by Brad Thor
“And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, I need you to stay here with Lara. If I’m not back in time, I need you to get her to the airport and get her on that plane. Beaman has all the details.”
Carlton looked at his watch and then back at him. “Anything else?”
“I want you to take whatever you need from here, it doesn’t matter what it is—food, water, fuel, whatever you want, and then get to Josephine.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Everything depends on Damien. Where’s Lara?”
“Packing.”
Harvath placed his hand on the Old Man’s shoulder as he walked past and headed for the stairs. He found Lara in the master bedroom.
“I’ve got to go,” he said from the doorway.
“Are you coming back?”
“I don’t know. Reed is downstairs. He’s going to make sure you get to the airport if I don’t get back in time.”
“So, is this goodbye?”
“For now,” Harvath replied, stepping into the room.
Lara met him halfway and wrapped her arms around him. “Come back to me.”
“I will,” he replied. And then, giving her a quick kiss, he turned and left the room.
Outside, he found Palmer, Ashby, and Mordechai waiting for him with the gear. He did a fast inventory to make sure everything was there.
Because he was going to need to work the phone and plan the op, he said to Palmer, “I want you to drive. Let’s load everything in your truck.”
“Now we’re driving?” Mordechai asked, the frustration evident in his voice.
“It’s the best I can—”
“You’ve got Damien’s estate under surveillance. Can’t you send that team in?”
Harvath motioned for Palmer and Ashby to get to work and drew the Israeli aside. “The team at Damien’s are not operators, Bentzi. They’re surveillance personnel. If they try to go in there, they’ll not only get themselves killed, they’re going to get Helena killed too. Help me load the truck. We’re wasting time.”
Once the vehicle was loaded, he had Palmer drive so he could work his phone and plan the operation. Ashby and Mordechai sat in the seats behind them.
Traffic was a nightmare as panicked people rushed to get home. They switched to the shoulder, but it soon became a de facto lane and their progress slowed to a crawl.
“Get off,” Harvath instructed.
“You want to use interior roads?” Palmer asked.
“I don’t care what we use. Just get us the hell off this highway.”
Harvath was pissed off and growing angrier by the moment. He didn’t need to turn around and look at Mordechai. He could only imagine what he was going through.
As they finally got far enough over to take a ramp, Harvath’s phone rang. “Tell me you have good news,” he said.
“Where are you?” Ryan replied.
Harvath looked at the GPS, confirmed with a mile marker, and relayed their position.
“I’ve got a bird for you. There’s a helipad at the Reston Hospital Center. I can have him there in ten minutes.”
“Do it,” said Harvath, who then turned to Palmer and gave him their new destination.
•••
When they arrived at the Reston Hospital Center, the all-blue MD 600N helicopter was already waiting, its rotors hot.
It looked like a stretch version of the military’s Little Bird attack helicopter. It boasted a turbine-engine and an advanced anti-torque system that allowed it to fly high, fast, and quiet, three features Harvath and his team needed.
While the others quickly loaded their gear, Palmer parked the SUV and ran back to the helipad. Once he was on board, the pilot took off.
Harvath sat second seat and scanned the electronic tablet the pilot had handed him. It had a satellite link that allowed him to connect to several different mapping services in order to select the best place to land. The closer they were to Damien’s home, the greater chance the helicopter’s approach would be overheard.
He selected a large pasture at a nearby farm and gave the pilot the coordinates. Over his headset, he asked Ashby to pull his satellite phone from his backpack and call the surveillance team on site. He wanted one of them to remain in position and keep eyes on the estate while the other used their vehicle to come pick them up when they landed.
Twenty minutes later, the pilot dropped down to the tree level before turning on his searchlight and scanning the landing area for any obstructions.
After touching down, he shut the engine off and then helped the team unload. Sitting on the grass a hundred yards away, their ride was already waiting. Palmer gave the driver two quick bursts from his flashlight and the black SUV rolled forward.
Harvath provided the helicopter pilot with a radio and, after conducting a quick comms check, grabbed his backpack and walked over to the SUV.
Palmer, Ashby, and Mordechai were already doing a final equipment check.
Harvath watched as the Israeli had a hard time with his hands racking the slide on his Glock.
“You going to be okay?” Harvath asked.
“I’ll be fine,” the man snapped, uncomfortable at having his abilities questioned.
Harvath extended his hand and Mordechai handed over the pistol. Racking the slide, Harvath then handed it back.
“Toda,” the Israeli said. Thank you.
“Ein be’ad ma.”
As the team continued to prepare, Harvath asked the surveillance operative for any updates and they discussed the best way to approach.
According to the operative, nothing had changed since Damien and the woman had returned from lunch with their security detail. There were two men posted at the gatehouse at the bottom of the drive. And that was all they could see. Neither the main house nor any of the other buildings were visible from the street.
There was an access road that ran almost parallel up the adjoining property. Harvath had brought a pair of bolt cutters to get them through the gate.
As soon as Ashby had the drone assembled, he did one last check to make sure everyone was ready and then told her to launch it.
Stepping away from the SUV, she brought her arm back and then sent the drone sailing into the air.
“Eagle’s away,” she said over the bone microphone in her ear.
Via the drone’s remote control unit, Palmer had it fly two wide circles above the pasture while he tested its responsiveness as well as the feed from its infrared camera.
“Moonracer,” he then said, using Nicholas’s call sign, “Eagle is ready when you are.”
“Roger that,” Nicholas replied from his van back at Harvath’s. Clicking several keys, he then toggled the joystick in front of his monitor for several seconds. Once he was satisfied, he said, “Moonracer has the Eagle. You are good to go.”
Harvath watched as the drone disappeared into the night sky toward Pierre Damien’s estate. Once it was gone, he gave the command to mount up.
As they climbed into the vehicle, he said a silent prayer that they had made it on time.
Something told him, though, that not only had they not been fast enough, but that they were all going to pay for it.
CHAPTER 47
* * *
Harvath’s trepidation grew with Nicholas’s first SITREP.
Based on the drone’s IR camera, Damien had drastically reduced his security footprint. The night of the dinner party, the drone had picked up at least twelve figures standing guard around the property. Now, all it was seeing was five. Maybe they had put on extra guards during the dinner. Either way, Harvath didn’t like it. It seemed too light. There had to be more of them somewhere.
Rolling up the dirt road, they stopped only long enough to let Palmer bail out with his gear and head into the trees. There wa
s a piece of high ground with an excellent view of the main house and surrounding buildings. If he could make it there, he’d be in a position to offer the team good protection.
The black SUV kept moving until it got to the top of the road and stopped once again. This was as far as it could take them. Harvath, Ashby, and Mordechai would go the rest of the way on foot.
Once out of the vehicle, Harvath radioed Nicholas for an additional SITREP. Nothing had changed. Stepping into the tree line, they moved toward the edge of the property and waited for Palmer to get into place. He had the harder trek because it required him to cross a wide expanse of terrain with no cover. If he got caught out in the open, he would be cut down.
Nicholas, though, was doing everything he could to make sure that didn’t happen. The drone had become a game changer for all their operations. As it flew quietly overhead, you would have had to have known it was on station and be actively looking for it to have had any chance of ever finding it.
Once Palmer was tucked in behind Harvath’s LaRue PredatOBR rifle with its HISS-XLR extended long-range thermal weapon sight and Surefire SOCOM suppressor, he radioed his status to the team. The operation was ready to go to the next phase.
Using hand signals, Harvath directed Ashby and Mordechai to follow him. They wore night vision goggles and carried suppressed H&K submachine guns—Harvath and Ashby the MP7A2, Mordechai the MP5SD.
They stayed in the trees, treading lightly upon the blanket of twigs, branches, and fallen leaves. Harvath moved slowly, purposefully. Part of it was his training; part of it was that he still had visions of the trip wire and crude rebel antipersonnel device he had almost triggered in Congo. He kept his eyes open and his senses alert.
When they arrived parallel to the farm buildings, they stopped and Harvath quietly radioed for another report. Nicholas replied that there was some sort of activity now at the rear of the main house. Two armed men appeared to be loading a truck. The ground in between, though, was all clear.
Once again, Harvath signaled his team to move forward.
It had been decided to cut onto the property at this point, in order to avoid the livestock pens. They didn’t want to spook any of the animals and raise the alarm. Stepping out of the trees, they crossed the open ground quickly and pressed themselves up against the metal skin of an outbuilding. Two hundred yards away, they could see the manor house. None of its lights were on. The guesthouse just beyond it was also dark.
Harvath chose their next position of concealment and signaled for Ashby to head for it while he covered her. Then he sent Mordechai. When Ashby signaled that she was ready to cover him, he followed.
Structure by structure, they moved ever closer to the house until they could hear the sounds of men loading the truck in back.
According to Nicholas, two more armed men had just joined the party. They were loading supplies into the truck, utilizing a service entrance through the hillside beneath the house.
Thirty yards away was a stack of discarded pallets. They were halfway behind the house and would not only provide concealment, but looked like they would provide an excellent line of sight as well.
Harvath’s only problem was that if bullets started flying, it would be like hiding behind a wall of toothpicks. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any choice. After scanning the area, Harvath sent Ashby running toward it.
As soon as she was there, she took a moment to look around and then waved Mordechai over. Once he was in place, it was Harvath’s turn.
Joining them behind the pallets, Harvath dropped to the prone position and tried to peer through the jumble of slats to see what was happening at the truck. All he could see were tires, a bit of the undercarriage, and light spilling from the entrance. As he prepared to roll over onto his left side and peek around the pile, they heard a woman’s scream from somewhere inside the tunnel.
Mordechai tried to leap to his feet, but Ashby was faster. Grabbing hold of him, she yanked him back down.
“Let go of me,” he whispered. “We have to move, now.”
Placing her index finger against her lips, she warned him to be quiet.
Harvath waited until Mordechai had calmed down, and then rolled out from behind the pallets onto his left side.
Boxes had been stacked five high and three deep near the entrance. What was in them, though, he had no idea.
He was preparing to roll out a little bit more when he heard a voice from behind.
“Stop!” the man shouted.
Harvath looked over his shoulder just in time to see the man—one of Damien’s security detail—take a round through his head courtesy of Chase Palmer.
There was a spray of blood, bone, and brain matter. It was one hell of a way to start a gunfight.
The man’s shout immediately drew the attention of his colleagues back by the truck, who swung their weapons around on their slings and brought them up to fire. Harvath and Ashby, though, were faster.
Their shots happened in unison. There was a quick pop, followed by an even faster pop, pop. One shot to the head, two to the chest, and each man fell to the ground.
“Move, move, move,” Harvath ordered as he jumped to his feet and the team advanced on the truck.
When another one of the security agents stuck his head out of the entrance, they showered him with rounds.
As soon as they got to the truck, Harvath and Ashby took cover, but Mordechai kept going. Harvath yelled for him to stop, but he didn’t listen.
Charging the service entrance, he stepped off his line of attack, just in time to miss a hail of bullets that came whizzing past. When the same shooter as before peeked back out, Mordechai was ready for him and took him down with shots through his mouth and left eye. What he wasn’t ready for was the man’s colleague.
Mordechai was moving too fast. He couldn’t keep his balance and bring his weapon to bear. He tried to pivot, but as he did, he stumbled and went down hard. It was all the advantage the shooter needed.
Sweeping his weapon down toward the fallen Israeli, the security operative began to apply pressure to his trigger. As he did, his head and chest exploded when Harvath stepped out from behind the truck and double-tapped him.
Ashby raced forward to guard the entrance as Harvath helped Mordechai off the ground.
“Are you okay? Can you fight?”
The Israeli nodded and got to his feet.
“Don’t do that again,” Harvath admonished. “Stick with the plan.”
Before Mordechai could respond, they heard Nicholas’s voice over the radio. “You’re about to have company. The guards from the front gate are headed your way, fast. They’re in an open-air side-by-side.”
Harvath wasn’t surprised. They had heard the gunfire or someone had called down for reinforcements.
Hailing Palmer, he asked, “Do you see them yet?”
“No, not yet. Stand by.”
Seconds later, Palmer said, “I’ve got them.”
“Take the shot.”
Exhaling, he pressed his trigger and then acquiring his second target placed his TReMoR reticle on Number Two’s head and pressed the trigger again.
As he watched the side-by-side careen off the drive and slam into a tree, he said over the radio, “All clear. You’re good to go.”
“Let’s move,” said Harvath.
The tunnel had a vaulted ceiling and was paved with bricks in a herringbone pattern. Along the walls were sconces that resembled lanterns and which dimly lit the passage via natural gas.
Up ahead was a hand truck that had been abandoned, ostensibly by one of the two dead men at the entrance who had rushed to the fight. On it were three cases of military meals-ready-to-eat, atop two cases of French wine. Either Damien’s people were cleaning him out, or packing him up. Regardless, someone had decided to bug out.
Harvath hated tunnels. They were death traps
for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which was the lack of cover and the fact that they funneled bullets right at you. He moved Ashby and Mordechai forward as quickly as he could.
At the end of the passageway was a staircase with a door on either side. The door on the right had a heavy lock on it, but had been left ajar. Harvath signaled for Ashby to join him and for Mordechai to move to the side and watch their backs in case anyone came down the passage.
Pressed up against the brick wall, Harvath counted down from three and then used the toe of his boot to nudge the door the rest of the way open. With their weapons up and ready, they button-hooked into the room.
It was a long storeroom, stacked floor to ceiling with shelving. In addition to cases of wine and MREs, there were enormous cans of vegetables, fruit, soup, and stew. There was coffee, cleaning products, toilet paper, and soap. Batteries, lightbulbs, flashlights, and glow sticks took up shelf after shelf, while vitamins, medical supplies, sleeping bags, and bottled water took up still more. It was like walking into a wholesale warehouse club.
Carefully, they moved up and down the narrow aisles and then explored two walk-in freezers. There was a ton of food, but no people. Wherever the scream had come from, it hadn’t been here.
Harvath was about to radio Mordechai that they were coming out, when he heard what sounded like a door being kicked in, followed by the sound of gunfire.
Shit, the Israeli had hit the other room by himself!
Retreating from the storeroom, Harvath and Ashby raced to join Mordechai, who had gone through the other door so hard, he had knocked it halfway off its hinges.
The sound of gunfire reverberating through the brick passageway was deafening.
When he leaned against the wall, only a sliver of the other room was visible through the doorway, but it was enough. Harvath could see that Mordechai had been shot and was pinned down behind a workbench of some sort.
The shots kept coming, one after another. Whoever it was, they weren’t going to stop until they killed him.
