Use of Force

by Brad Thor

  The only person to enter the car besides Younes was a woman with two children.

  When the conductor gave the final call, the Tajik climbed aboard.

  Stowing his suitcase, he made his way toward his seat. He was two rows back and on the other side of the aisle from Younes. He could see the young chemist, but the young chemist couldn’t see him.

  As the train pulled out, he made himself comfortable and settled in for the almost five-hour ride to Milan.

  • • •

  The trip was uneventful, though plenty of people had been stealing furtive glances at Younes. It was the curse of being a young Arab male in the wake of an Islamic terror attack. Tursunov was confident that ISIS would have already claimed credit for what had happened in Paris.

  During the hour between trains in Milan, he kept a distant eye on the young chemist. Once again, he didn’t detect any surveillance.

  He wasn’t surprised. Not only did the French authorities not have the resources to follow him all the way to Nice and then on to the border with Italy, the Italians had no actionable reason to take interest in him.

  Boarding the new train, they found their seats. The Tajik hadn’t seen anyone that gave him any cause for concern. Nevertheless, he continued to scan for any hint of trouble.

  At precisely four o’clock, the high-speed Alta Velocità train exited the central Milan station. The trip to Rome’s Termini station would take just under three hours. Then, provided Antonio Vottari had delivered his merchandise, the final step of the operation would begin.

  Allah willing, it would be the biggest attack the world had ever seen.

  CHAPTER 67

  * * *

  * * *

  CALABRIA

  An Augusta AW109 transported Harvath and his team from Palermo back to Sigonella Air Base.

  They stayed only long enough to pick up their gear and for Harvath to stop in the hospital to wish Haney and Gage a safe trip back to the United States. As soon as that was done, they climbed back on board and took off.

  Argento and one of his lieutenants were with them. The rest of his men had been divided. Half had stayed at the safe house to watch over Ragusa, Naya, and the two bodyguards. The other half had flown on ahead to a different safe house in Calabria.

  “We can make one, maybe two passes of La Formícula’s house, depending on our altitude,” Argento said over his headset. “Anything more than that and he’s going to know something is wrong.”

  Harvath flashed him the thumbs-up. “If we can get it in one, let’s do it that way.”

  The Italian nodded and said something to his lieutenant, who was seated next to the window with a large digital SLR camera. On the opposite side, Morrison also had a camera. Lovett sat next to Harvath with a map, Barton had his eyes closed, and Staelin was reading a new book.

  Harvath looked at the title—The Obstacle Is the Way by an author named Holiday. Tapping it, he asked, “What’s this one about?”

  “It’s about two hundred pages,” the Delta Force operative replied.

  Harvath just shook his head.

  Staelin looked up and smiled. “Stoicism,” he explained. “Turning obstacles into opportunities.”

  “Any good?”

  “I don’t know. My biggest obstacle right now is that my boss keeps asking me questions and won’t let me read it.”

  Argento translated for his lieutenant and they both laughed.

  Harvath shook his head once more and turned to look out the window.

  The pilots raced up the Sicilian coastline, past the dramatic edifice of Mount Etna—the tallest active volcano in Europe—and crossed over the Strait of Messina to Calabria at the toe of Italy.

  It was little moments like these that Harvath tried to savor. He hadn’t gotten much sleep and probably should have had his eyes closed like Barton, but it wasn’t every day you got a ride like this.

  He could only imagine what it would have cost to privately hire a helicopter for this kind of tour. For the first time in a while, he thought of Lara. She would have loved it. He also thought about Reed Carlton. He would have loved it too.

  In fact, the flight reminded Harvath of a story he used to tell. It was about Sicily and the CIA’s precursor, the OSS, and drew a stark contrast between the two.

  The story centered on Max Corvo, an Italian immigrant to the United States who joined the Army in 1942. Corvo had excellent ideas on how to defeat the Axis Powers in Italy, but it looked as if he was going to end up being a Quartermaster and not see any action. Instead of being quiet, Corvo wrote up his plan for intelligence gathering and covert operations in Italy.

  The young private quickly came to the attention of the OSS, who gave him a command position in its Italian section. He was dispatched to North Africa to prepare for the invasion of Sicily. But when Corvo arrived, he found next to no resources. Undeterred, he begged, borrowed, or stole whatever he could get his hands on that would make the invasion a success.

  Within a month of arriving in North Africa, he had recruited his own boat squadron and had planned, trained, staffed, equipped, and executed the first covert OSS operation to the highly dangerous, Gestapo-infested island of Sardinia.

  There, the OSS linked up with partisan and pro-Allied forces and began to lay the groundwork for an organized resistance that would be critical in the taking of Italy.

  What the Old Man loved about the story was not only the risk-taking, but the win-at-all-cost mentality. The OSS fostered creativity and bravery. To them, no mission was impossible. The organization stood behind you, it didn’t get in your way. What they cared about most were results.

  They had one mantra, and it came straight from the founder of the OSS, Wild Bill Donovan. If you fall, fall forward.

  If the CIA bureaucracy were to have a mantra today, it could very well be, Don’t fall. Or better yet, Don’t do anything that might result in a fall.

  That wasn’t the Old Man’s style. And it certainly wasn’t Harvath’s. For both of them, success was the only option.

  As a SEAL, Harvath had had it drilled into him that the only easy day was yesterday. He had been trained to expect things to get worse and when they did, to persevere. No matter what happened, you were never out of the fight. No matter what happened, you never quit. You always found a way to successfully complete the mission.

  It was a philosophy that called for quick and sometimes unorthodox thinking. It required dedication and a willingness to do whatever it took.

  In air-conditioned offices across Washington, it was a mindset and steadfast determination most politicians and bureaucrats couldn’t understand. It was one of the biggest reasons the country was in the position it was.

  Fortunately, there were just enough people in D.C. who did understand. The question, though, was whether there was enough time to still pull things together.

  As the helicopter banked and headed north, the pilot radioed that they were five minutes out from Vottari’s.

  Argento told his lieutenant and Morrison to get their cameras ready. They were going to want to take as many pictures as they could during the flyby. He wasn’t feeling very comfortable about the possibility of a second pass. The clouds were going to require them to fly lower than he would have liked.

  Harvath watched as the landscape sped by beneath the helicopter. Vottari lived outside a small rural town in the foothills of the Aspromonte mountain range called Oppido Mamertina.

  According to Lovett, the older members of N’drangheta tried to stay under the radar. They didn’t flash their massive wealth. They tried to blend in. The newer generation, Mafiosi like Vottari, were the opposite. They drove flashy cars, wore expensive clothes, and lived in big houses.

  The older members blamed the change on television and social media. Everybody wanted to be a celebrity. Everyone wanted to flaunt what he had. They swore it would be the younger generation’s undoing. They warned them to tone it down, but very few listened.

  The one area in which the younger gener
ation respected tradition was in where they lived. They didn’t run off and move to big cities. They stayed local, often residing in the same towns or villages where they had grown up. The result was that the flashy ones stood out like sore thumbs.

  As they neared Vottari’s house, Harvath didn’t need to be shown which one it was. He could spot it from the air. It was enormous.

  Forrest surrounded it on three sides. There was a long, straight drive that came up the front. On either side of the drive were cultivated fields with rows and rows of olive trees. There were a multitude of outbuildings.

  Argento’s lieutenant and Morrison snapped photo after photo as they flew by. People on the property stopped what they were doing and looked up.

  Harvath had seen all that he needed to see. There was no reason to make a second pass.

  What mattered now was coming up with a plan—something Argento and his team would go along with. But that would be a lot easier said than done.

  Harvath had a bad feeling that the Carabinieri weren’t going to like any of the ideas he was considering.

  CHAPTER 68

  * * *

  * * *

  The helicopter dropped them off on the private aviation side of the airport at Reggio Calabria. Two unmarked SUVs were waiting for them.

  The ROS safe house was about twenty minutes up the coast in a town called Villa San Giovanni. It marked the closest point between mainland Italy and Sicily and was the main embarkation point for the ferries that went back and forth to the island.

  With so much oceanfront, Harvath had hoped the safe house would be near the water. It wasn’t.

  The safe house was in a residential neighborhood, several blocks up from the docks and the main train station.

  It was built on a hill and its rooftop deck provided a view of the town and the ocean. The outer courtyard was walled, could fit four vehicles, and had a heavy, reinforced gate to deter any would-be thieves.

  There were citronella candles everywhere and netting over the beds. Apparently, mosquitoes were a problem.

  Unloading the gear from the vehicles, Argento showed everyone to their rooms. The rest of his team was already there and had opened the doors and windows to get air moving through.

  Harvath dropped his gear on his bed and then walked back to the living room. Argento was uploading the pictures from both cameras onto his laptop.

  “Hungry?” he asked, as Harvath walked in.

  They had eaten a late breakfast in Palermo, but nothing since.

  Harvath nodded and Argento looked at his watch. “Most places won’t be open for dinner until later, but I know one place we can try. It’s near the water.”

  “Good,” Harvath replied. Looking to get to work on a plan as quickly as possible, he added, “Bring your laptop.”

  • • •

  Ristorante Glauco in neighboring Scilla wasn’t just near the water, it was built right at its very edge. Its upstairs, open-air terrace extended out over the bay and provided one of the most incredible vistas Harvath had ever seen.

  Sailboats bobbed in the water beneath the dramatic Ruffo Castle, an old fortress perched atop a rocky peninsula that jutted out into the sea.

  A hodgepodge of Mediterranean buildings in all shapes and sizes were stacked side by side and one atop the other up the steep, terraced hillside.

  Looking out over the deep blue Strait of Messina, Argento explained that this was the location Greek mythology attributed to Scylla, the famed sea monster.

  After the helicopter ride and now this dramatic location for dinner, Harvath joked that the Italian needed to get out of terrorism and into tourism.

  Argento smiled and asked if he could order for their table. Harvath looked at Lovett, and when she nodded, he told the man to go ahead.

  As he ordered, Harvath glanced over at the next table, where Staelin, Barton, and Morrison were sitting with Argento’s men, several of whom spoke decent English.

  Satisfied that they were in good hands, he turned his attention back to what lay in front of them.

  Argento opened his laptop and Harvath and Lovett adjusted their chairs so they could see the photos. As he clicked through them, every once in a while, Harvath would ask him to zoom in, or go back to the one they had just seen.

  He was trying to get a thorough feel for the property; probing, looking for weak points that they could exploit. To his extreme relief, he didn’t see any dogs.

  “Vottari’s property is set up much different than Ragusa’s,” Harvath said.

  Argento nodded. “It’s a different mentality in Sicily. Everyone wants a fortress. In Calabria, it’s anonymity that protects you.”

  “He doesn’t look very anonymous to me.”

  “No. He doesn’t,” the Italian agreed.

  “Do we know anything about his routine?” Harvath asked. “Anything that might provide us an opportunity to get to him?”

  “Nothing like Ragusa and the bartender.”

  “A restaurant he likes to go to? Does he visit his mother on a regular basis? How about going to see the uncle?”

  Argento waved his hand in the air as if he was doing mini karate chops. “We don’t want anything to do with the uncle. No way.”

  Harvath understood. “What kind of protection does Vottari normally roll with? Lots of men? Just a couple? What are we looking at?”

  “Four to six men.”

  “Armed?”

  “We should assume so.”

  Harvath reached over to the computer and clicked back to a previous photo of the property. “What kind of a security presence at night?”

  Argento opened another folder, found the information Harvath wanted, and read him the answer. “Two men outside the house. Two men inside. Definitely armed. Semiautomatic rifles.”

  “Do we know anything about his perimeter security? Ground sensors? Anything like that?”

  The Italian scrolled through the file and then shook his head. “We don’t know.”

  “Alarm system on the house? Safe room? Pets?”

  Again, Argento scrolled through the file. “No idea regarding the first two and as far as pets go, I assume you are asking about any dogs. None have been seen.”

  Harvath nodded.

  There were always some question marks, no matter what the operation was. The less time you had to get ready, the more of them there usually were. Having access to Vottari’s file was a real benefit.

  “Before we start talking about a plan,” said the Italian, “I want to go over a few ground rules.”

  Harvath looked at him. “Such as?”

  Argento drew a deep breath, and the moment he did, Harvath knew they were in trouble.

  CHAPTER 69

  * * *

  * * *

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Harvath stated.

  “I’m not kidding you,” said Argento.

  “Why don’t we just save ourselves the time? We can walk right up to the front door and ask them to shoot us.”

  “I think you’re overreacting.”

  Harvath shook his head. “If I was overreacting, you’d know it. Trust me. What I’m giving you is the truth.

  “Which is exactly what I have given you,” the Italian countered. “I don’t like it any more than you do. It is what it is.”

  “What it is, is bullshit.”

  “You need to listen to me. My men and I didn’t join the Carabinieri to be the same as the Mafia. We joined because we are better men. We don’t want to beat them by their rules. We want to beat them by ours.”

  “With all due respect, sometimes you need to re-evaluate the rules.”

  Argento didn’t disagree. “I don’t mind bending a few here and there,” he said. “But as bad as those men are, they are still Italian citizens. The law exists to protect all Italians. Even the worst of us.”

  Harvath liked Argento. He was a good guy. But here, he was totally wrong. “And if I ignore the ground rules?”

  “Come on, don’t be stupid.”
r />   “I’m serious. What happens if I ignore them?”

  “The CIA snatched a Muslim Imam off the streets of Milan and rendered him to Egypt, where he was tortured. Every CIA operative involved was tried in absentia and found guilty. Prison terms and big money judgments were handed down. What do you think the Italian courts will do to you if you harm Vottari or any of his people?”

  “Define harm,” said Harvath.

  “Shoot,” the Italian replied. “What do you think will happen to you and your team if you shoot even one of them?”

  “No one even knows that we’re here.”

  “I know you’re here,” Argento stated. “My men know you’re here. My pilots know.”

  “So?”

  “So who do you think I called last night from the safe house in Palermo? Where do you think my file on Vottari came from? I had to call the lead N’drangheta prosecutor himself to get that. I woke him up in the middle of the night and everything.”

  Harvath was right back in the position he had been earlier with Lovett, vis-à-vis Ragusa. To climb to the next rung of the ladder, someone else had to become involved. As soon as that happened, the operation, not to mention its operators, were exposed. It was no longer fully covert.

  “Then you tell me,” said Harvath. “How do we make this work?”

  “Believe me, that’s all I have been thinking about. If Vottari or any of his men turn up dead, I’ll be the first person they look at. Same thing if he goes missing.”

  “And yet you didn’t have any trouble pulling Ragusa, his girlfriend, and the two bodyguards off the street for a little while.”

  “Because he had already given up Vottari,” Argento replied. “He’s never going to admit to what happened. He’ll scare the woman into silence and his men have no clue what went on in the apartment. Even if they did, they wouldn’t say anything or he would have them killed. I don’t have to worry about him running to the press or trying to file an action against me.”