Black List sh-11

by Brad Thor

  “See. You know how compartmentalization works. It’s like a dresser divided into multiple drawers and subcompartments. Controlled access programs and special access programs exist not only to keep things secret but to keep politicians and agency heads in the dark. Not even the handful of ‘superusers’ in D.C., who supposedly have access to everything, have a full grasp of everything that’s going on, particularly in the clandestine world.”

  Harvath shook his head. “Even so, the majority of people I’ve been assigned have not been American citizens. Those that were, had their cases reviewed and sanctioned.”

  “I’m simply telling you what Caroline discovered. According to her data, the Black List is real. It exists.”

  “Who’s behind it? Who makes the targeting decisions and has the final judgment?”

  “From what’s on the drive,” replied Nicholas, “it dwells in one of those divided-off subcompartments. They meet in secret and no one knows who makes up the panel.”

  “Are they intelligence people, or are they from DOJ? The White House?”

  “It appears to be a mix.”

  “Do you have any idea how many of them there are?” Harvath asked.

  “No. Caroline doesn’t say.”

  “When someone has been found guilty and is targeted, who carries out the sanction?”

  “A kill team of some sort,” Nicholas replied. “They all have military training at the Special Operations level.”

  “Who runs them? Are they active military? Do we have any idea where they’re based?”

  Nicholas shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Why the interest in me?” said Harvath.

  “From what I can gather, it wasn’t specifically you, it was the Carlton Group in general and the fact that it employs former military and intelligence personnel.”

  “There are plenty of private groups out there who do that. Why would ATS come after us?”

  “None of those groups match your size or proficiency. You’re a threat. You operate outside the system and they can’t control you.”

  Harvath was incredulous. “And they can control the CIA or the FBI?”

  “Those are organizations inside the system, and yes, they can control them. They have enough influence to steer anything in D.C. in any direction they want it to go. It’s all done covertly, quietly behind the scenes, but it’s done.”

  “But we’re small-time.”

  “No you’re not. Not anymore,” said Nicholas. “You’ve disrupted several international terrorist attacks, you conduct your own, unilateral clandestine operations, and what’s probably most dangerous of all to them, you don’t answer to anyone in the United States government. They know who you are and they know the trouble you can cause for them. The Carlton Group is the only organization they mention by name in the file. That’s why I wanted you to get back here as soon as possible and make sure you stayed off the grid. I didn’t know anything about Paris and Spain until you told me.”

  “I’m surprised they didn’t try to just gobble us up.”

  “They did. On two separate occasions, ATS tried to purchase the Carlton Group. And both times, Reed Carlton said no,” replied Nicholas as he pulled up a memo Caroline had downloaded. “They were not at all happy about it—you can see here some of the thoughts they had about your group afterward.”

  Harvath leaned toward the screen and read several of the remarks aloud. “… A danger to the intelligence community if left unchecked, zero accountability to any authority or governing body, a collection of renegade cowboys imbued with an excessive sense of nationalism, significant diplomatic and national security risk, if this group cannot be brought under control other steps must be taken…” He stopped reading at that point. “So those steps mean splashing all of us?”

  “I’m not sure,” Nicholas replied. “Caroline developed the impression that at some point ATS and the Carlton Group crossed swords, but that Carlton didn’t realize it. Somehow, your group tripped up one or more things ATS had been working on.”

  “Like what?”

  “Ops of some sort. She was trying to figure it out as part of what ATS was up to, but she was killed before she could get to the bottom of all of it.”

  “Did Caroline know that you were working with us?” Harvath asked.

  “I never told her. I kept it a secret. In fact, I kept it a secret from everyone. I didn’t even let Caroline know that I was in the country. ATS knew, though, and my name appears in their files, so at some point she found out.”

  Harvath studied the man’s face. “Could she have been setting you up?”

  “It crossed my mind, but I don’t think so.”

  “Why would she want Nina to bring that drive to you?”

  “Because,” he replied, “Caroline and I were friends. Because she knew I’d do the right thing with it. She knew I’d warn the right people and that I’d help stop whatever it was that ATS has planned.”

  It was a reasonable answer. In fact, it was better than reasonable. It made sense. He could see he had offended Nicholas, so Harvath let it lie. Rubbing the back of his neck, he squinted at the clock. “It’s almost midnight.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Have you tried to contact the Old Man?”

  “No,” Nicholas replied, “and after hearing how quickly you were targeted, I’m glad I didn’t.”

  “So we don’t know for sure if he’s alive or dead.”

  “We don’t. We also don’t know how many other people from the group were killed. But, seeing as how you couldn’t reach a number of them, I think we have to assume the worst.”

  Nicholas was right, but Harvath didn’t want to think about it.

  “There’s a message forum that the Old Man designated for emergencies. If you can set up a safe way for me to get online, I’d like to check it. After that, I don’t know if there are any more bombshells in these files, but I’d like to split them up between us and go through as many as possible before we turn in.”

  “I’ll put some coffee on,” said Nicholas as he slid out of his chair. Nodding at Harvath’s plate, he asked, “You want that heated up?”

  Immediately, as the words came out of his mouth, the lights dimmed and went out. The alarms on his backup APU batteries sounded as they kicked in and supplemented power to the computer equipment. What didn’t kick in was the generator Harvath had seen outside, and that should have happened almost instantaneously.

  “Blackout?” Nicholas remarked.

  Harvath signaled for him to be silent as he reached out and turned off all the monitors. The dogs had been sleeping nearby but sensed something was wrong, rose, and began growling. Nicholas commanded them to be quiet.

  Unable to travel with his pistol internationally, Harvath had left it back in Spain. His voice just above a whisper, he asked Nicholas, “Did you bring any weapons with you?”

  The little man nodded.

  “Get them. Right now.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Nicholas hurried over to a case next to the bed, but as he bent down to open the lid, the lights came back on. “Must have been a surge of some sort.”

  “Maybe,” Harvath said. “Let’s see what you brought with you.”

  Nicholas turned his attention back to the case and retrieved two weapons. One was a small handgun, and the other looked like an old, scaled-down M3 submachine gun or grease gun, as it was called back in the 1940s. Both had obviously been custom made for Nicholas.

  Pulling two extended, stick-style magazines from the case, he closed the lid and laid everything out on the bed. “This is all I’ve got.”

  Harvath looked at both weapons. “What caliber?”

  “The pistol is in .45 and the sub is .22LR.”

  A .22 was only a step above a BB gun as far as Harvath was concerned. It didn’t have nearly enough power. That said, he understood that the larger the rounds, the heavier the weapon would be. A weapon of this caliber made sense for a man of Nicholas’s size, especially if h
e wanted to be able to fire many shots without reloading. With a lot of skill and a lot of luck, a .22 could kill a man. It could also be one hell of a nuisance in trying to keep your enemy pinned down while you made your escape. “Do you have extra rounds for the .45?” he asked.

  Nicholas reached back into the case, withdrew a small box of ammunition and handed it to him. Harvath picked up the tiny pistol and could only wrap a couple of fingers around the grip. He was able to get some of his index finger through the trigger guard, but it was going to be a nightmare to shoot if he had to.

  “Stay here,” he said, checking to make sure the weapon was loaded and then dumping the additional .45 rounds into his pocket. “Wake Nina and keep her and the dogs with you.”

  “Where are you going?” Nicholas asked.

  “Outside to take a look around.”

  “You think somebody shut the power down and then brought it back up on purpose?”

  “It’s probably nothing. I just want to make sure.”

  Nicholas had a feeling he wasn’t being told the truth, but he didn’t press it.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” said Harvath. “Keep the doors locked and stay away from the windows.”

  The little man nodded as Harvath exited the master bedroom. Inserting one of the slim magazines into the mini M3, he charged the weapon and tucked the extra mag into his waistband before heading down the hall to get Nina.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Harvath slipped outside into the darkness. The night was cool and a thick cover of clouds hung overhead, blocking the stars from view.

  There were no active exterior lights on the guesthouse, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. He tuned his ears to the sounds around him, trying to pick up anything unusual. There was the steady rhythm of cicadas and beneath it a slight breeze that shook the narrow leaves of a row of Texas olive trees close by. Other than that, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

  He moved around to the side of the guesthouse where the generator was. Considering that it was on fenced, private property, he wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked. He could make out boot prints in the dust around it. They weren’t from cowboy boots like the ranch hands wore. They looked like hiking or tactical boots. Big, too.

  Examining the generator, Harvath tried to run through his mind how he would rig it, if he wanted to cut power to the guesthouse in advance of an attack. Before the actual attack, he would always do what he called a “flicker,” a quick cut-off of power, to make sure that everything was set and ready to go. Was that what they had just experienced? Were the boot prints some sinister, pre-attack indicator, or did they belong to a repairman who had recently been out to service the generator?

  There wasn’t much ambient light and he wished he had a flashlight.

  Kneeling down behind the generator on the other side, he examined all the wiring. It looked fine at first glance, but he had learned that first glances could often be deceiving. If you could take out the generator without anyone knowing, when you were ready to cut power to the guesthouse, you could do that from a distance. It was the best way.

  He was halfway through his inspection when he sensed someone approaching, moving carefully just beyond the olive trees, taking pains not to be heard.

  Harvath stopped what he was doing and adjusted his grip on Nicholas’s tiny .45. He had no idea whether he had been spotted or if the generator had shielded him from view. But, it appeared his suspicions about the power outage had been confirmed.

  He took a deep breath and exhaled as he shifted to his right. He needed to keep his heart rate under control. He had only three shots before he would need to reload, and there was no telling how accurate or wildly inaccurate the weapon he was holding was going to be. The one thing he had going for him was that at least he had halfway decent cover. And, if he hadn’t been spotted, he might even have the element of surprise.

  That changed, though, when the figure stopped its approach just behind the row of trees and stood, waiting. But for what? For me to make a move and give myself away? Harvath could wait all night if he had to.

  Seconds passed. He felt certain whoever was out there in the darkness knew exactly where he was.

  The silence was broken by a weapon being cocked. It had been done very slowly in order not to make any noise, but Harvath had heard it and now he knew exactly where in the trees the shooter was hiding. In response he readied his own weapon and prepared to take action, but then something happened.

  From behind the trees, the figure shouted out a command in Spanish. “Levantese!” Stand up. “Suelte el arma!” Drop the weapon!

  Harvath had no idea if she could see it or not, but he stuck one hand over the top of the generator and waved. “It’s okay, Maggie,” he replied. “It’s me, Scot. Lower your weapon.”

  There was the sound of her weapon being decocked and then Maggie Rose stepped out from behind the olive trees carrying a Mossberg lever-action rifle. “What are you doing out here?” she asked, walking over to him as he stood up and emerged from behind the generator.

  “We had a problem with the power a few minutes ago. What are you doing out here?”

  “I saw something on the CCTV cameras and wanted to come check it out.”

  “What did you see?” he asked.

  “A group of illegals crossing the property. If the Knights were here, their security people would go out and question them. The problem is, we don’t have a procedure for this. If it was just staff here, we’re told not to engage, just let them pass. You’re here, though, and that makes me responsible for you. Though maybe I don’t need to worry,” she added, looking at the weapon in Harvath’s hand.

  “When was the last time this was serviced?” he said, walking around the generator.

  “About a month or two ago. Why?”

  Harvath motioned her closer and pointed at the boot prints. “These are fresh. Does anyone on the ranch wear boots like these?”

  She studied them for a moment and replied, “No. None of us do.”

  “I didn’t think so,” he said as his eyes tried to penetrate the darkness around them. “I want to know exactly what you saw on the cameras. Where are they now?”

  “A group of what looked like four males, but by the time I noticed them, they were already leaving the property. I didn’t see any others in their wake, but I wanted to make sure.”

  “Were they carrying anything? Any weapons?”

  “If I’d seen weapons, I would have called the sheriff.”

  “How tall were they? What were they wearing—”

  “Come up and see the footage for yourself,” Maggie said, interrupting him and pointing in the direction of the main house. He was uneasy, and though she didn’t know why, it was catching. Looking over her shoulder she added, “Suddenly I don’t feel so comfortable standing out here like this.”

  CHAPTER 37

  There they are. Right there,” the ranch manager said as she backed up the closed-circuit footage.

  They were sitting in the security office on the first floor of the main house, built and decorated in the same Tex-Mex Mission style as the other buildings. “I have a monitor with a live feed at my place,” she continued, “but I have to come here if I want to rewind anything.”

  Harvath used a trackball to slowly roll the footage backward and forward. “Do you get a lot of people who cross through the ranch?”

  “The illegals, you mean?”

  “Anyone. Illegals, poachers, whatever.”

  “Most of them tend to be illegals moving their way up from Mexico. They hide and camp during the day, then move across the ranches down here at night. With the cloud cover and no moon, they’ve got a perfect night for it.”

  It wasn’t the only thing a night like this was perfect for. “Does this happen every night?”

  Maggie shook her head. “A couple of times a month, maybe.”

  “When was the last time?”

  She shrugged. “We’d have to go through all the footage. No o
ne watches the cameras unless the Knights are here.”

  “But you were watching.”

  “I happened to be awake and something caught my eye. I wouldn’t characterize that as watching. Like I said, I only came out to make sure you-all were okay.”

  Harvath froze a frame of video. Despite hunching over when they moved, they couldn’t hide their size. “These guys look pretty big to me,” he said, “or am I wrong?”

  She leaned in next to him and looked at the monitor. “No, you’re right. They do look big.”

  “Are the groups normally made up of four people?”

  Maggie shook her head. “There isn’t a standard. For every one you see, there can be five or ten more.”

  “What about clothing? Is this the kind of stuff you normally see?”

  “The clothing is perfect.”

  “Even with all four men wearing baseball caps?”

  “It’s all perfect, but there’s something missing.”

  Harvath looked at her. “What?”

  “Anything these people own, they’re usually carrying it with them. But these four aren’t carrying anything. No food, no water, no plastic grocery bags. Nothing.”

  It was a very good observation. “How do I zoom in?” he asked.

  She showed him and Harvath tightened up as close as he could. “What do those look like to you?”

  “Whatever they are,” Maggie replied as she studied the pixilated, infrared image, “they definitely aren’t cowboy boots.”

  She was right. In fact, even with the rough quality of the extreme close-up, the boots they were wearing looked exactly like what Harvath envisioned had left the prints near the generator.

  Zooming out, he scrolled through the rest of the night’s footage, trying to ascertain when and how the men had crossed onto the property, what they had done while there, and when and how they had left. The problem was that there were large gaps. The men had been captured on only a couple of the cameras, and they never showed their faces. They’d either been extremely lucky or had known exactly what they were doing, purposely avoiding the cameras.