trip with Lara was about a lot more than watching the fall colors. She was ready to start having the talk. He hadn’t realized how disinterested he was in having that talk until he arrived in Congo.
No matter what any woman said to the contrary, at some point he’d be forced to make a choice. He couldn’t have a family and keep this career. He had grown up watching what that was like. It was rough on everyone.
But what Harvath did now was ten times different from what his father had done. His father had gone into hostile nations accompanied by his SEAL Team. Harvath, though, often went into hostile nations alone. He took bigger risks than his father and couldn’t imagine how he would be able to keep on doing that with a family back at home.
For the longest time, he had wanted his own piece of the American Dream, but now he was no longer sure what that dream looked like. He didn’t know how he could have his and protect everyone else’s.
He was also concerned about the consequences of obtaining the American Dream. Would having a family back home cause him to dial down his risk-taking in the field? Might that get him or someone else killed? Or was it more than that? Was he afraid that no matter how many visions he had had to the contrary, this—what he was doing right now—was what he was really cut out for, and not family life?
It was an idea he had kept relegated to a very cold, dark corner of his mind. One that he never fed, hoping that by ignoring it, it would slip away and disappear. But it hadn’t disappeared. In fact, it had only grown.
He slammed an iron gate down on his thoughts and focused on what lay ahead. Another potential run-in with Ash and his team was looming.
The Brits were going to want to accompany him right up to the clinic’s front door. Harvath couldn’t allow that, not with what he knew might be waiting for them. He hadn’t brought enough equipment. Somehow, he would have to convince them to hang back.
•••
The turnoff for the road to the Matumaini Clinic was so poorly marked that they drove right past it. It took six kilometers before Ash and Mick realized their error and the Land Cruisers doubled back. Without someone regularly chopping away at it, the jungle quickly swallowed up anything left unattended.
The Matumaini road was worse than anything they had previously seen. Halfway to the clinic, the road was sliced open by deep washout several feet wide. Ash had Simon and Eddie bring up the bridging ladders strapped to LC2.
As the men maneuvered the beams into place, Harvath pulled Ash aside. “I want to talk about the footprint we’re going to have when we get to the clinic,” he said.
Keeping one eye on the Brute Squad, Ash replied, “Fine. What do you have in mind?”
“I want to keep it light.”
“How light?”
“Just me and Dr. Decker.”
“You’re the client and you can do whatever you want, but I have to tell you that I think it’s a bad idea. We don’t know what might be waiting there. A quick web search for CARE International is all the FRPI would need.”
“That’s assuming any of the rebels who saw the door magnets are still alive,” stated Harvath.
“And that there was no radio transmission by them before we took them out.”
“If I was stuck in one place, hiding a critically ill rebel commander, I wouldn’t be putting out a lot of radio traffic.”
“Neither would I,” Ash agreed, “but it still needs to be considered. We could be walking into an ambush. Hell, a few more kilometers and we could be driving into one.”
“Which is why I want you guys to hang back. We’ll get the vehicles off the road, set up camp, and then Dr. Decker and I will go the rest of the way on foot and check it out.”
“You want to go in tonight? In the dark?”
Harvath checked his watch again. By the time they found a place to camp and got the trucks out of sight, it would indeed be dark. “I think that’s the best way.”
“You don’t need all of us to stay behind. Mick and I will go with you. If you run into trouble, you’ll have two extra trigger-pullers with you. How’s that sound?”
In any other situation, it would have sounded like a great plan, but Harvath and Decker needed to go in alone. “I appreciate it, but it’s just going to be the two of us.”
“Your call,” Ash replied with a shake of his head.
Harvath thanked him and then steered the conversation to where they should set up camp. He pulled up the satellite images stored on his phone, careful not to reveal any pictures of the burn pit, and gave the Brit an idea of where he thought they could stash the Land Cruisers and make camp.
Once the Brute Squad had piloted both vehicles over the washout, the team remounted the ladders and they headed deeper into the jungle toward the Matumaini Clinic.
As they drove, Harvath made a mental list of the gear he would need. Most of it, particularly the “scary” stuff as Beaman had called it, had already been prepacked into two large backpacks. The amount of kit he and Decker would be humping in was far too much for just a reconnaissance. It was going to raise a few eyebrows with the Brits, but Harvath figured he could once again use the specter of the rebels to his advantage.
Ash and his men technically had no idea what was in the packs. All they had been told was that they were filled with medical supplies for the Matumaini Clinic. They had no reason to believe otherwise.
Harvath would explain that he and Decker planned to cache this load of supplies in the jungle, not far from the clinic. If the rebels were already there, the clinic staff could wait until the coast was clear and then go pick everything up. If the rebels weren’t there, they would empty their packs, come back to get the Brits, and then deliver the rest via the vehicles to the clinic’s front door.
He had no idea how well that would go down with Ash and his team, but as long as they did what he told them, that was all he cared about.
Two kilometers from the clinic, they left the road and drove several hundred meters into the bush. The jungle was alive, raucous with the calls of birds and all sorts of other animals.
Simon and Eddie set up camp, while Ash and Mick returned to the road to cover their tracks. It wasn’t perfect, but unless someone knew exactly where to look for them, nobody was going to find them.
Jambo worked on getting dinner started. Like the rebels from that morning, theirs would be a cold camp, no campfire. Cooking smells could draw unwanted human as well as animal visitor
s.
Jambo used Jetboil stoves to heat water. When it reached boiling, he poured it into bags of freeze-dried camping food and zipped them shut to steam.
Harvath had brought food for himself and Decker from the United States. He hated the precooked rations used by the military known as MREs. While the acronym stood for Meals Ready to Eat, service members normally referred to them as Meals Rejected by Everyone. This was his op and he intended to eat what he wanted to eat.
Because of the stress assignments often created, and as he was trying to bulk back up, he had focused on high calorie meals. One of his favorites was biscuits and gravy. He told Jambo to make sure to boil him enough water for two bags. There was no telling how long he and Decker would be gone. Whatever they faced, he planned to do it on a full stomach.
For Decker, he had thrown in a bunch of meals from a new company doing gourmet camping meals such as all-natural, gluten-free mushroom risotto, as well as wild salmon marinara with penne. Something had told him she was going to be a high maintenance pain in the ass, and in his experience, nothing dragged an op down quicker than someone who wasn’t eating properly. They not only didn’t get the necessary amount of calories to function well, but they also complained incessantly about being hungry.
While his meal steamed, he pulled the two packs he wanted from the back of LC2 and hefted them for weight. Both were heavy. Decker would have to suck it up. He couldn’t reveal what they contained and repack them here in front of everyone. She would have to wait. Once they were far enough away from the Brits, he’d work on lightening her load. Setting the packs off to the side, he covered each with a poncho. It felt like rain again.
Simon and Eddie strung jungle hammocks between a series of trees. Being up off the ground would protect the team from snakes and the tented tarps overhead would keep them dry.
Harvath threw a set of dry clothes into his hammock, along with his sleeping bag, and his CRKT Hook & Loop Tool. It had been beaten into him as a SEAL to clean his equipment immediately after an operation—that included his boots. The ingenious little Trip Felton tool had a pick that would be perfect for scraping off the pounds of mud he knew he’d be dragging back.
He gave the hammock lines a tug. The Brute Squad had done a good job. He looked forward to coming back, servicing his gear, and then climbing inside and going to sleep—the Matumaini reconnaissance far behind him.
Of course, that would assume that everything had gone well—something Harvath knew better than to expect, especially in Congo.
CHAPTER 13
* * *
The biggest impediment they faced in walking to the clinic, beyond the weight of their packs, was the amount of water they needed. It was imperative that they be well-hydrated before going in, but that was nothing compared to the amount of water they’d need on their way out.
Harvath had known this was going to be a problem, even before leaving the States, and had planned accordingly. They couldn’t depend on the clinic’s well. If it didn’t work, it could result in a death sentence. Harvath had seen enough wells fail to know better than to tie his survival to one in Congo.
Following the narrow river upstream to where it snaked behind the clinic would take them out of their way and increase the likelihood that they would bump into locals, but it would keep them off the road where they might bump into rebels, and it would solve their water issue. It made complete and total sense, except to Dr. Decker.
“You can’t do this,” she admonished him, once she had figured out what he was doing.
“Watch me.”
“You really are a selfish asshole. You know that?”
Harvath had to take a breath and remind himself again that a gentleman never strikes a lady.
“You’ve never had a well go bad before?” he asked as he finished rebalancing her pack and cinched its top down.
“That’s not what I am talking about. I’m talking about you being willing to wash God-knows-what-we’ll-find downriver. Do you know how many people you could end up killing?”
Harvath unzipped a compartment on his pack and unrolled four canvas buckets.
“If you want to set up shop farther away from the river, that’s fine by me,” he said, tossing two of the buckets to her. “But you’re going to carry your own water. Mine too, since we’re partners.”
Decker shot him a disparaging look and chided him. “Don’t you have any sense of moral obligation?”
“My moral obligation is simple. I figure out what happened at Matumaini and I make sure we get out of here alive. Anything beyond that is not my problem.”
“How about we try to leave this place better than we found it?”
“Put it on a bumper sticker,” he said, standing up and holding her pack out to her. “This should be more comfortable now.”
Decker took it and almost felt guilty over how much he had lightened it. He had removed a good forty pounds. His act of kindness notwithstanding, she was still angry at his lack of concern over the lives of the locals.
But before she could say anything else, or even swing her pack onto her back, he had picked up his now considerably heavier rucksack, and was moving upstream.
He had an answer for everything—even when his answer was silence. It was infuriating. The real salt in the wound, though, had been the lecture he had given her as they walked away from camp. After warning her about not wanting a repeat of what had happened that morning, he had threatened to tie her to a tree and leave her for the pygmies if she didn’t follow all of his instructions to the letter. He had said it with his boyish smile, but it failed to disarm her. She could see right through him.
Harvath obviously had a problem with women, especially smart, accomplished women. He was nothing more than a caveman—a handsome caveman—but a caveman nonetheless.
“Hey,” she said, trotting to catch up as he moved along the river. “Are you this much fun with your wife?”
“Not married,” he replied and kept moving.
“Imagine that,” Decker quipped.
Harvath ignored her.
They walked on in silence for twenty more minutes, until he stopped and checked his GPS. He took a long look around and then motioned for Decker to follow him up the riverbank and into the jungle.
It was slow going. He used a machete he had borrowed from Jambo to help cut a path.
Several minutes later, he stopped and turned to look at her.
“Far enough from the river?” he asked.
Decker nodded, not knowing whether to be pleased with herself or not. The bottom line was that he had taken what she had said to heart.
“Good,” he replied, taking off his pack. “I’m going to clear the rest of this brush. You start getting the water.”
She dropped her pack near his and disappeared back down the path, the red LEDs of her headlamp lighting her way.
While she went to get the water, Harvath screwed the PVC poles together and hung the plastic sheeting. Next, he filled the canisters with the powder and set their lids next to them.
In the tens of thousands of hours that had gone into establishing the protocols, he was positive that no one had ever envisioned something this primitive.
The ground was soft and he used the machete to trench a berm. It would help prevent the runoff from going all the way downhill and into the river. It was an additional peace offering. Decker had been right. They needed to take all reasonable precautions. They needed to keep it out of the river.
If she bitched about it ending up in the groundwater, there was obviously no pleasing her and he would tie her to a tree and make good on his threat to leave her for the pygmies.
By the time Decker came back, he had finished clearing their staging area, had unrolled the enormous bladder, and had positioned it inside its multi-point sling.
He walked her through everything and, after helping her fill the
first canister with water, told her what he wanted her to do if he wasn’t back in an hour. She wasn’t happy about being left alone.
Handing her the machete, Harvath made her repeat what he had told her. To the letter, she repeated his instructions.
She had expected him to leave her with a final admonition over what had happened that morning, but to his credit, he didn’t. Instead, he smiled and told her everything would be okay. Then, flipping his night vision goggles back down, he walked into the jungle and was gone.
•••
Based on his GPS reading at the river, and a review of the satellite imagery saved to his phone, Harvath had a good idea where the clinic was, along with the best way to approach. It took him less than ten minutes to find it.
When he did, he remained in the jungle. He didn’t dare enter the clearing. In his mind, there was a bright red circle painted around the building. He wasn’t going to cross that line without having taken every single precaution possible.
He low-crawled to the edge of the clearing, parted the vegetation, and peered through his goggles. There was no movement to be seen, but even more unusual was the fact that there wasn’t a sound coming from anywhere. It was as if even the animals were avoiding this place. The quiet was unsettling. Harvath tried to shake it off.
Retreating into the jungle, he worked his way around the perimeter. There were no trucks, or vehicles of any sort. No light came from inside the clinic. It looked completely abandoned.
Arriving at the northwest corner of the clearing, he looked at his watch. He wanted to check out the burn pit too, but he’d be pushing it time-wise. He wasn’t sure if Decker would honor his instructions or not, but if he wasn’t back in an hour he had to expect that she’d be gone. And if she was gone, he would have to abandon the operation. While he hadn’t liked the idea of bringing Decker along, he couldn’t escape the fact that it was a two-person job. He wouldn’t have been able to suit up without her. The reconnaissance, though, would be incomplete without checking the pit, so he decided to push it.
