by Brad Thor
Based on the cyber jihadist’s enhanced medical needs, though, they were probably going to have to reevaluate which host country’s site they were going to use. Carlton and the DoD would make the final call.
The members of the Uppsala cell were another matter. Harvath had decided it would be foolish to put all of his eggs in one basket. He wanted Mansoor out of the country as quickly as possible. He had developed another plan for getting the safe house terrorists out of the country, though he still had no idea at the moment how many there were.
First things first. “How long until he can be ready for transport?” asked Harvath as he gestured at Mansoor.
Riley glanced at her patient and again shook her head. “At this point, I don’t even want to try to move him to the farmhouse. That said, the plane has a lot of the medical equipment he’s going to need, so as soon as he is ready to be moved, I think we should move him.”
Getting Mansoor to the airfield was another shell game, which would be played out via a private ambulance service from Stockholm willing to make the drive up to Uppsala. Looking at the man lying on the floor, Harvath wondered if he’d even survive the trip to the airport. Fortunately, that wasn’t his problem. It was Riley’s. He had other problems.
The biggest among them was deciding how long to leave Sean Chase in place and when to take down the Uppsala cell. With Riley now tied up with overseeing Mansoor, Harvath was going to have to shift to his contingency plan. He didn’t like it, but they had all known that it was a possible outcome. The team, and more important Harvath, would have to do without her.
That meant that things were about to get much more dangerous.
CHAPTER 14
The two brothers who picked Chase up at the soccer field did not speak. They didn’t ask about his medical condition, nor did they offer him any food or water. They simply drove him to an abandoned garage on the outskirts of Uppsala and kept an eye on him while they all waited.
What they were waiting for, Chase wasn’t exactly sure, but he had an idea. More than likely, the man he had spoken to over the phone, the man he assumed was in charge of the cell, was checking out his story about the accident.
When it was time to pray, the two men let Chase pray alongside them, but he stopped when the wound on his head opened up and started bleeding again.
Fairly confident of how the authentic Mansoor Aleem would behave, he made sure to make a real pain in the ass out of himself. He lectured his two guards about Islamic doctrine and their duty to see to his well-being.
He harangued them so badly that one of the men threatened to kill him. Eventually, he wore them down, and one of them left to purchase some items he had asked for.
The man came back twenty minutes later with energy drinks, candy bars, and first-aid supplies. They allowed Chase to use the garage’s filthy, foul-smelling bathroom to clean himself up and tend to his wounds. He did the best he could and then came out and choked down some nourishment. He hated energy drinks and he wasn’t all that big on candy bars, but that was the quintessential IT/hacker diet and it was important that he looked the part, right down to the smallest detail, as the smallest details often played the biggest part in making or breaking a cover.
If he had wanted to, Chase could have taken out both in quick succession. There were multiple items lying around the old garage that could have been used as weapons. In the bathroom, he had found a decent strip of metal that he had folded to about four inches long. It was rusting, yet had a sharp enough point that it could be used as a shiv. He wrapped the handle portion of the weapon with plumber’s tape he’d found around one of the pipes beneath the sink.
He’d been processing every single nuanced, nonverbal cue the two men had been giving off since they had picked him up. He knew all too well what he could end up having to do and how far he might have to go and he was getting himself all jacked up over it. He had to get it under control.
Taking a look in the mirror, he took a deep breath and told himself to relax, everything was cool. All that nervousness was just his limbic system. A student of Hagakure, he’d meditated extensively on death. He’d done so right before this operation. It was the same before every operation. Death was inevitable. He imagined the worst for himself daily. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen. That didn’t mean, though, that he wouldn’t take as many of them with him as possible. Nevertheless, he decided to abandon the homemade weapon.
While he probably could have concealed it in his pocket, if it had been discovered, it would have created no end of problems for him. Even the most paranoid of computer geeks wasn’t going to be fashioning his own shivs.
In the gray half-light that spilled in from the dirty glass skylights above, Chase studied the men who’d been charged with babysitting him. If he had to, he could take them, but there was a lot that could go wrong, and if something did go wrong, he had no doubt either of the men would kill him without hesitation.
They were of medium height and solidly built. Their eyes were hard and dark, like pieces of flint, and told him everything he needed to know about them. These men were no strangers to violence.
Despite the men’s rough demeanor, Chase kept up the haughty hacker act and repeatedly asked the men how much longer they were going to have to wait until they could leave the garage.
When one of the men retrieved a newspaper from the car and tossed it at him, Chase took a look at it and threw it right back at the man, saying in Arabic, “Do I look like I read Swedish?”
The sooner the men could get rid of him, the happier they were going to be.
Two hours later, one of the men’s mobile phones rang and he listened before saying a few words back and hanging up. He then motioned for his colleague to join him at the far end of the garage where they conversed in private. Chase didn’t like it. The sudden sequestration made him very apprehensive.
When the men finally returned, he asked them what the call had been about, but they wouldn’t say. He was starting to regret having left his shiv in the bathroom. Once again, he took stock of anything in his immediate surroundings that could be used as a weapon.
With nothing to do but wait, he cracked another energy drink and sipped on it as he put together a plan for which of the two men to kill first and how, if he needed to.
He was running through the clever ways he could dispose of the bodies when there was the bleat of a car horn outside and one of the men went to open the garage door.
Once the door was opened wide enough, an anemic-looking Volvo rolled inside. Chase watched as it came to a stop and its engine was turned off. Seconds passed. Through the windshield, the driver appeared to be on his cell phone. When the call was over, the man lowered the phone and stepped out of the car.
He was very large, and judging from the way the other two men reacted to him, someone of stature within the organization. He had a certain presence about him and for a moment, Chase wondered if he was looking at the cell’s leader. He was a bit too rough around the edges, though, and Chase pegged him as being somewhere in the command structure, but not at the very top of the pyramid. This was not the kind of man who could blend in and easily remain beneath the radar.
There was also something about his bearing that Chase could not quite place. As he approached, there was a way he walked that he found interesting. He had the bearing of a cop.
His face was a mix of the most exaggerated of Arab features; the long hooked nose, the dark-circled, heavily hooded eyes, thin lips, and dark, weather-beaten skin. His sheer physical size, on the other hand, made him one of the biggest Arabs Chase had ever seen.
“Salaam alaikum,” said the man as he approached and kissed Chase on both cheeks.
“Wa alaikum a salaam,” replied Chase, returning the greeting. The man’s enormous hands gripped Chase by the shoulders.
“Allah has taken two of our brothers today, but you he has spared.”
Chase was not sure how to answer. Was the man testing him? “I am undoubtedly unworthy o
f Allah’s favor,” he replied.
The large man smiled. “May I?” he asked, indicating he wanted to remove the bandage covering the wound on Chase’s head.
Without waiting for permission, the man reached out and peeled the bandage back. Placing his other hand under Chase’s chin, he tilted his head back so he could better see the laceration. Even if Chase had wanted to, he couldn’t have stopped him. The man was that strong.
Apparently satisfied, he released his chin and gently put the bandage back in place. “Sit down,” the man said, pointing to a crate nearby.
Chase did as he was told. The man was speaking to him in English now. It wasn’t perfect, but it was quite good. He told the other two men in Arabic to wait outside.
Once they had exited the garage, he turned his attention back to Chase. “Tell me about the accident,” he said.
Chase was definitely being tested. “Someone ran us off the road.” He made sure there was just enough British in his accent.
“Intentionally run off?”
Chase shrugged.
“What did the car look like?” asked the man.
“It was blue or gray. I can’t really remember.”
“You didn’t see it?”
“Not until it was too late. Nafees and I were talking.”
The man studied him. “Talking about what?”
Chase was silent for a moment. Finally, he replied, “About my uncle.”
“And what exactly about your uncle were you talking about?”
“I wanted to know what had happened to him; how he had died. I wanted to know who killed him. I wanted to know why.”
“What did Nafees tell you?” the man asked.
“He told me the same thing he had at the airport. He told me to wait until we arrived in Uppsala and all would be revealed.”
“And what did Waqar say during your drive?”
“Not much, except that I ask too many questions.”
The big man smiled, but as quickly as the smile crossed his face, it disappeared. “How did they die?”
Chase had been trained by the best. He knew the man was probing him. The mantra that was drummed into every intelligence operative’s head was to deny, deny, deny and launch counteraccusations. The big man had yet to accuse him of anything directly, but the intimations were clear and he needed to go on the offensive. “How do you think they died? I told you, we were in a car accident. You don’t believe me? Why don’t you go take a look at it yourself? There’s blood all over. Nafees was thrown halfway through the windshield.”
“But Waqar was still wearing his seat belt,” said the man.
“And?”
The man shrugged and said nothing.
“I don’t even know who you are,” said Chase.
“I am Sabah.”
“Your name could be Mickey Mouse for all I care, mate. How do I know you are not a cop?”
The big man smiled again. “I am not a police officer, at least not anymore.”
“Well, that’s not very reassuring. Waqar and Nafees were friends of my uncle. I don’t know the rest of you at all.”
“Yet you accepted the plane ticket and came when we asked.”
“I came when Waqar and Nafees asked,” clarified Chase.
Sabah nodded. “Understood. I only have one more question.”
“Only one?”
“What happened to the other car?”
“What other car?” asked Chase, the exasperated, smartass programmer tone fully apparent in his voice.
“The one that ran you off the road?” said Sabah.
“I was in the backseat. I didn’t see where it went.”
“It didn’t stop? The driver didn’t offer you aid?”
“I told you, I hit my head.”
Sabah smiled. “You told me no such thing.”
“Well, whoever I talked to on Waqar’s phone, I told him.”
“So you were knocked unconscious. When you awoke, the other car that ran you off the road was not there. Is this correct?”
“The more you talk, the more I’m convinced you’re a cop,” said Chase.
“You’re not answering my question.”
“I must have blacked out, because the last thing I remember is us rushing headlong into a tree. The next thing I remember was the blood pouring from my head and finding Waqar and Nafees both dead.”
“Yet you had the presence of mind to take Waqar’s cell phone and call us,” replied Sabah.
“Who else would I call? I don’t know anyone in this country.”
“How did you know to use Waqar’s phone to call us?”
“That’s a serious question?”
Sabah nodded and Chase rolled his eyes. “Because,” Chase said, thankful they’d had the men under surveillance at the airport, “Waqar placed a call when we were walking to his car after I got off the plane. I assume he was calling to tell you I had arrived.”
“What did you do with Waqar’s cell phone after you made the call?”
“I did exactly as I was told.” Chase removed his shoe, pulled out the two SIM cards, and handed them to Sabah. “Just before the village with the soccer pitch, there was a small lake. I took the phones apart and threw the pieces into the water. Anything else you want to ask me?”
Sabah smiled and placed his large hand on the young man’s shoulder. “No. I have no more questions,” he said. “All that matters is that Allah has delivered you safely to us.”
As Sabah motioned to his car, it was obvious to Chase that the man didn’t trust him at all. He was beginning to think that leaving the shiv behind had been a very bad idea.
CHAPTER 15
SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
Ralston wanted to know all about the plot Salomon thought he had uncovered to collapse the United States. “Give me the details on Project Green Ramp.”
“To understand it,” said the producer, “you have to grasp its underlying principle. It actually boils down to a simple question. If we were in a house and I thought it was burning, but you didn’t, would it be okay for me to lie or even use force, to get you out of the house?”
“Hell no.”
“Why not?”
“What if you’re wrong?”
Salomon smiled. “Bingo.”
“What do you mean, bingo?”
“Individualism in America is hard-wired into our DNA. We want to make our own decisions, even if it means making mistakes. We don’t want other people telling us what to do.
“There’s a group of people, though, who believe that you and I are too stupid to make our own decisions and that they should do it for us. Despite America being the greatest force for good in the history of the world, they see it as greedy and evil. They’ve been tearing it apart bit by bit for decades and have become desperate to finish the job. They believe they can and should use any means necessary to get across the goal line, no matter what the cost.”
“The ends justify the means,” said Ralston.
“Exactly,” Salomon replied.
“And getting across the goal line means collapsing the United States?”
“According to James Standing, the United States is the only remaining obstacle to a just and stable world.”
Ralston shook his head. “That’s beyond insane.”
“So is sending a Russian wet work team to kill three filmmakers. Standing is a full-on sociopath. Nothing about him makes sense. Despite being born and raised Jewish, he’s a rabid anti-Semite. Despite being a billionaire many times over, he’s a vehement anticapitalist. Despite having benefitted greatly from everything America has done to empower the individual, he is a vocal proponent of social engineering and the redistribution of wealth.
“One of the best descriptions of him I ever heard was that he was a malignant, messianic narcissist who, left unchecked, would bring about horrors beyond those performed by Hitler, Stalin, Mao, or Pol Pot.”
“So who’s keeping a check on him?” asked Ralston.
“Nobody.”
“Come on.”
Salomon held his right hand up and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Money may not be able to buy happiness, but it can buy almost anything else. Even an entire political system.”
Ralston looked at him. “Now who’s insane?”
“I heard a comedian make a pretty good point recently. He said that all members of Congress should be required to wear NASCAR uniforms. You know, the kind with the patches? That way we’d know who was sponsoring each of them. I think he was kidding and we’d never be able to get them to do it, but it’s a great idea and would wake people up in this country instantly.”
“And Standing would be seen as the root of all evil? That’s hard to believe.”
“He has a very clear vision as to what he wants to have happen to America. Along with a handful of leaders of other key foundations, he developed a very simple plan to bring it about.
“He started by using his wealth to co-opt anyone who could have any impact on popular culture or public opinion. Newspapers, actors, journalists, publishers, politicians, business people, unions—you name it. The idea was to be able to control the media, as well as any other voices Americans trusted.
“They knew they needed to change the way Americans saw themselves. It’s ideological subversion, plain and simple. To get it to take hold, though, they needed to begin planting this new way of thinking in the most fertile minds they could get a hold of.”
“Which means kids,” said Ralston.
“Precisely,” Salomon replied. “That’s why Standing and the foundations aligned with him have been such heavy contributors to educational endowments. It’s the golden rule. He who controls the gold controls the rules, or in this case, the curricula.
“But it wasn’t enough to simply plant this new ideology. For it to blossom, it had to grow without being challenged. Hence the disappearance of civics classes and the portrayal of American history through the lens of imperialism and aggression. Instead of social studies, children were taught studies in social justice with America repeatedly shown as the bad guy.”