by Brad Thor
He toweled off and shaved at the sink. When he was done shaving, he walked into his bedroom and grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt from his closet. It had been a while since he’d had time all to himself to do whatever he wanted. The last couple of months had been a blur.
Because it was Saturday, there were plenty of people Harvath could have called to meet for drinks, but traffic in and out of D.C. would be a nightmare. He also had a policy of not going out for the first couple of nights after getting back from an operation. He knew himself well enough to know that he might feel good now, but in an hour or two he could be ready to crash again. He’d be better company on another night. Besides, sometimes he enjoyed spending the evening alone.
With his fridge all but empty, cooking wasn’t an option. Grabbing his keys, he headed outside and hopped into his truck.
Twenty minutes and two stops later, he had returned with a six-pack of beer and a bag of barbecue from Johnny Mac’s Rib Shack.
Parking the car, he breezed through the house long enough to drop four of the beers in the fridge, kick off his shoes, and grab a roll of paper towels before heading down to his dock.
It was officially fall, but northern Virginia was enjoying a nice Indian summer. Having been on the road so much, Harvath was grateful to be enjoying at least a small piece of it.
Walking to the end of his pier, he sat down and leaned against one of the posts. Out on the water, there were plenty of boaters getting a head start on their weekend and enjoying what was left of the quickly fading daylight.
Harvath opened one of the beers and took a long sip. He’d made the right choice by staying in tonight. Right now, there wasn’t any place he’d rather be than sitting right there looking out over the Potomac. No matter how often he traveled or how long he was gone, when he thought about home, this was what he thought about, a couple of beers and his pier. This was the one place in the world where he always felt the most relaxed. It was the one place where he seemed to be able to leave his problems, at least most of them, back on the shore.
Taking another drink, he watched as a boat passed by, pulling a young skier in a wetsuit. Inside the boat, Mom, Dad, and a sibling cheered. Harvath smiled. It reminded him not only of why he did what he did, but also of what he hoped to have for himself at some point in time.
Reaching into his bag from Johnny Mac’s, he pulled out a barbecued pork sandwich and tore a paper towel from the roll. As he watched the sky begin to turn orange, he figured the evening was just about perfect. The only thing that could have made it better was having someone else there to share it with him. For the moment, he was happy to take what he had been given. He knew all too well that perfect moments had a way of getting shattered.
CHAPTER 42
DES MOINES, IOWA
The Century Theater multiplex in Jordan Creek was the perfect place to see your very first movie. They had twenty screens, stadium seating, an arcade area, and even ice cream at the concession counter. Mike Bentley smiled at his wife, Shannon, as their five-year-old twins grabbed their hands and pulled them through the parking lot in hopes of speeding up their parents’ pace.
“Mom, you’re too slow,” complained Trevor.
“C’mon, Dad,” said Tyler. “C’mon!”
Just to drive the boys nuts, Mike pretended he had pulled a hamstring and began to limp. The twins cried out in protest. Mike teased them a moment more and then gave in and the family increased their pace.
The closest the twins had ever been to a movie theater was the DVD player in the back of Shannon’s minivan. Tonight would be their first real movie theater experience.
It was opening weekend for a new animated family movie that Mike and Shannon had heard great things about. They had read all of the books in the series to the boys and decided this would be the perfect first film experience for them. Mike, an Iowa state trooper, had even arranged to have the night off so they could all go together. Shannon had suggested that maybe an afternoon matinee would be better, but the boys had insisted that nobody goes to movies in the daytime. “If you want to see a real movie,” they had said, “you have to go when it’s dark.” In the face of such wonderful child logic, Shannon found she couldn’t say no.
The boys had taken a nap that afternoon, and when they came down from their room, their mother and father were bowled over to see that they had dressed up for their evening out. They wore matching khaki trousers, blue blazers, white button-down shirts, and matching, striped clip-on ties. It was so incredibly sweet that Shannon had trouble keeping herself together. Even sweeter was that the boys insisted that their parents get dressed up for the big event as well.
Mike and Shannon complied. When everyone was ready to go, they piled into the minivan and drove to Pizza Hut, the boys’ favorite restaurant, for dinner. Everyone commented on how handsome the boys looked. Mike and Shannon were very proud. According to his wife, Mike was actually beaming at one point.
Trevor and Tyler did a great job of not spilling anything on their nice outfits and actually passed on dessert in order to save room for popcorn at the theater.
After paying for the tickets, Mike handed one to each of their sons and allowed them to hand them to the ticket taker, who tore them in half and guided the family to theater number six.
“Anybody want to play some video games before the movie starts?” Mike asked.
Trevor looked at him. “Dad, first we’ve got to get our popcorn and then we have to get our seats.”
“Yeah,” said Tyler. “If you don’t get your seats early, you have to sit in the front row and you end up with a whole creek in your neck.”
“Who told you that?”
“Grandpa,” the boys said in unison.
Mike looked at his wife and shook his head. Shannon’s father lived with them and the boys never made a move without conferring with him. They’d wanted him to come along with them tonight, but his emphysema had been bugging him and he didn’t have the strength to drag his oxygen around with him. Mike loved the man like he was his own father, but he was enjoying its just being the four of them tonight.
“Well, I don’t want anybody getting a crick in their neck,” he said, winking at Shannon, “so I guess we’d better get our popcorn and hurry up to our seats.”
When asked by the concession stand attendant what size popcorn they wanted, the boys each requested an extra-large. Shannon tried to talk them out of it, but they had brought money along from their piggybanks, wanting to help pay for the evening, and they insisted.
“If they don’t finish them, they don’t finish them,” Mike whispered to his wife.
“And if they get sick in the car on the ride home,” she replied, “Daddy gets to clean it up.”
Mike smiled and gave Shannon a pinch right in the spot that always made her yelp. She laughed and slapped his hand away, then told the boys they could each have their own popcorn bag if they ordered the small. Negotiations began in earnest and Shannon caved, allowing each of the boys to have a medium.
Popcorn and drinks in hand, Mike Bentley led his family toward theater number six. As they walked in, the boys’ eyes widened at the enormous space. Despite what Grandpa had said, both of the boys said they wanted to sit in the front row. Though there was no such thing as a bad seat in a modern theater like the Century, Mike was happy when Tyler spotted a group of four seats about halfway up and close to the middle. When it came to seats, he’d always been a middle/middle kind of guy, and he was pleased to see that it was obviously a characteristic passed down on the Y chromosome.
A lot of families had turned out for the movie. The theater was quickly filling up and more families were still pouring in.
The Bentleys settled into their seats and Mike began fielding questions from the boys about all the pre-movie ads playing on the screen. During a lull while something onscreen had captured the boys’ attention, he leaned over to Shannon and kissed her. As far as he was concerned, this was just about the perfect evening.
When th
e lights began to dim, the boys nearly leaped out of their seats, they were so excited. Mike was so focused on his family that he never noticed a North African man carrying a backpack who walked into the darkened theater all by himself and sat four seats away.
CHAPTER 43
Qusay Ali Atwa had been waiting for this moment for years. There were times when he thought he had been forgotten about, but they had told him that that would never happen. He had been instructed to blend into American society as best he could and to wait. He was to pray and maintain his faith. Above all, he was never to reveal, and also never to forget, why he had been sent to America.
In exchange, Qusay’s family in Sudan had been well looked after. They received monthly payments that allowed them a much better standard of living than they ever could have realized had he stayed behind in their village. Qusay’s standard of living had been considerably improved as well. Even the poorest of the poor in the United States lived better than the majority of the Islamic world. They had cell phones, air conditioning, flat-screen TVs, satellite service, food, clothing, cars, and shoes. It was all the more reason to hate America. They hoarded the world’s wealth and placed man-made law above God’s divine law. Qusay had to work every day to conceal his hatred for them.
Des Moines had not been his choice. It had been chosen for him. The winters were unbearably cold. No matter how many layers he wore, he spent nearly half the year chilled to the bone. He was an extremely slim man in his thirties whose appearance reflected the effects of starvation and malnourishment in his youth. His eyes were sunk deep into their sockets and his cheekbones were severely pronounced. The brown skin across his face was drawn taut. His skull appeared misshapen and his twiglike limbs appeared impossibly thin, as if they were ready to snap at any moment.
But despite his outwardly frail appearance, inside Qusay Ali Atwa beat the heart of a warrior. He believed deeply in Allah and the messages he had conveyed through the prophet Mohammed.
As the holy Qur’an instructed, Qusay took neither Jews nor Christians as his friends. He had been taught since childhood that they were perverted transgressors. They were unbelievers, and unbelievers were like panting dogs. They were the vilest of creatures and it was his duty to fight them.
Sometimes, he had to work extra hard to remind himself of these facts. At the poultry-processing plant where he worked, he saw incredible acts of kindness and even love between his coworkers. Such acts had even been directed at him. In inclement weather, he had been offered rides. At holidays, though they knew he was a Muslim, they had invited him to their homes. On one occasion when he had been very sick, several of the women had cooked for him and had dropped the food off at his home. They had even included lists of ingredients for each dish in order to demonstrate that the meals had been prepared with his halal dietary restrictions. He threw all of the food into the garbage.
Qusay consoled himself with multiple verses from the Qur’an that clearly stated that good deeds by unbelievers made no difference in the eyes of Allah. If they refused to submit to Islam, they were destined for the fires of hell. There was no redemption for them.
The Qur’an was also clear that people of religions other than Islam were to be violently punished not only in the afterlife, but in the here and now. Non-Muslims were to be fought with every tool available until there was no other religion but Islam. It was Qusay’s duty to pursue the unbelievers, to seize them wherever they could be found and slay them. Allah was strict in his punishment and Qusay accepted willingly his fate in carrying it out.
When he received the phone call, he was very excited. He was told to put his affairs in order. He was told how soon before the attack to make his martyrdom video and what to do with it. His handler cautioned him not to speak about his assignment with anyone, lest the infidels discover their plan. Qusay took every word seriously and followed the instructions to the letter.
He selected the materials just as he had been taught, breaking up the purchases among several stores so as not to attract attention. They were readily available, everyday items, and no one gave any of them, or him, a second thought.
Back in his apartment, Qusay combined the ingredients and assembled his package just as he had been shown. He had been told to start detaching himself from this world and to begin thinking of what awaited him in Paradise. Two days before he was to carry out his assignment, he received a package in the mail. It was a small vial of pills sent from a supposed Internet pharmacy. He was instructed how and when to take the pills and was told they would help make his assignment easier, as he would be more relaxed.
Finally, it was explained to Qusay one last time what would happen to his family if he did not successfully carry out his operation. He understood, and he vowed that he would not fail. The only thing he wished was that he could have contacted them one last time. He would have liked to have spoken with his father and his two brothers. To his disappointment, it was strictly forbidden. Qusay could only hope that they would be proud of him.
He prayed and took strength reading from the holy Qur’an before leaving. In the theater parking lot, he removed the orange vial from his pocket and consumed the last of the pills. Twenty minutes later, he purchased his ticket and entered the multiplex.
The lights had already been dimmed when he entered the extremely crowded theater number six and took one of the last remaining seats. To his relief, no one seemed to notice him, or the backpack he was carrying. Placing it at his feet, he sat back and silently prayed, trying to remember not to nod or move his lips, as he had been told law enforcement officers had been trained to look for such cues, as they indicated that a shahid was about to martyr himself.
As far as Qusay could tell, though, there were no police officers present in the theater. It was nothing but families; mostly mothers with young children, though there were a handful of fathers scattered about. One in particular, with two blond boys, had turned several minutes into the film and looked at him. He had then turned and looked at him twice more.
Despite the calming effect the drugs were supposed to have, Qusay grew more apprehensive each time the man turned and looked at him. He was worried that somehow, the man had divined his intent. But if that was so, why hadn’t the man done anything? Qusay decided it was foolish to wait any longer.
He readied his package just as the man looked at him a fourth time and stood up from his seat. “Mike, what are you doing?” a woman said, but the man ignored her.
Moving to the end of his row and stepping out into the aisle, the man pointed at Qusay and gestured for him to get up. Qusay stared at him, his heart racing.
The man removed a badge of some sort, held it up, and gestured once more for him to get up and step into the aisle. All around them, people were beginning to pay attention to the unfolding spectacle rather than the movie.
“You,” ordered the man, as he swept his sport coat back and placed his right hand on the butt of a pistol holstered at his hip. “Iowa state trooper. Put your hands where I can see them.”
At this point, Qusay could feel all eyes in the theater on him. He thought of his family and smiled.
As Mike Bentley drew his pistol, Qusay Ali Atwa detonated his backpack.
CHAPTER 44
NORTHERN VIRGINIA
When the light had completely gone and Harvath had finished his meal, he left the dock and headed back up to his house. Sooner or later, the Old Man was going to want his written report. Tonight seemed as good a time as any.
Grabbing his laptop from the safe in his office, Harvath powered it up and made himself comfortable at his desk. Normally, his dog would have been sitting right underneath his feet, but he’d been away so much he’d left him with friends.
Harvath spent the next several hours working on his report. Reed Carlton was a detail person and never complained that Harvath’s summaries were too long. That was fine by Harvath, he was a detail guy as well and he found that the deeper into detail he went, the better he was able to wrap his head around
what had gone right, what had gone wrong, and what needed to happen going forward.
He had begun his narrative in the aftermath of the Yemen operation and moved forward. Halfway through, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep until he had written everything down, so he got up and went into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. Carrying an extra-large mug back to his desk, he sat down at his laptop and picked up right where he had left off.
As he wrote, he became increasingly confident that Karami, the Uppsala cell leader, was still in Sweden. Leaving the country after what had happened would have been too risky. His network might be able to get him out by boat, but they’d have to wait until the heat died down. Harvath made note of it in his report and also made a mental note to bring it up with the Old Man.
From there, Harvath moved on to a moment-by-moment breakdown of everything that had happened leading up to the explosion. Chase was undoubtedly working on a similar report for his superiors, and Harvath made an additional note to get a copy of it to see if it would help fill in any of his blanks.
Soon, he found himself speculating about what had gone wrong. It wasn’t easy reliving the blast and envisioning the deaths of Schiller and his team, but it was necessary. Harvath put his ego aside and was completely candid about where he felt he had failed and how he believed the terrorists had been able to gain the upper hand.
Harvath was focused on being brutally honest regarding his possible failings in the assignment. Men under his command had died and he owed it to them and their families to try to ferret out every single detail, no matter how damaging it might be to him, in order to make sure that such a thing never happened again.
He was so focused on this part of his report that he didn’t at first hear his cell phone vibrating on the credenza behind him. When he did finally notice it, he reached for it without looking and raised the device to his ear.