by Brad Thor
“I won’t be going by myself,” replied Harvath. “I’m going to bring a few friends with me.”
CHAPTER 64
The massive, eight-bladed, three-engine Sikorsky CH-53 Sea Stallion helicopter thundered over the Atlantic Ocean, straight up the East Coast. Inside, Harvath sat with members of the U.S. Navy’s Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) Group Two out of Naval Amphibious Base, Little Creek, Virginia.
Multiple, rapid-deployment U.S. Army Chemical, Biological, Nuclear, Radiological and high-yield Explosive Enhanced Response Force Package teams, also known as CERFP teams, were already en route to Wilmington via Blackhawk helicopters from Fort Meade and Andrews Air Force Base. Rodney Square, directly across the street from the DuPont building, was the designated landing zone and had already been secured by the Wilmington Police Department.
The building was composed of a hotel, theater, bank, retail shops, DuPont’s corporate headquarters, and other general-purpose office space. The hotel was at 30 percent occupancy and its guests were sleeping when the first of the helicopters landed.
The concrete corridors of Wilmington’s downtown business district reverberated with earsplitting thunder as one after another, the large birds flared, then touched down and quickly disgorged their teams and equipment, before lifting back off again and disappearing.
DuPont’s executive director in charge of corporate security, Ron Lamat, was one of the most experienced executive protection specialists in the country. A former Baltimore County Police major, he had trained with the Secret Service and was a graduate of the FBI’s National Executive Institute. When he wasn’t keeping DuPont’s hierarchy and their families safe, he was teaching other executive protection specialists how to do the same for their clients. In a crisis, Harvath couldn’t have hoped to have liaised with a more competent or professional chief of security.
Lamat met Harvath and his team outside at the LZ and led them into the building. Schematics had been laid on hastily erected tables in the lobby. Building engineers, roused from their beds and rushed to the scene, stood by ready to answer any questions or provide access to any of the common or private areas. Rows of radios stood in charging stations plugged into outlets along one wall in case the teams needed a uniform means of communication. Lined up near the radios were four of Lamat’s best men, ready to assist in any way they were needed.
Harvath stood aside talking with the security chief while the EOD and CERFP team leaders discussed how to divvy up the search. As soon as they had come to an agreement, they established a communications protocol and split up.
Based on the failed Chicago bombing of the Boeing building, they began their search focused on the DuPont building’s structural supports.
Even with the large amount of manpower and technology they had, they moved excruciatingly slowly. The first floor alone took more than a half hour to clear.
As they moved up to the second floor, Ron Lamat pulled Harvath aside.
“Do you mind if I make a suggestion?” he said.
“I’m all ears,” replied Harvath.
“I know you wanted to keep this quiet, but you kind of blew that with the helicopters and by using the local PD to secure your LZ. I think we need more searchers or we’re still going to be working our way through this building come lunchtime.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I can make a couple of phone calls,” said Lamat, “and have fifteen bomb-sniffing dogs here within half an hour. We use one per floor and we can be done here real quick.”
Harvath had wanted to keep things as quiet as possible, but Lamat was right. The dogs could move a lot faster. “Okay, do it,” he replied, “but tell them we need this kept as quiet as possible.”
As the teams had deployed C-Guard RF manpack IED jammers around the perimeter of the building to prevent remote detonation, Lamat’s cell phone couldn’t get a signal and he had to retreat upstairs to his office, where he made the calls via his landline.
Forty-five minutes later, the dogs and their handlers had joined the search and were sweeping throughout the offices on every floor.
When a Belgian shepherd named Gina stopped at a section of drywall in an office on the fourth floor, sat down on her haunches, and looked up at her handler, word went out that they had a hit.
A nearby CERFP team rushed to the office and conducted its own methodical search. Ten minutes later, the team confirmed what the dog had alerted them to. A large amount of explosives had been secreted behind the drywall at a support column.
With Harvath’s approval, Ron Lamat made the decision to evacuate the building, starting with the hotel, while the search continued.
Gina ended up getting hits on every single support column on the fourth floor. After the rest of the building was checked and no other explosives were found, the dogs and handlers were released. The EOD/CERFP teams then moved from support column to support column on the fourth floor, using portable X-ray devices to see exactly what they were dealing with. Insulation had been removed and shape charges made of C4 had been affixed directly to the beams along with remote detonators and extra power packs. There were enough explosives in place to bring the building down three times over. Harvath needed to let Carlton know so the other Dow Jones corporations could be warned.
Using the landline phone in Lamat’s office, Harvath called the Old Man, who was now in the TOC in Reston, and gave him a full situation report.
“Do we have any idea how the explosives got in there or how long they’ve been there?” Carlton asked.
“At this point, we don’t know,” replied Harvath. “Ron is putting an email together right now with a full list of tenants and anything else he thinks might be helpful.”
“Have him send it directly to me.”
“Will do. Anything else?”
“No,” said Carlton. “You’ve done all you can do there. Let the teams handle the explosives. I need you back here. Ashford’s plane is going to be landing soon.”
CHAPTER 65
By the time Robert Ashford’s jet touched down at Dulles, Harvath was already at the Landmark Aviation FBO waiting for him. Customs and Immigration had been alerted to the MI5 operative’s arrival and processed him quickly and professionally right at the plane. Harvath met him on the tarmac.
“I don’t suppose they have any bottled water inside?” Ashford asked after the pair shook hands. “Bloody caterer forgot to load any beverages for the flight.”
Harvath wanted to rip the guy’s face off right there, but he kept his anger under control and tried to act as normal as possible, given the situation. “I think I may have some water in my truck,” he replied as he steered the man toward the parking area.
After a quick search inside his armrest, Harvath apologized and asked if Ashford could hold on for just a few minutes longer. The Brit nodded, Harvath put his car in gear, and they drove out of the airport.
“Reed would have come out to meet you himself,” Harvath said as he headed for the Dulles Toll Road, “but as you can imagine, things have been very chaotic back at the office.”
“Of course. In fact, you didn’t have to come all the way out to get me. I could have taken a cab,” replied Ashford.
Despite flecks of spittle at the corners, the Brit’s mouth was bone-dry. He was obviously dehydrated. And though he tried to hide it, Harvath could see that he was also on edge.
“It’s ten minutes each way,” said Harvath. “It’s not a big deal. We appreciate your dropping everything to come help us.”
“How’s your investigation going?”
“Not good,” he stated as he got onto the toll road.
“That’s what I was told. I hope that there’s some way we can help. The loss of life your country has suffered is nothing short of tragic.”
Harvath nodded and changed the subject. “We’ve got a room reserved for you at a hotel in Reston, but the boss was hoping you wouldn’t mind coming straight into the office. We want to get you up to speed and then someone c
an drive you back to the hotel. Would that be okay?”
“Of course,” he replied. Then, changing the subject back, he asked, “Any change in the status of Aazim Aleem’s nephew? What was his name again?”
“Mansoor Aleem? No change, but we’re all hopeful.”
“You picked him up where? Somewhere in Scandinavia, I’m assuming.”
“Sweden, actually,” replied Harvath.
“So you all were behind that bit of unpleasantness in Uppsala then. You know the Swedes think it was the French.”
“That’s what the boss wanted them to think.”
“He’s a very clever man, that Peaches,” said Ashford.
“He is indeed,” said Harvath.
“What was Mansoor Aleem getting up to in Uppsala, of all places?”
“From what we have been able to put together, after Aazim was killed in Yemen, a new commander in the network was promoted. His name is Mustafa Karami and he was based in Uppsala. Karami brought Mansoor to Sweden because he wanted to know more about someone they referred to as the Sheikh from Qatar. Ring any bells?”
Harvath tried to study the Brit’s face, but it was too dark in the SUV.
“I can’t say I’m familiar with any Sheikh from Qatar, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have something in our files. When I get near a computer, I can send a note back to my office and have them begin checking.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” said Ashford, who then asked, “So Mansoor Aleem is the young Arab that witnesses saw being taken out of that apartment building in Uppsala and driven away?”
“No. That was one of our guys we had managed to infiltrate their cell with.”
Harvath didn’t need to see the Brit’s face. The surprise was evident in his voice when the MI5 man said, “Really?”
“Yes,” relied Harvath. “He had infiltrated their Chicago cell, too. That made a big difference in lessening the effect of the attacks they attempted to pull off there. We’ve been able to learn a lot about the structure of the network.”
“Anything that we might find helpful back in the U.K.?”
“Tons.”
Ashford listened as Harvath laid out everything they knew about the Chinese, Site 243, and the unrestricted-warfare plan.
Harvath was still talking when they pulled into the underground parking structure beneath the Carlton Group’s offices. In the first flash of overhead fluorescent lighting, he was able to catch the look on the Brit’s face. It didn’t last long, but it lasted long enough. The man was dumbfounded. And it wasn’t by the audacious scope of the unrestricted warfare plan, it was by how much Reed Carlton and his group had been able to put together.
Harvath parked his Tahoe and he and Ashford climbed out. “Have you been to the office before?” he asked.
“No. I haven’t,” replied Asford. “This is my first time. He told me he had a devil of a time finding the right space. He said he made a lot of modifications and that I’d be quite surprised with what he had done to it.”
Harvath waved a key fob in front of a reader and opened the glass doors for the main elevator bank. He allowed the MI5 man to step in first and then followed. Reaching over, he pushed the button for the twenty-fourth floor.
“So, a key fob? That’s the extent of your security?” Ashford said with a chuckle. “What am I missing?”
Harvath forced a smile. “You know what they say. When it comes to security, it’s not necessarily what you see, but what you don’t see that counts.”
“Quite right,” the Brit agreed.
On the twenty-fourth floor, Harvath let his guest step into the hallway first and then exited the elevator car behind him. He led him to a large door with gray lettering that read Parsons, Charrington amp; O’Brien.
“Law firm?” the MI5 man asked.
“Accounting firm,” said Harvath as he withdrew a set of keys.
“I suppose it has a bit more panache than Universal Exports, now, doesn’t it?”
Opening the door, Harvath forced another smile and showed his guest in. When the door had closed behind them, he took a step away from Ashford and, gesturing at the small reception area, asked, “So, are you surprised?”
The MI5 man looked around at the empty waiting room, wondering if this was some sort of a joke.
“How about now?” asked Harvath as his fist came sailing forward and nailed the older man right in the stomach.
CHAPTER 66
Harvath would have liked nothing more than to have beaten Ashford to death, but the Old Man had been very specific not only about where he could hit him, but how hard. In case they needed to use him operationally, there were to be no blows to his head, neck, or face.
The punch had completely knocked the wind out of the MI5 operative, and after removing everything from his pockets, Harvath dragged him down a narrow interior hallway to the room that had been set up for the interrogation. It was important that they work fast.
They needed to keep him mentally off-balance. The harder they came at him the harder it would be for him to concoct a story. Kicking open the door, Harvath dragged Ashford inside.
Reed Carlton knew one very important thing about the MI5 operative. It was the only pressure point he needed to conduct a successful interrogation.
Harvath dropped Ashford into a prisoner restraint chair that looked as if it had been designed for Hannibal Lecter.
“What the hell are you doing?” the man wheezed, as the air began to rush back into his lungs.
He struggled, but Harvath struck him again, this time in the solar plexus, almost knocking back out what little air he had recovered.
When he ceased struggling, Harvath worked quickly to strap him in. When he was finished, the MI5 operative’s torso, limbs, and head were completely immobilized.
On a table in the corner was a large black bag. Harvath removed a small handful of what looked like pieces of candy, dropped them in his pocket, and walked back over to Ashford.
“Why are you doing this?” the man demanded once more.
Harvath removed one of the ammonia inhalant ampules from his pocket, and placing it under Ashford’s nose, cracked it open.
The Brit’s eyes shot open wide and he tried to twist his head to get away from the smell, but he couldn’t. Harvath waited a moment and then did it again.
“Stop it!” Ashford shouted, but Harvath kept going until he had used up all the ampules he had in his pocket.
“I want Reed here, right now,” Ashford demanded.
Harvath ignored him as he retrieved three large strobe lights and, placing them on stands, positioned them about a foot away from the MI5 operative’s face.
“Do you have any idea who you’re fucking with?” Ashford was now screaming. “Do you know the kind of trouble you’re in? Do you?”
Harvath smiled. The Brit was getting nice and worked up. Walking back over to the black duffel, he removed a pair of stereo headphones with an extralong cord. Placing the headphones over Ashford’s ears, Harvath then ran the cord back to a large boom box sitting under the table and plugged it in.
It had been Carlton’s idea to exacerbate Ashford’s propensity for migraines. That’s why the plane had taken off from London without beverages. Dehydration was a frequent migraine trigger. Harvath, though, had wanted the man to suffer.
Stress, strong odors, bright strobing lights, and loud music were also migraine triggers. Turning the boom box on and the volume all the way up, Harvath then walked over and activated the strobes.
When Ashford began to scream again, Harvath pulled a roll of duct tape from his bag, tore off a piece, and placed it over the man’s mouth.
Fishing a Power Bar and a large bottle of water from the duffel, he stepped outside for his Interrogators Local Union 152-sanctioned break.
When Harvath stepped back into the room ten minutes later, Ashford’s face was wet with tears. Harvath slowly turned off the strobes. He then calmly turned off the music and removed the headphones. Nex
t, he removed the piece of tape from over the man’s mouth and dismantled the strobes, putting all of the equipment back near the table. Moments later, Reed Carlton walked into the room carrying a red file folder in his left hand.
“Hello, Robert,” he quietly said as he approached his old friend.
“Why are you doing this?” the MI5 man stammered.
“How do you feel, Robert?”
“How do you think I feel, you bastard?”
Carlton motioned for Harvath to bring him a chair, which he placed several feet in front of Ashford.
“He doesn’t need to have his head restrained like that,” said the Old Man.
Harvath walked behind him and released the strap.
“Does that feel better, Robert?” Carlton asked.
“Up yours.”
The Old Man ignored the insult. “Robert, I believe you know how this works. I have a series of questions that I will ask you once and only once. If you lie to me, it’s all over. Do we understand each other?”
“May I have some water?”
“Answer my questions and I’ll be happy to give you some water. I’ll also be happy to give you one of those,” he said, pointing at the bottle of pills sitting on the table that Harvath had removed when cleaning out the man’s pockets.
“And then what? You hand me over to the authorities here or back in the U.K.?”
The Old Man shook his head. “No. That’s not an option. You and I go back a long time. You know what I’m capable of, both good and,” he paused, “less than good. So, I’m going to give you a choice. If you cooperate, you’ll have to leave MI5 and leave the U.K., but I’ll resettle you with a new identity. You go into retirement and I never want to hear from you or see you ever again.”
“And if I don’t cooperate?”
“Then no one will ever see you or hear from you again.”
“I’m not leaving the Security Service.”
“I’m not here to bargain with you, Robert. You know full well that I can make good on either of the two options I offered you.”
