Path of the Assassin

by Brad Thor

  “I’m not saying they’re not a consideration, but we’re at war and war means casualties…sometimes even civilian casualties. It’s just the way the game is played.”

  “Jesus. So this is what happens when a wet work team gets sent into a hostage-rescue situation.”

  “Harvath, I am not going to argue with you anymore. Our mission is our mission. If you want out, that’s fine with me. As a matter of fact, I’m sure it’s fine with all of us. But, if you’re going to stay aboard, you do it with your mouth shut and you follow my orders. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it. But I’ve also got one request.”

  “Only one?” said Morrell, playing to his men, who began to chuckle with him. “If it’ll get you to shut up, then by all means, let’s hear it.”

  “I can already see the way this thing is shaping up, so when we do the takedown on that plane, I want to be the first one in.”

  “You got it.”

  “And one more thing.”

  “See,” said Morrell, “I knew you didn’t want just one thing. What is it?”

  “When we go in, I want you right there next to me.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Neither would I,” said Harvath. “Neither would I.”

  18

  By ten P.M. Cairo time, Meg Cassidy knew there was no possible way she was going to be able to sleep. It was a luxury she couldn’t afford, no matter how badly she needed it. Twice, she had fallen into short catnaps only to awaken and find the masked hijacker with the brown eyes staring at her. During the one and only bathroom break the hijackers had allowed, the man accosted her when she came out of the lavatory and had run his hands over the fabric of her black Armani pants suit, appraising her body beneath.

  Luckily, it seemed to Meg, a second hijacker had appeared out of nowhere, and immediately saw what was happening. Harsh whispers were exchanged, and finally, the first man backed down. Though of the same height, this other hijacker was of a slighter build, with the most hypnotic eyes Meg had ever seen. She was immediately drawn to them. As Meg stared into the two orbs of brilliant silver, her mind went numb and the fear drained from her body. The hijacker gently touched her cheek with the back of a gloved hand and then indicated that she should return to her seat. Meg obeyed, filled with a strange sense of awe and gratitude. This feeling was soon replaced by visceral fear as the brown-eyed hijacker once again maneuvered himself into a position to catch Meg’s eye. Only this time, his look registered pure hate.

  19

  After Morrell finished his briefing, he ran his men through a series of what were known as “exercises on the objective.” The team practiced taking down the inside of the aircraft from every conceivable entry point, as well as some that they hoped the terrorists wouldn’t see coming. They ran through the drills of coming down the aisles with the lights on and then with the lights completely extinguished, assisted by their night-vision goggles. When Morrell was satisfied the men had it completely covered, he dismissed them and they all returned to the upper-deck lounge.

  Harvath chose to wander the enormous 747-400 alone, memorizing every detail of its layout. By the time he was done, he knew where every exit, lavatory, galley, and storage compartment was located and how much distance lay between each.

  When he was confident that he had taken in as much as he could, Harvath made his way along the main deck into the nose of the aircraft and the first-class section. Much to his delight, he found that the United staff had completely stocked the galley, but someone had failed to inform the SAS team, who were gathered upstairs playing cards, eating bland military MREs, or Meals Ready to Eat, and popping Halcion tablets in preparation for sleep.

  While the goat cheese for his salad and his double portion of prime rib were warming up, Harvath checked the AV cabinet, and sure enough, it had been stocked with the latest releases. Well, this beats the hell out of playing old maid with the guys upstairs, he thought to himself. Harvath fired up a movie and set a place for himself, complete with linen tablecloth, at one of the elegant first-class sleeper seats. He seriously considered building a huge hot fudge sundae—all the fixings were there—but decided against it. He was, after all, on duty.

  His timing was perfect as he kicked off his shoes, covered himself with one of the cashmere first-class blankets, raised his personal video monitor and settled in for his meal. The movie was just starting. All things considered, this really was the only way to fly.

  He had selected what looked like a promising film, a sappy love story, and it had the desired effect. Halfway through, he felt his mind relax and his eyelids grow heavy. As Harvath donned an eye mask and inserted earplugs into his ears, he pressed the button on his armrest and the seat automatically reclined to a completely horizontal bed. His colleagues had always remarked at his gift for being able to quiet his thoughts enough to nod off before any type of mission. It wasn’t so much sleep as it was a Zen-like state of deep relaxation. Harvath always awoke refreshed and extremely focused, his thoughts and emotions perfectly calm.

  When he did awaken and peek at his stainless-steel Rolex Explorer II, a quiet gift from the Swiss government for his role with Claudia in nailing the Lions of Lucerne, Scot calculated there were about two more hours before the plane would touch down. He made his way downstairs to the fitness center and closed the door behind him.

  After some quick stretching, Harvath did two fast sets of bench presses, followed by curls, then dips and finally some pull-ups. He grabbed a quick shower and shaved with the razor he had found in one of the amenity kits in first class. He headed back upstairs to the galley, where he popped an eggs Benedict breakfast into the oven and poured himself a couple of glasses of fresh orange juice. While he ate his breakfast, he brewed a pot of coffee and threw together a platter of lox, bagels, and cream cheese. Some might have called it a peace offering, but those who knew Scot Harvath would have called it what it really was—a rub-it-in-your-face display of what the unimaginative SAS Team had missed by huddling together in the upper-deck lounge for the entire flight.

  Harvath changed into the black Nomex Delta Force fatigues, grabbed the coffee and bagels, and made his way to the upper-deck lounge. Several of the SAS team were wide awake and eating tasteless MRE breakfasts when Harvath came up the stairs. Those that weren’t awake quickly came to when he set the tray down on the bar and the smell of fresh roasted coffee filled the cabin.

  “Where’d you get that?” one of the men asked.

  “We passed a Starbucks a little while ago and I thought it was the least I could do, seeing how well you treated me last time we all flew together.”

  One of the other men, who had already picked up a coffee cup and had the pitcher in his hand, stopped and said, “Wait a second; you didn’t piss in this, did you?”

  “Only in Morrell’s,” Scot responded.

  The man just stared at Harvath for a moment and then, realizing it was a joke, went back to pouring his coffee.

  “There’s juice and pastries down in the first-class galley. I also think I left a little hot water in the fitness-room shower, if anybody wants one.”

  Several men looked ready to do just that until Morrell piped up, “This isn’t a fucking day spa. I’ve been informed by the pilot that we’ll be landing early. We’re going to do an equipment check, go over last-minute details, and, if time permits, run through the exercises on the objective again.”

  Morrell threw his MRE into the trash can behind the bar, grabbed a bagel and a cup of coffee, then brushed past Harvath on the way back to his seat.

  “What? No thank-you?” said Harvath. “After I slaved over a hot stove all morning? Well, I’m sure glad I didn’t serve any of my prime rib up here last night.”

  “You had prime rib last night?” asked another operative.

  “He’s pulling your leg. He got lucky and found some bagels and coffee,” said Morrell. “Quit causing trouble, Harvath, and sit the fuck down.”

  A few of the men were o
bviously torn as to who was telling the truth, but Harvath quickly set them straight. “You bet your ass I had prime rib. And then I had eggs Benedict for breakfast. There’s even an ice cream sundae bar down there.”

  “Ice cream sundaes?” said one of the younger operatives, who had obviously never flown first or business class before. “Now I know you’re bullshitting.”

  “Ah, ya got me,” said Harvath as two other men, who could tell he was telling the truth, slipped quietly out of the cabin toward the first-class galley downstairs.

  Morrell called the rest of his men to order and began relaying the latest situation report, or sit rep, for short.

  “The CAG guys are inclined to agree with Agent Harvath on the flat-lens cameras.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Harvath.

  Morrell ignored him and kept going. “The Egyptians have been using microwave sound amplifiers on the aircraft, but the intelligence gathered thus far has not been helpful. An offer to board maintenance crews to service the plane, restock it with food and water, and unclog any problem toilets was flatly denied. We had hoped that some of the CAG members could pose as maintenance crew and gather intelligence while planting listening devices and our own miniature cameras, but the hijackers repeated their threat to start killing passengers if anyone came near the plane.

  “As a show of good faith, the Egyptians have freed up two million dollars, part of Abu Nidal’s frozen assets, and per the hijackers’ instructions, are pulling the money together in cash. They hope it might gain the release of some of the women and children, but I doubt it. The hijackers say that they’re not releasing any passengers until their demands have been met in full.”

  “Did they set a deadline?” asked Harvath.

  “Noon.”

  “If they don’t get their money and assets by noon?”

  “I think that’s obvious, Harvath. They’re going to start blowing the passengers away one by one until their demands are met. They’ve killed three people already. I don’t think there’s any doubt in anyone’s mind as to whether or not they’re serious. The mayor and United’s CEO are the big-ticket items, so they’re safe for the time being, although its possible the hijackers might sacrifice one of them, just to make a point.”

  “Blow away a ten-million-dollar hostage? That’s a pretty expensive sacrifice.”

  “You never know with these people. This is a very sticky situation—especially for the Egyptians.”

  “How is the good-faith money supposed to be delivered?”

  “The hijackers want the full two million in twenties and hundreds placed in clear plastic bags and driven out to the plane in an open-air airport service cart driven by a lone woman.”

  “A woman?”

  “Yeah. I guess the hijackers figure a girl is less threatening.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then the hijackers will select a couple of passengers to lower a net of some sort, the money will be placed into it, and that’s that.”

  “Any chance we can get a listening device or anything like that into the money?”

  “If we were using suitcases or briefcases, maybe, but there’s no chance of smuggling anything inside clear plastic bags.”

  “What’s the situation at the airport?”

  “The CAG guys say it’s an absolute circus. It’s jammed with media people. Every move President Mubarak makes is being analyzed from a thousand different angles.”

  “Which means he’s going to be pretty jumpy, and so will his 777 guys. What’s the plan?” asked Harvath.

  “The plan,” said Morrell, “is that when we land we’ll be met by one of the CAG guys and updated as we chopper to the rendezvous with the rest of the team at the new airport. There, we’ll do a quick collective briefing, and when everything is in order, we take down that plane.”

  Morrell was winging it, and Harvath knew that in a situation like this, the man didn’t have much of a choice, but his short-term priorities were not in the right order. Nobody, especially Harvath, wanted another crazed group of terrorists on the loose, but there were civilians on that plane and any plan that fell short of providing for their safe extraction was not a plan worth pursuing—at least not yet.

  Harvath’s feelings of unease only deepened when Morrell projected a picture of the airport’s layout on the bulkhead and said, as he indicated where the aircraft was parked, “If all else fails, we have been authorized to destroy the plane.”

  20

  A million things passed through Meg Cassidy’s mind as she pondered what the hijackers had in store for her and the several hundred other passengers. There was no question that if provoked, these men would kill any or all of them. They had already proven that. They had also proven that they would act even when not provoked. The flight attendant who had been so badly beaten at the beginning of the hijacking now lay on the floor of the galley not far from where Meg sat. Over the past few hours his breathing had grown more shallow and rapid. Though she was no doctor, Meg suspected that the hijackers had broken at least one of his ribs, which had punctured his lung. The man might very well be dying right before her eyes.

  Concentrating on someone else’s plight temporarily took her mind off of her own incredible fear. Meg knew that she was an attractive woman. Today though, her good looks were working against her. Though she tried to lean away from the aisle whenever he passed, the masked hijacker who had accosted her earlier found ways to brush up against her. Usually, he would do it by coming up the aisle from behind her, so that she couldn’t see him approach. All of the passengers had been told to sit facing forward, or else. No one had to guess at what the or else meant.

  She had always wondered what the people on the hijacked planes on September 11 must have felt. She had heard recordings of the desperate cell phone calls made to loved ones from passengers who knew they were going to die. There was also the valiant struggle of the passengers on the fourth plane, which was brought down in a field in Pennsylvania. After the well-publicized heroism of those passengers, surely these hijackers would be alert to a passenger uprising. Of course they were. That’s why the men worked in shifts and never took their eyes off them, not even for a second.

  Meg looked at her watch. Before taking off, she had set it ahead to local Cairo time. It read four A.M. She computed the time difference and realized it was nine o’clock in the evening back in Chicago. She tried to relax, but she couldn’t help wondering if she would ever see her home again.

  Meg thought about her small band of employees back in Chicago. No matter how many magazine or newspaper interviews she did, Meg never forgot to mention the people who had really made Cassidy Public Relations a success. “Family” was the best way Meg could describe them. In particular, Meg thought about her assistant, Judy, who not only was the most efficient person she had ever met and helped keep Meg’s frantic life in order, but doted on her as if she were her own daughter. Judy arrived at the office every morning before any of the other staff to make coffee and often set out her own home-baked cookies or brownies. Though her baking was fabulous, her coffee was terrible, and Meg made it a point to stop in at a local coffee shop on her way each day to fill her stainless steel thermos.

  Thinking of her morning routine drew Meg’s mind back to her apartment and the nine millimeter pistol she kept beside her bed. Never once since her father had given it to her had she had reason to use it, but now she wished she had it with her.

  Fearing that the hijackers could somehow read her thoughts, Meg self-consciously looked up, but no one was watching her. She closed her eyes again and saw the smiling face of Judy floating in front of her. She wanted to believe that it was a sign that somehow, thousands of miles away in Chicago, Judy was her guardian angel watching over her. Meg’s seatmate, Bernard Walsh, stirred from his restless sleep and reached across the armrest to place a reassuring hand atop hers. Meg wanted to appear strong and began to smile at the gesture, but the smile was short-lived. From behind her in the aisle a strong hand reached o
ut and jerked her roughly to her feet. She tried to turn to see who it was, but was punched in the back of her head. She saw stars, and her knees almost buckled as she was pushed forward. Meg didn’t really need to see the face to know who the person was. It could only be the masked hijacker who had accosted her earlier. Her worst fears were coming true. She had known he was going to come back for her sooner or later. The specter that had haunted Meg’s dreams for several years had taken on a new incarnation, and he was shoving her toward the stairway for the upper deck.

  Part of her wanted to die right then and there. Silently she implored God to take her, to not make her relive what no human being should have had to experience, even once in a lifetime.

  At that same moment, Bernard leapt from his seat and made a run at the masked hijacker. With the fingers of both hands interlaced, he swung and came down hard upon the man’s back. The hijacker grunted in pain, then spun full force and caught Meg’s protector in the mouth with his elbow. Bernard was knocked unconscious from the powerful blow and fell down hard across his seat as blood trickled from his split lip. The hijacker removed his silenced pistol and shot him twice in the chest.

  The killer then turned to face the rest of the nearby passengers, daring anyone else to try something. Not a single passenger moved. Meg, whose blood now ran as cold as ice, was paralyzed with fear. The masked hijacker once again pushed her toward the stairs. She could tell by the intensity of the man’s shoving that he had no intention of being interrupted again. This time, he expected to get what he wanted.

  Meg refused to move until the man put his gun back in his jumpsuit and produced a long, razor-sharp blade. He reached over her shoulder and placed it across her throat. What inner force propelled Meg forward, she did not know. When she prayed to God again to bring her death, a voice resonated from deep within her body with but one word, No.