by Brad Thor
Harvath continued to gesture, using his pen to point out how the power cables entered several different structures. Satisfied that they had garnered the right kind of attention, Harvath studied his blueprints for a few minutes more, then pointed at the gangway just ahead of them. Tucking the drawings for Tim Finney’s new riding arena at Elk Mountain under his arm, he began walking. This would be one of the most dangerous moments of their entry plan.
Tom Morgan had covertly piggybacked onto an NSA satellite that allowed him to monitor everything that was going on from back in Colorado. As of this moment, Ronaldo Palmera’s home was empty. If they were going to get inside, now was the time to do it.
Receiving the “all clear” over his earpiece, Ron Parker relayed the message to Harvath, and they casually turned into the narrow gangway. It was strewn with garbage and smelled like urine. Harvath had smelled worse.
He ignored the smell and even a rat that looked as if it could have been a contender at Churchill Downs and made his way to the end of the passageway.
He had his lockpick gun halfway out of his pocket when he arrived at a heavy wooden door laced with black iron bands and realized they’d have to think of something else. The door looked as if it had been pulled from a medieval castle or fortified Spanish mission, and its thick iron lock was just as forbidding. They’d have to go over the high stone wall.
Fortunately, they were fairly well concealed from the street, and Harvath got right to work.
Taking two steps backward, he counted to three and then leaped for the top of the wall. He latched on and gave a silent thanks that it wasn’t capped with broken glass—a common security measure in third world countries. He pulled himself up, swung his legs over, and dropped into the garden below.
As he did, he heard something that turned his blood to ice.
CHAPTER 37
The animals tore out of their makeshift doghouse and barreled down on Harvath with amazing speed. His vision narrowed. All he could see were their contorted, hideous faces with their grisly teeth and pitch-black eyes.
In an instant, they were airborne—their mouths wide open, ready to tear at his flesh. Harvath had time neither to draw his weapon nor to get out of the way. His only reaction was one of pure instinct. He raised both his arms to protect his face.
There was the sound of two quick pops as the animals slammed into Harvath and knocked him back against the wall. Quickly, he spun away from them, surprised to have his arms free.
Harvath readied for the dogs to launch their next assault and then realized it wouldn’t be coming. He looked up and saw Ron Parker straddling the wall, his silenced pistol clasped in both hands. His eyes quickly scanned the garden for any other threats. Seeing none, he hopped down and joined Harvath.
“Tom Morgan sends his apologies,” said Parker as he made sure the animals were dead. “He never noticed the dogs.”
Harvath looked down at the two bodies on the ground. The animals were absolutely vile. They appeared to be some sort of pit bull–Doberman cross that had gone horribly wrong. They were revolting to look at. All the same, Harvath regretted having to kill them. He loved dogs.
But there was no question that these boys would have torn him apart. He was lucky Ron Parker was such an exceptional shot.
“Thank you,” said Harvath as he pulled his weapon.
“That’s one you owe me,” replied Parker as Finney came over the wall and landed just a few feet away.
“Those are the ugliest dogs I’ve ever seen,” said Finney as he grabbed them by their hind legs and pulled them toward the corrugated metal doghouse.
While Finney hid the carcasses, Parker scanned the adjacent windows for any sign they’d been discovered, and Harvath worked the locks on Palmera’s back door.
When he had the door open, he signaled Finney and Parker and they slipped inside behind him.
Just as the Troll had said, Palmera didn’t have an alarm system. But somehow the Troll had overlooked the dogs. Harvath made a note to take it up with him later.
With their weapons drawn, the men quickly swept through the house, clearing each room as they went. There was no sign of Palmera or anyone else. That gave Harvath a few extra minutes to look for something.
With Finney watching the front door and Parker the back, Harvath started searching. He began with the downstairs closets, and when those turned up empty, he headed upstairs.
He looked through all the closets, under the bed, and was pulling up a chair to gain access to a hidden attic space when Finney called for him to come back down.
“What’s up?” whispered Harvath from the top of the stairs.
Finney tapped his ear bud. “Morgan’s got a car inbound that matches the description we’ve got for Palmera.”
“How long?”
“Forty-five seconds, tops,” replied Finney. “We need to get in place.”
Harvath glanced over his shoulder toward the bedroom where he’d found the tiny attic space and decided it could wait.
Harvath was halfway down the stairs when he heard his friend say, “Guys, we’ve got a little problem here.”
Harvath hurried down the rest of the stairs and joined Finney near the windows at the front of the house. He was right. They did have a problem. Ronaldo Palmera wasn’t alone.
CHAPTER 38
Palmera climbed out of his Toyota Land Cruiser accompanied by two additional men—neither of whom looked Mexican.
The pair were both just a hair shorter than the six-foot-tall Palmera, and had obviously been spending a lot of time out of doors. Their skin had been darkened by the sun, and while they might have been able to pass for South Americans with some people, their facial features immediately gave them away to Harvath. These two were Arabs; most likely connected to one of Palmera’s training camps.
If that was true, they posed a very serious threat. Harvath had to think fast.
One of the most popular covert methods of subduing a dangerous suspect was to hand him a ticket for a five-second ride via a TASER X26. When the electricity began coursing through the subject’s body, his neuromuscular system was impaired and he collapsed to the ground. Some screamed, but most were so locked up they just fell to the ground where their hands and feet could be Flexicuffed and a strip of duct tape could be placed across their mouth.
That was how a TASER was used against a single suspect. Three men was something else entirely.
Harvath checked the secondary cartridge holder below the TASER’s handgrip. He wasn’t surprised to find it empty. The weapon had probably been used before it had made its way into his hands. For what, he didn’t want to know.
The absence of a secondary cartridge left Harvath and his team with very few options.
Finney and Parker would do what it took to get the job done. They weren’t afraid of getting their hands dirty, but they couldn’t just pop Palmera’s buddies because they looked Arab. Though they probably were a couple of dirt bags involved in some very bad things, there were still some things Harvath wouldn’t do, and killing men who hadn’t given him a reason was one of them.
That said, when it came time to do the deed, Harvath didn’t often need a lot of convincing. He could tell just by looking at most people what kind of men or women they were. Maybe it was his Secret Service training. Maybe it was the years he’d spent in dangerous professions, but the bottom line was that having killed on numerous occasions, he recognized that ability in others instantly—the hard, implacable face, the ever-watchful eyes, it was always there. A person familiar with killing wore it like a hundred-dollar haircut—it was unmistakable.
Harvath had no doubt that Palmera and his companions were going to be trouble. The trick was to take them down before any of them could react. Harvath, Finney, and Parker had the element of surprise on their side. The only question was, with this sudden addition of two new players, could they still use it to their advantage? They didn’t have much choice. They had to.
Harvath indicated to Finney and Parker
what he wanted them to do, and the men took their places.
With his hand wrapped around the TASER, he prayed his plan would work.
CHAPTER 39
From his vantage point at the windows, Finney watched as the men walked up the sidewalk. Suddenly, he exclaimed, “Oh, shit!”
Harvath raced from his hiding place just in time to see Palmera and his accomplices turn down the gangway and head toward the rear of the building.
The entire plan had been predicated on their coming through the front door. Now they were going to come in through the back, and to do that, they were going to have to come through the garden. The moment the dogs didn’t respond to their entry, Palmera would know something was up.
The only thing Harvath hated more than coming up with a hastily formed plan was coming up with a second hastily formed plan because the first one tanked. Each time they changed their tack the odds were more heavily stacked against them.
Even so, Harvath had been trained to adapt and overcome—to think quickly on his feet and to succeed no matter what the odds. The plan that now sprang to his mind was pure military instinct born from years of practice.
Since Parker was the best shooter in their group, he got the hardest job. Leaving him at the front door, Harvath and Finney raced toward the back of the house.
The back door with its multiple deadbolts was still open, and they raced through it and into the garden. They took their places just as Palmera slid his key into the heavy iron lock of the garden door.
The key began to turn and then stopped. Harvath knew why. Palmera had expected to hear something. Undoubtedly, the dogs normally went nuts when they heard Palmera’s key in the lock.
Harvath shot Finney a look. They might be able to take Palmera and his pals in the gangway, but with the element of surprise no longer on their side, something very bad could easily happen.
Finney got the message. Reaching over to the lean-to doghouse he rattled the sheets of corrugated metal.
The two men stared at the door, their ears straining for any sound from the lock that would signal Palmera’s intent. Nothing happened. Obviously, the sound they had created was not what Palmera was looking for. Harvath changed his focus from the door to the top of the wall, certain that at any moment Palmera or one of his cronies was going to pop his head over to see what was going on.
The moment never came. Instead, Palmera provocatively rattled his key in the lock. He was toying with the dogs—trying to get them worked up. Perhaps they were even better trained than Harvath had imagined. After all, they hadn’t sprung until he was already over the fence and in the garden. This could have been a game Palmera played with them, getting them all worked up before he revealed himself as being the “perceived danger” on the other side of the door. Harvath knew plenty of people who liked to tease their dogs good-naturedly from time to time. Maybe his plan would work.
As the key turned and the heavy lock thunked open, a small smile crept across Harvath’s face. It was definitely going to work.
Palmera’s face was the first thing he saw. It was pockmarked from years of horrible acne and barely covered by a lousy excuse for a beard he had grown in reverence to his Muslim faith. His black hair was unkempt and his dark, narrow eyes told Harvath everything he needed to know about him. After Harvath was finished with Palmera, he would kill him. But first, they had a little talking to do.
When the Mexican terrorist had stepped all the way into the garden, Harvath sprang from his hiding place and let the barbed probes of his TASER rip. They tore through Palmera’s thin cotton shirt and lodged in his chest. Instantly, the electricity began flowing, and the assassin was treated to something American law enforcement officers referred to as “riding the buffalo.”
As his muscles locked up and his six-foot frame raced face-first toward the ground, Tim Finney put all of his weight behind the garden door. It slammed shut with a deafening crack that sounded like a rifle shot and sent both of Palmera’s cohorts tumbling into the gangway—leaving one of them unconscious.
Before the other man realized what had happened, Finney had reopened the door and was on top of him. With one well-placed blow to the head, the man had joined his friend in the realm of the unconscious.
Parker had been charged with kneecapping the Arabs if things had turned sour, but now that they’d been both knocked cold, he jogged down the gangway and helped Finney drag their bodies into the garden.
With Palmera’s hands Flexicuffed behind his back and a piece of duct tape across his mouth, Harvath relieved him of a semiautomatic pistol, two knives, a can of pepper spray, and a Keating Stinger. This guy was a real sweetheart, and Harvath couldn’t wait to go to work on him. If he was lucky, Palmera would be difficult and require a very lengthy interrogation.
Harvath kept his knee pressed into the back of the man’s skull as Parker and Finney duct-taped and hog-tied his amigos with Flexicuffs and pitched them into the corrugated lean-to to sleep it off on top of the dead dogs.
Once they were done, Harvath stood up and yanked the just-reviving Palmera to his feet. With the cold tube of his sound suppressor pressed against the killer’s ribs, Harvath didn’t need to articulate what would happen if he did anything stupid. Palmera was a smart man and knew all too well what was in store for him.
CHAPTER 40
Ron Parker drew the living-room curtains as Harvath tore the piece of duct tape from Palmera’s mouth and shoved him into a chair.
When the man opened his yapper to curse the three of them, Harvath kicked him in the maracas so hard it knocked the wind out of his lungs.
As Palmera lay on the floor gasping for air, Harvath yanked him up by his shirt and placed him back in his chair. “I ask questions and you answer them. That’s how this works. Any deviation from that program and I am going to get nasty. Do we understand each other?”
Palmera didn’t respond. He simply glowered at Harvath.
Removing the TASER from the holster at the small of his back, Harvath pressed the device against Palmera’s neck and pulled the trigger. Even without an additional cartridge that could be fired from a distance, up close the TASER could still be used as an effective touch-stun weapon.
Instantly, Palmera’s body locked up, and he fell forward out of the chair. When he hit the floor, his nose bore the brunt of the impact and shattered.
As Harvath helped him back into his seat, he leaned in toward his ear and said, “You know every one of those cases of people dying in America via a TASER are bullshit. Ninety-nine percent of the time they have an underlying heart condition. How’s your heart, Ronaldo?”
“Fuck you,” the man spat as he fought to fully regain his breath.
Harvath placed the TASER on the other side of his neck and said, “We can do this all night. I brought lots of extra batteries.”
Palmera began to spit in his face, so Harvath let him ride the buffalo again.
Harvath placed the man back in his chair and waited until his breathing had stabilized. “If this isn’t getting your attention, we can prepare a footbath for you and get the battery out of your truck. It’s up to you.”
Instead of English, this time Palmera cursed at him in Spanish. It was a subtle indication that they were beginning to wear him down.
Palmera’s broken nose was bleeding, so Harvath signaled for Finney to bring them a towel from the kitchen.
When Finney returned and handed him the towel, Harvath wrapped his hand with it, grabbed Palmera’s nose as hard as he could, and pulled the man toward him.
The assassin roared in pain. Harvath made sure he spoke loud enough to be heard. “What were you doing in D.C.? How’d you find my house? How’d you find my mother’s house?”
Palmera didn’t answer. He was on the verge of passing out from the pain. “Why are you targeting the people around me?” demanded Harvath. “Are you working alone or did someone send you? Answer me!”
Harvath was ready to give the scumbag another ride for five with the TASER when Finney
put a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t need to say anything. The gesture was enough. They had all night if they needed to work on him. Beating him unconscious would only serve to hinder what they had come to do. They were here to get information, and if Harvath didn’t get control of his emotions, he was going to blow it.
He let go of Palmera’s broken nose and tried to push the images of what had happened to Tracy and his mother from his mind. There’d be plenty of time to take out his full anger on Palmera, but not yet.
Harvath stepped away from his prisoner and watched as the man’s chin slumped against his chest. It was a good thing Finney had stopped him when he had. Palmera’s eyes were unfocused and half-closed.
Just as Harvath was about to slap him around a bit to bring him to, Palmera began mumbling. It was faint and neither Harvath, Finney, nor Parker could understand what he was saying. He was probably just reciting verses from the Koran. They all did that when they were scared. No matter how tough Palmera thought he was, he was no match for Harvath. It was very likely that the man saw in Harvath what Harvath had seen in him—the ability and the willingness to kill.
Until Harvath knew exactly what Palmera was saying, he knew he needed to treat every utterance as potentially important. Placing the TASER up against the man’s groin, Harvath sent the unmistakable message that Palmera could keep playing the tough guy, but that it would be at his own peril.
As Harvath leaned forward to try to decipher what the man was saying, there was what sounded like an enormous oak tree being split down the center by a white-hot bolt of lightning. Harvath’s vision dimmed and he stumbled backward.
Bumping into the coffee table, he lost his balance. From somewhere behind where Palmera had been sitting, Harvath heard the sound of breaking glass and Finney and Parker desperately shouting at each other.
Seconds later there came the sound of squealing tires from outside on the street. It was followed by a sickening thud, and even in his haze Harvath knew that a car had hit someone. He prayed it wasn’t Palmera.
