by Brad Thor
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. Next, 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.”
Ashford didn’t respond. His head was killing him. It felt as if someone had split it wide open with an axe. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
Carlton opened his folder. “Why don’t you start by telling me about the hit on Larry Salomon.”
“Who?”
The Old Man shook his head, closed his file, stood up, and began walking away.
Ashford looked at him. “Where are you going?”
“I’m sorry it had to end like this, Robert.”
“I told you, I don’t know any Larry Salomon. You can’t do this. You can’t just kill me. You won’t kill me.”
Carlton walked back to his chair, set his file folder down, and sprang at the MI5 man. Grabbing a fistful of hair, he torqued the man’s head back. “Thousands of Americans are dead and you think I’m going to play games with you?”
“I’m not involved with the terrorist attacks! Why are you doing this, Reed? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who put you up to this?”
The Old Man bent the Brit’s head back even farther. “I know the routine, Robert. Deny, deny, deny, and then launch counteraccusations. It isn’t going to work. I’ve offered you an incredible deal, you son of a bitch. It’s better than you deserve. Don’t be an idiot. Take it.”
“But you don’t have a thing on me. I don’t know why you’re doing this.”
Carlton looked at Harvath and said, “Go get him.”
“Go get who?” asked Ashford as Harvath left the room.
“Shut up.”
“Reed, you and I are friends.”
The Old Man wasn’t listening to him. “What changed you, Robert? Was it money? Is that what this is all about?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Show a little character, Robert. Show some dignity. I have offered to let you disappear into retirement. Take the offer.”
“But I haven’t done anything,” the MI5 man insisted. “I don’t know any Larry Salomon. I’m not involved in these horrible terrorist attacks. All I know is that if you had one shred of proof, you’d produce it.”
As the man finished his sentence, Harvath wheeled Yaroslav Yatsko into the room in a wheelchair.
“Hello, Robert,” the Russian said.
CHAPTER 67
“You think MI5 would take his word, a former KGB operative’s, against mine? The word of a man who
admits he’s in the murder-for-hire business? You’re crazier than he is!”
Carlton opened the file and showed Ashford what he had. “You two go way back. He kept very meticulous records.”
“If I did communicate with trash like this,” said the Brit, “do you honestly think I’d be stupid enough to do it with an email address that traced back to me?”
“We also have the banking information for the payments made to Mr. Yatsko.”
“Again, how stupid do you think I am?”
“And then there’s Yemen,” said the Old Man.
Suddenly, Ashford’s mask slipped. A flash of panic rippled across his face, but was quickly suppressed.
“That’s right, asshole. We’ve got you dead to rights in Yemen,” said Harvath.
Carlton closed the file and looked at the MI5 operative. “There’s no way out, Robert. There’s also no more time left on the clock. We know everything. The only reason we’re having this conversation is that I wanted to give you a way out. I’m closing the window, though. Either you accept my offer, or I have a van waiting downstairs with a team that will take you out to the country, put a bullet in your head, and plant you in a very cold and lonely piece of ground.”
Harvath had already taken Yatsko back to his room and returned. He was now watching Ashford to see what he would do. They didn’t have him dead to rights on Yemen. That had been a bluff. Harvath had been adamant that Ashford believe that the case against him was overwhelming. He lived for his career, and he needed to believe that it was over. They needed to psychologically strip him naked and convince him that the only way out was through the Old Man.
“And you give me your word that you’ll relocate me? A new identity? A new life? All of it?” said Ashford.
“The economy being what it is, you may end up recycling boxes at a Wal-Mart, but I give you my word,” said the Old Man, who gestured for Harvath to give him some water.
Harvath did as he was instructed.
“I want the person pulling your strings,” replied Carlton, as he motioned for Harvath to bring him the vial of pills from the table.
Ashford was quiet for several moments. Finally, he said, “I won’t testify. It’d be a death sentence. I’d never live to see any trial.”
“You let us worry about the trial.”
“I want money, too. If you want my help, it’s going to cost.”
“I think we should just kill him,” said Harvath.
Carlton waved him off. “I’m not changing the terms of my offer, Robert. It is a take-it-or-leave-it deal. You’re either going into the brand-new Reed Carlton witness protection program, or you’re going into a cornfield in rural New England. It’s your call.”
Once again, the MI5 operative took several moments before responding. When he did speak, he said, “Give me two of my pain pills. Actually, make it three and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“I’ll consider giving you one,” said the Old Man, nodding to Harvath that it was okay to prep one, “when you start filling us in on what we want to know.”
Ashford looked at the two men. The tears were flowing again. He had given up. He was broken. They had him. “Where do you want me to begin?” he asked.
Harvath stepped in, opened the bottle, and shook out one of the pills. Ashford opened his mouth. Harvath placed the pill on his tongue and then gave him some more water to wash it down.
“Let’s start with who you’re working for.”
“You already know who it is,” said Ashford.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“James Standing.”
“The terror attacks in Europe and Chicago that you helped us work on, who was behind those?”
“James Standing.”
“And the attacks on movie theaters across the United States that just happened?”
“James Standing.”
“The airport attacks?”
“Standing,” Ashford repeated yet again.
“Tell me about the terror network itself,” said Carlton.
The MI5 man looked at him. “It was built by the Chinese as part of an asymmetric warfare plan called unrestricted warfare. Standing financed and helped arrange for the stealing of the plan from the Chinese military. He then had every person who had been involved in crafting the plan killed.”
“How many terror cells are in the United States?”
The Brit had to think for a moment, but then replied, “Hundreds. Easily, hundreds. Your entire country is infested.”
“How do you communicate with the cells?”
“I want a guarantee in writing that I am honestly going to get immunity from prosecution.”
Harvath leaned forward. “How about instead we dump you outside the Russian Center of Special Operations with a sign around your neck saying you helped get three Spetsnaz soldiers killed?”
Carlton motioned for Harvath to back off. “We’re not negotiating anymore, Robert. I gave you my word. Now tell me how you communicate with the cells.”
“There is a hierarchy of commanders,” Ashford finally stated. “When Aazim Aleem was killed—”
“By you,” Harvath clarified.
“Yes. By me. After I killed Aazim, a man named Mustafa Karami was promoted. I then relayed commands to him, or Standing did. He then contacted the appropriate cells through emails, chat rooms, coded telephone conversations, and the like. Despite having been set up as a tool of the Chinese, for all intents and purposes it is a fully functioning Islamic terror network.”
“Why was Aazim killed?” asked Carlton.
“Isn’t it obvious? We couldn’t have the CIA interrogating him. That would have been the end of all of it.”
“And what was your end game in all of this? What was your goal? Yours and Standing’s? Certainly, this isn’t just about terror for terror’s sake.”
Ashford grinned sadly. “It was about making the world a better place.”
“By murdering people? Innocent men, women, and children?” demanded Harvath.
“All in pursuit of a greater good.”
“In other words, the ends justify the means?”
Ashford nodded and Harvath wanted to beat the Brit to a pulp, all in pursuit of a greater good, but the Old Man could see he was getting worked up and signaled again for him to stand down.
“How were these attacks supposed to make the world a better place?” Carlton asked.
“The only hope for the world is the collapse of the narrowly focused nation-state model. The planet is too interconnected, society too complex to be ruled by mob mentalities that only care about what’s good for them and don’t give a damn about anyone else.”
“So the attacks were meant to collapse the concept of the nation- state?”
“They are meant to collapse the United States. Once the U.S. is out of the way, the rest of the world can be led—”
“Into complete and utter darkness,” interjected Harvath. “Without America, there’s no peace. Without peace, there’s no prosperity.”
The Brit shook his head slowly. “Without America, there is justice.”
Carlton studied his former friend. “How did you go from fighting communists to becoming one?”
“I opened my eyes, Reed. I saw the incredible suffering in the world. Then I opened my mind and went looking for answers.”
“You have no idea,” said Harvath, “what the world would be like without America.”
“We’ll see soon enough.”
“Really? And who’ll govern this new world order? Some elite ruling class of intellectuals? Americans will never stand for the overthrow of their government.”
Ashford smiled again. “Of course they will. It’s already happening.”
“Trust me, your attacks will only bring the American people closer together.”
“I’m not talking about the terrorist attacks. Those are simply part of the final phase. The overthrow of America has been going on for decades. If someone tried to collapse the Unite
d States overnight, of course the American people would revolt. That’s why it had to be done slowly, quietly. It has been aided from both the outside and the inside. All of the massive problems besetting your nation, all of the economic, political, and social turmoil, hasn’t suddenly picked up speed by accident. It’s all by design and it all has a singular, overriding purpose.”
The man was insane. “And just so I don’t miss this glorious new dawn of global governance when it happens, what should I be on the lookout for?” asked Harvath. “Blue-helmeted United Nations soldiers marching up Main Street, U.S.A.? Or will it be more subtle than that?”
“You don’t have to look for anything,” replied Ashford. “It’s already here. It’s all around you. You’ve been looking right at it for years without knowing. You still have your name. You still have your flag. You still believe you have your freedoms, though in reality they have been slowly siphoned away. You still believe you have a Republic when, day-by-day, what you are being left with is merely the illusion of a Republic. Your entire house, as it were, has been rebuilt one brick at a time and no one has even noticed. No one has done a single thing about it.”
“How do we stop it?” asked Carlton.
“I don’t think you can,” replied Ashford.
“Standing wants to push the nation over the edge. He has some vision in mind of how to push us past the point of no return. How does he do that? How many more attacks are coming?”
“At this point, I only know of two that have definitely been activated, but there’s literally thousands of options he can choose from. The unrestricted warfare plan is as deep as it is broad.”
“What are the two?” said Carlton, eager to ascertain whether Ashford was telling them the truth.
“All of the attacks are color-coded. The next two attacks are orange and yellow. Orange will be attacks on the corporate headquarters of the companies listed on the Dow Industrial Average. Some of the companies are in regular office buildings, others are on campuses. Provisions have been made to collapse some buildings entirely and in other cases to have explosives detonate in the offices, boardrooms, and executive dining rooms of senior management.”
So far, it appeared to Carlton that Ashford was telling the truth. “And when are those attacks supposed to happen?”