by Brad Thor
There were only two things Harvath could do. He could break into Tariq Sarhan’s house, tear it apart, turn it upside down, and see what he found, or he could go after the man himself.
As far as Harvath was concerned, there was only one move that made any sense.
CHAPTER 51
“Come on, Nicholas,” Harvath said over his phone. “That car has to be somewhere. It didn’t just vanish.”
Harvath had stepped out of the house and looked down the street just as Tariq Sarhan had applied his turn indicator and made a right turn. As soon as the car had disappeared from sight, Harvath had taken off running. He reached his rental car about a minute and a half later.
Jumping inside, he started it up and pulled out into the street. At the end of the block, he came to a four-way stop. Nicholas had yet to pick up the blue Sentra on any of the traffic cams.
“I’m still searching,” said Nicholas.
Having grown up in Southern California, Harvath knew its freeway systems intimately. Right now, he was inside a sort of rectangle made up of four different freeways-the San Bernardino to his north, the Pomona to his south, the Long Beach Freeway to his west, and the San Gabriel River Freeway to the east. Sarhan could be headed toward any of them.
“How about the other four vehicles?” he asked, trying to figure out what was going on. “Do we know anything yet about where they’re headed?”
“Negative,” said Nicholas. “The TOC is tracking them, but they’re all headed in different directions.”
The longer Harvath sat at the stop sign, the more rapidly his heart began to beat. He tightened his hands around the steering wheel. “Come on, Nicholas,” he said again. “Where is he?”
There were several agonizing moments of silence before the little man responded, “Got him. He just made a left turn four blocks in front of you.”
“Good job,” said Harvath as he stepped on the gas. “Don’t lose him.”
Sarhan looped around, doubled back, and changed direction multiple times. He even stopped twice for gas. There was absolutely no question that he was trying to figure out if he was being followed. This went on for more than forty-five minutes before it appeared he had finally committed to wherever it was that he was going.
He followed the Pomona to the Santa Monica Freeway and continued west toward the ocean. As Harvath saw signs indicating the intersection for the 405, or the San Diego Freeway as it was known, he wondered if Sarhan would alter his course or keep going toward the ocean. He was staying as far behind the blue Sentra as possible and was forced to endure long stretches where he couldn’t even see the vehicle. Fortunately, he hadn’t exited and Nicholas had been able to keep relatively good track of him.
The same couldn’t be said for the other vehicles. They had lost two out of the four and were scrambling to find them.
“He’s changing lanes,” Nicholas said over Harvath’s cell phone.
They were coming up on a series of choices. Sarhan could remain on the Santa Monica Freeway, or the 10 as it was known, or he could head north or south on the 405. The first ramp was for the 405 south toward San Diego.
“He’s in the far left-hand lane now. He’s not getting on the 405. At least not southbound.”
“Are you sure?” asked Harvath.
“So far. Stand by.”
Harvath watched as the exit for the 405 interchange got closer. “What’s he doing?”
“He’s still in the far left lane. No change. Stand by.”
“Standing by.”
“It looks like we can safely say-” began Nicholas, who then stopped midsentence and shouted, “South! He just swung across four lanes of traffic. He’s taking the 405 south.”
“Son of a-” Harvath cursed beneath his breath as he tried to maneuver. He was boxed in and had to slow down dramatically in order to find a gap and change lanes. The traffic was so tight that he almost missed the exit.
Once he had fully merged onto the 405, Sarhan parked himself in the far right-hand lane, and despite how fast the other cars were going, he kept his vehicle at fifty miles an hour.
Harvath was about to ask what the hell the guy was up to, when Nicholas reported that Sarhan was apparently preparing to exit for the Howard Hughes Parkway. Harvath continued to follow at a safe distance.
Moments later, Nicholas said, “The TOC has relocated the two missing vehicles.”
“Good,” replied Harvath. “Where?”
“Surface streets fifteen and twenty-two miles away, respectively.”
“What about the other two?”
“One of them is on the Century Freeway headed west and the other one looks set to join it. It’s merging onto the Century from the Harbor Freeway.”
Harvath could picture the entire map in his mind’s eye and he now knew where they were headed. “Get the Old Man on the line right now.”
It was only a matter of seconds, but it felt like minutes to Harvath. Finally Carlton clicked in and said, “What do you have?”
“I know where they’re headed.”
“Where?”
“LAX,” replied Harvath.
The Old Man snapped his fingers at someone, probably indicating he wanted a map of some sort, and said, “Los Angeles International? Are you sure?”
“Unless they’re all meeting up for a fishing charter out of Marina Del Rey, that’s where they’re headed. Sarhan has already gotten off the 405 and any moment is going to start doing his final SDRs on the surface streets that lead to the airport.”
“We’ve got vehicle descriptions, plates, even eyes on. Do you want to alert LAPD and have them stopped before they can get too close to the airport?”
It was a very tough call and one Harvath didn’t completely want the responsibility of making. If LAX was a target, the sooner they were stopped, the better. But if it wasn’t, if these men were doing nothing more than returning to their cities of operation, then pulling them over would ruin everything. They would know they’d been blown and the one and only lead Harvath and his team had would be lost.
“Scot,” the Old Man repeated. “It’s up to you. If you want to pull the trigger on these guys, I’ll make the call to the LAPD myself.”
Harvath knew what they had to do. “No,” he replied. “We need to let them go.”
“And if the airport is the target?”
“Then they need to be ready. Call DHS and tell them they need to conduct an immediate shift change.”
The Old Man understood what Harvath was calling for. When credible threats to U.S. airports were raised, the Department of Homeland Security swapped out regular TSA employees with specially trained, former military Special Operations personnel. They would be dressed exactly the same as the TSA agents, but that’s where any similarities ended.
Realizing that air marshals should only handle planes and not airports, a highly secretive and secure training facility had been established near Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia. There, counterterrorism exercises were run against a host of realistic airport structures-terminals, baggage claim areas, even an airport hotel. In addition to operators posing as uniformed TSA agents, there was also a highly lethal plainclothes contingent dressed to look like passengers.
When the government wanted to be ready for a threat, but not to broadcast it to the public, and especially not to the bad guys, this was how it was handled. The only problem in this case, though, was the timing.
“There’s no way DHS can do a shift change in time,” said Carlton.
Harvath caught a glimpse of Sarhan’s car as it turned a block ahead of him and replied, “Tell them they don’t have a choice.”
CHAPTER 52
Harvath’s assumption that Sarhan was headed for LAX was confirmed when the man’s circuitous route ended with his pulling into the parking structure adjacent to Terminal One.
“Can you tap into any of the garage cameras?” asked Harvath as he sped up.
“It’ll take a few minutes,” said Nicholas.
“Hur
ry up,” replied Harvath as he swerved around the car in front of him and pinned the accelerator. “I need to know where he is and what he’s doing. For all we know, he’s going to switch vehicles.”
“I’m going as fast as I can.”
Instead of entering the parking structure on the upper-deck departures level like Sarhan, Harvath chose one of the arrival-level entrances. Snatching his ticket from the dispenser, he pulled in and began scanning for the blue Nissan.
“Where is he, Nicholas?”
“Stand by. Still waiting for access to the camera system.”
Human nature being what it was, most people wanted to park close to the terminal and have less distance to walk. Harvath easily found a parking space near the garage exit and parked there. If Sarhan was planning on driving out of the terminal, he’d have to drive right by Harvath’s vehicle.
No sooner had that thought entered Harvath’s mind than he realized that if Sarhan did have a backup vehicle, it didn’t necessarily have to be in this parking structure. He could easily walk out, hop on the shuttle, and head to the long-term lot, where he could have another car waiting. It seemed a bit far-fetched to Harvath, but anything was possible.
“We’ve got garage video,” Nicholas said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Do you see his car?”
“Negative. He may have already parked.”
“Are you scanning the parked cars or just the ones that are moving?” asked Harvath.
“Both, but there are only so many cameras. You can’t get a perfect view of every single vehicle.”
“Have DHS make sure Sarhan’s picture gets to all of the parking lot attendants at the airport. If anyone sees him, make sure they call it in. Tell them not to do anything else, but call it in.”
“Got it,” said Nicholas, whose voice trailed off for a moment as something caught his eye. “I’ve also got a blue Nissan Sentra.”
“Where?”
“Second floor.”
Harvath was already out of his car and heading for the nearest stairwell as Nicholas gave him the precise location of the car.
“Is the license plate a match?” he asked as he opened the stairwell door.
“I can’t see it. I can’t even get a partial.”
“Is he in the car or has he already gotten out?”
Nicholas took a moment and then replied. “Unless he’s taking a nap, the car appears to be empty.”
“Find him. Check all the other cameras. Roll back the footage. Do whatever you have to do.”
“We’re working on accessing the recorded footage now.”
“And make sure nobody moves in on Sarhan or any of his people unless I say so,” said Harvath.
“That may be a problem.”
Harvath was about to open the door to the second level. “What do you mean, that may be a problem?”
“DHS told Carlton that they appreciate the tip, but that this is their jurisdiction and we don’t have any authority.”
“Damn it,” he replied. “They’re going to mess this whole thing up. Do they know I’m the person in the field?”
“No. Carlton didn’t want to reveal that.”
Harvath didn’t know that it would make any difference. It had been over two years since he’d worked for DHS and there was a completely new secretary in place now. He wouldn’t care that some former DHS employee was tracking a team of would-be terrorists. If his people could pinch them before anything happened, he’d rack up truckloads of brownie points with the press, the public, and especially the White House. Harvath should have seen that coming. In the wake of so many successful attacks on U.S. soil, DHS needed a win. Though he wanted to believe they’d do the right thing, too often it was the political thing, the thing that would play well for public relations, that was chosen.
“Did they tell you where they were on the shift change?”
“Negative,” said Nicholas.
“Damn it,” Harvath repeated as he got ready to open the door. “Tell the Old Man that he needs to find a way to work this out. Somebody, somewhere, owes him a favor. If DHS jumps the gun, they could blow this entire operation.”
“I’m sure he’s doing everything he can.”
Harvath opened the door and stepped onto the second level. “Where are the other vehicles?” he said quietly.
“The first one is about two blocks away.”
“Okay, let’s keep chatter to a minimum until-”
“Got him,” interrupted Nicholas.
“Sarhan? Where?”
“He got out of his vehicle, all right, but he didn’t walk toward any of the exits. He walked to the northeast corner of the structure.”
“Did he get in another car?” asked Harvath.
“Negative.”
“Do you have him on any of the cameras?”
“Negative,” replied Nicholas. “Not at present.”
“Roger that,” said Harvath as he approached the parking stall with the blue Nissan. Checking the plate, he relayed the numbers back to Nicholas.
“That’s it.”
Harvath slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew what looked like a threaded screw. It was a tool a spook buddy of his had designed and had given away to his friends in the community as a Christmas present. Foreign intelligence agents overseas had long been known to drive nails or screws into the tires of Americans they suspected of conducting espionage. Harvath’s buddy had seen it happen on more than one occasion and had decided to take the tactic to the next level. Employing a pal who was a machinist, he had him fabricate a screw with a hollow shaft and a small opening at the top and the bottom. In essence, it was an inch-long spike that relieved a tire of its air very quickly.
He eyeballed the interior of the vehicle, scanning for any sign of what Sarhan might be up to. “Did he have any bags with him?” he asked.
“Negative,” Nicholas replied. “Just what looked like a zippered case for a small laptop or an iPad maybe.”
“Keep looking for him.”
Choosing the tire he wanted, Harvath leaned over, jabbed in the screw, and kept walking.
If Sarhan hadn’t come to catch a flight or to switch vehicles, there was only one other reason, based on what Harvath had seen, for the man to be here. LAX had to be the target.
Four two-man teams had left Sarhan’s house and, via intricate SDRs, had taken great pains to make sure they weren’t being followed. Despite leaving before Sarhan, he had beaten them to the airport. Any doubt about what was about to happen was fading from Harvath’s mind.
Sarhan was the cell controller. He had picked the parking garage at Terminal One as an overwatch position. From the northeast corner of the garage, he could watch as all four teams drove past.
The fact that the men were traveling in pairs also made sense now. It was an insurance policy. Each was there to keep the other committed to the operation. With a two-man team, cowardice could be minimized, if not completely eradicated. If one of the men chickened out, the other would take care of the situation. It was a growing trend in terrorist operations.
Sarhan was there to make sure everything went off as planned. Very likely, he had been instructed to film as much of the carnage as possible so that it could be fed to Al Jazeera, which, in turn, would joyfully broadcast it to the Muslim world. Harvath, though, was determined that none of that was going to happen.
Holding his keys in his hand, he moved past the rows of cars pretending he was looking for his.
“The first of the vehicles just entered the airport,” said Nicholas.
“Understood,” Harvath replied as he kept walking.
“Did you notice anything off about any of the vehicles?”
“Negative. Why?”
“One of the guys in the TOC thinks that the cab that just pulled in is riding too low.”
Harvath had been so preoccupied with Sarhan and the men coming out of his house that he hadn’t paid nearly enough attention to the vehicles. “Nobody got out,” he said into his ea
rbud’s microphone.
“Excuse me?” replied Nicholas.
“The van driver. The taxicab drivers. Even the driver of the Town Car. None of them got out when they picked the men up at Sarhan’s.”
“So?”
“So it doesn’t make sense,” said Harvath. “Why didn’t they get out and help with the bags?”
“Maybe they were told not to.”
“Why?”
Nicholas thought a moment. “Because they don’t want anyone else handling the bags?”
“Bingo.”
“I just got another IM from the guy in TOC. He really doesn’t like that first vehicle. He says it reminds him of VBIEDs he saw in Iraq.”
Harvath had seen his share of vehicle-borne improvised explosive devices as well. “Watch where it goes, and tell him to look at the other vehicles. I want to know if he thinks the same thing.”
“What are you thinking?” Nicholas asked.
“I’m thinking those guys with the bags go in, explosions happen, and when survivors rush out of the terminals, if those four vehicles are VBIEDs, the survivors get taken out in a secondary attack that’s even worse than the first.”
“What should we tell DHS?”
It was the right question, but not the one Harvath wanted to have to answer. If they told DHS that they now believed they had four teams of suicide bombers being dropped off by vehicles loaded with explosives, it was game over. They wouldn’t wait to see what happened. They’d shut the entire airport down. If Harvath was right, DHS would succeed in saving countless lives. If he was wrong, Sarhan and his men, who could very well be controllers of other cells scattered across the country, would know they had been blown and all those potential leads would evaporate.
The FBI would get involved, but even if they used CIA interrogators, they’d never be able to lean on Sarhan and his men hard enough to get any actionable intelligence out of them. And once the FBI was involved, they’d see to it that the men were afforded every single protection under the law. Nobody would be putting bags over their heads and transporting them to Iceland or one of the other black sites. Caught on American soil, they’d be handled under criminal court rules and proceedings-that is, if the FBI could come up with enough to even hold them.
