Brad Thor

by The Apostle

  “Why not?” asked Harvath.

  “Because of the Russian. There are very few places the Russian would be welcome without Massoud. The Russian also was running a very big risk by taking the woman. It was an act of desperation. He needed to go someplace close, someplace safe that he knew he could reach quickly. It would have been someplace he knew. That is why we believe he went to the pasture compound.”

  “I thought you said it was very difficult to access.”

  “Difficult,” said Baseer, “but not impossible. If I was the Russian, it is where I would have gone.”

  Daoud leaned over the map and, after surveying it, pointed just below where the pasture was located and added, “If this is where they went, they would have passed through this village right here.”

  Harvath studied the map again. “Which means, someone there would have noticed all of those vehicles passing through.”

  The interpreter nodded. “I know this village. It’s not very big. The people there definitely would have noticed.”

  For all Harvath knew, it could be a wild-goose chase, but he was inclined to trust the intuition of the village elders. What’s more, their read of how the Russian would rationalize his moves made sense. It was also the best lead they had.

  Harvath looked at Gallagher. “Do you have anything to add?”

  “It’d be great if the elders’ militia could escort us to where the cars are,” said Baba G.

  Daoud translated the request and Baseer was happy to oblige. The men stood, embraced, and wished one another peace. Harvath gave Baseer his Afghan cell phone number and asked him to please call if he thought of or heard anything else about Massoud, the Russian, or, most important, Julia Gallo.

  When they stepped out of the meeting room, Fayaz’s security detail snapped to their feet as they said good-bye and Baseer told some of his men to escort the party back to their vehicles. Harvath could tell that the man he’d locked eyes with earlier and who was calling for Usman to cross the room and come to him was not happy, but there was little he could do. He had his orders.

  And though Harvath wanted to smirk, or toss him a wink, out of respect for the elders he kept his urge to be a smartass in check. It was only a fleeting thought anyway. His mind was already on where they were going and what he prayed they’d find there.

  After putting their shoes on, the group descended from the wooden structure and readied to head off toward the vehicles. Gallagher placed Asadoulah close to his side. Harvath looked for Usman, but he was nowhere to be seen. Harvath figured that the kid had already run home to spin the story of being held at knifepoint into a saga of how he had single-handedly fought off an entire battalion of bloodthirsty U.S. soldiers. After his father and brothers knocked the crap out of him for stretching the truth, they’d run out and tell their friends this story, but by then the American force would be upgraded to brigade strength at least. That was, of course, if the men in Usman’s house didn’t beat him unconscious for the shame he had brought upon them in accosting the American woman, who’d been, even as a prisoner, under Mullah Massoud’s protection. However it happened, Harvath hoped the kid got a top-notch ass-kicking.

  As they moved out of the copse of trees, Harvath pretended to be talking to Gallagher as he raised Fontaine over the radio. “Convoy 2, this is Convoy 1. Do you read me?”

  “Loud and clear,” said the Canadian.

  “We’re on our way down to the vehicles. What’s your position?”

  “I’m in a hide about thirty meters from the trucks. I already swept them. No bombs. They’re clean.”

  “Anything we need to be on the lookout for?” asked Harvath.

  “It’s all quiet down here.”

  “Good. What about the Welcome Wagon crew we laid out?”

  “I got some cell phones,” said Fontaine. “That’s it.”

  “No maps? No radios?”

  “Nope. None of that. One of them had a couple of naughty pictures that looked like they were from an old Playboy magazine, though.”

  Harvath marveled at the hypocrisy. Ancient statues of the Buddha, bad. Pictures of Ms. April, not bad.

  “I can see you guys coming now,” said the former JTF2 operative. “I’ll hold here until everyone has mounted up. Don’t go driving away without me.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Harvath.

  The group entered the small clearing on the very edge of the village where Gallagher’s Land Cruiser and the two other vehicles had been parked.

  With no need to deal with checkpoints on the way out of the village, the vehicle assignments were changed. The battered pickup truck was the lead vehicle and carried a mixture of elders and their security. Fayaz and Asadoulah rode in the middle vehicle with the rest of the security team and Harvath, Fontaine, Gallagher, and Daoud in the rear position.

  Once everyone was in their respective truck and the small column started moving, Harvath radioed Fontaine and told him to come out and hop in. As a precaution, Harvath stood next to the Land Cruiser with his weapon out and at the ready. Though he hadn’t seen anyone, he’d felt eyes all over him since they had left the jirga and begun their walk down to the trucks. If someone was going to try something, now would be the time.

  Fontaine appeared out of the darkness on the other side of the makeshift parking lot and made his way to the Land Cruiser.

  “We all good?” he asked as he stood up on the running board and prepared to hop in back next to Daoud.

  Harvath took one final look around and said, “I think so.”

  “Then let’s roll.”

  Sliding into the front passenger seat, Harvath closed the door, but left it unlocked. Rolling his window down, he balanced the suppressor of his MP5 on the windowsill and tried to twist his body in such a way that the seat wouldn’t be jabbing into his sore back.

  “You’re going to waste all of my heat,” said Gallagher as he put the truck in gear and pressed on the gas to catch up with the vehicles in front of him.

  “It’s just until we clear the area.”

  “So,” said Fontaine. “How was the party? Did they serve tea?”

  For a moment, Harvath forgot about the throbbing in his lower back and the cold wind blowing through the window onto his face, and he laughed. “Yeah, they did. They also served up a nice juicy lead. I think we may know where Massoud and the Russian took Dr. Gallo.”

  “That’s excellent news,” replied Fontaine. “Are we going to go check it out, or do you want to hand this thing off to the higher-ups?”

  Harvath turned around to look into the backseat. “That depends on Mr. Daoud. We’d need his help for a little bit longer.”

  Fontaine put his muscular arm around the pudgy Afghan. “What do you say? It could be fun.”

  “I most certainly disagree about it being fun,” said the interpreter. “But that does not mean we cannot come to some sort of an arrangement.”

  “A diplomat and a capitalist,” said Fontaine. “You ought to think about running for office.”

  Harvath smiled as he turned back around in his seat and thought about rolling up his window. Suddenly, he heard the distinct, pressurized sound of gas releasing as a rocket-propelled grenade was launched.

  He had barely yelled the words, “RPG!” when everyone in the Land Cruiser saw the lead vehicle explode in a roiling fireball.

  CHAPTER 46

  THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.

  “I know it’s hard for female agents to get dates, but please tell me that things haven’t gotten so bad that you’ve resorted to seeing Hutch.”

  After her meeting with Hutchinson, Elise had walked over to the White House to check the Secret Service duty roster and see if she could arrange for a couple more days off. Right now, with so many unanswered questions, she didn’t feel that she could rejoin the president’s detail and do her job effectively.

  Turning around to see who was talking to her, Elise Campbell discovered Matthew Porter, a forty-year-old agent on Terry Alden’s detail. He was a
decent guy with two kids and an attorney wife at the DOJ who processed FISA warrants.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Elise.

  “Don’t bullshit me, Campbell,” said Porter, as he smiled and shook his head. “It’s written all over your face.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “C’mon. I saw you two canoodling in Lafayette Park.”

  “Me and Hutch?” stated Elise. “You’re crazy. Besides, who even uses the term canoodling anyway?”

  “Whatever it was,” said Porter. “It looked pretty serious to me.”

  “You’ve got an overactive imagination. It was nothing.”

  “Well, you’re a big girl. You can make your own mistakes, but Hutch? You can do so much better than that. In fact, Claire and I’ve got at least a dozen guys we could set you up with.”

  Elise looked him right in the eyes so he’d know she was serious. “Matt, there’s nothing going on between me and Hutch. We were talking shop.”

  “Sure,” said Porter as he made quotation marks in the air with his fingers. “Talking shop. Without being crude, that guy’ll nail anything that moves.”

  “News flash, Matt. That was crude.”

  Porter shrugged. “You know what? You’re right. It’s none of my business.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I just have to admit, I don’t know what women see in him. Especially girls like you.”

  “Girls like me,” repeated Campbell. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean women who are not only out of Hutch’s league, but out of his planet system.”

  It was an interesting remark, and since Porter had brought it up, one that Elise felt worth pursuing. “Women like the first lady?”

  Porter had a coffee cup in his hand and had made the mistake of just taking a sip. Though he tried to hold it in, he coughed the coffee back into his cup. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he laughed as he picked up a paper towel to wipe his mouth. “Hutch and Mrs. Alden? Now, that would be incredible.”

  Campbell looked around. At the moment, there was no one else in earshot. “So what did you mean then?” she asked.

  “I meant very good-looking women, like you,” Porter replied awkwardly. “Not that the first lady isn’t attractive, she’s just—”

  Elise put up her hand to stop him. “Setting aside the first lady for the moment, what other women were you referring to when you alluded to girls like me?”

  “I feel like I’m getting grilled by my wife.”

  “Don’t change the subject, Porter.”

  “All right, all right. Wow, you don’t have to be so touchy.”

  “I’m not touchy,” replied Elise.

  “I was just talking about some of the hot women Hutch has managed to land. I meant it as a compliment.”

  “Who are we talking about? Anyone I’d know?”

  “What are we, girlfriends all of a sudden?” asked Porter. “I didn’t come in here to gossip. I just want some coffee.”

  “Porter, you started this.”

  “Hey, you were the one in the park with the guy. And if you’ve got something going with him, that’s cool. Just be careful.”

  “Careful?” said Elise.

  Porter dumped his coffee out and reached for a new cup. “The last hot chick Hutch hooked up with ended up drinking herself into a stupor and slamming her car into oncoming traffic.”

  Campbell knew Hutchinson had been lying to her, but she still had trouble believing what she was hearing. “Are you talking about Nikki Hale?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yeah, I am,” said Porter, “and why are we whispering? Was she a friend of yours?”

  Elise shook her head. “No, she wasn’t.”

  “Good. For a second there I thought maybe I’d really put my foot in it.”

  “How do you know he hooked up with her?”

  “Because I saw the two of them the night of the accident.”

  “Together?” asked Elise.

  “No, they were down on the beach doing semaphore. Of course, together. Come on, Campbell.”

  Elise grabbed hold of Porter’s lapel and led him further away from the other agents in the room. “I want you to tell me everything you saw. Right now.”

  “You know what?” said the agent as he removed his colleague’s hand from his jacket. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I actually feel for the guy. Short of turning a woman gay, I can’t think of a worse thing that could happen. Let’s just forget I said anything, okay? Hutch has been through enough.”

  “He hasn’t even come close,” replied Campbell. “Not yet. Not by a long shot.”

  Twenty minutes later, Elise Campbell had finished her conversation with Porter, left the White House, and was headed west on E Street, her BlackBerry pressed to her ear. “That’s exactly why I called you,” she said.

  “Elise, you saw the whole file,” replied Rita Klees from her office in East Hampton. “Why would we screen a drunk driving victim to see if they had sex before they died? Especially with the budget cuts we’ve suffered. We don’t do that. Not without a reason, and in this case there was no reason.”

  “So pull an inspection report out of one of your other files, or better yet, get me a blank one I can fill in myself.”

  “Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

  “Damn it, Rita. Help me out here.”

  “Elise, what you’re asking me for is—” began the detective.

  “Trust me,” said Campbell. “I’ll explain later. Just get that stuff for me. Please.”

  Before Klees could respond, Elise had already hung up. Though she hadn’t yet figured out how she was going to navigate the minefield she was about to enter, something in the back of her mind told her that she might have made a decent detective after all.

  CHAPTER 47

  NANGARHAR PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN

  Bullets began slamming into the Land Cruiser before the lead vehicle that had been hit by the RPG had even come back to the ground.

  Opening the driver’s-side door, Gallagher grabbed his rifle and dumped out with Harvath right on his heels. Fontaine leaped out the rear passenger door, pulling the interpreter with him.

  Harvath was trying to identify the firing positions of their attackers when all of a sudden Gallagher, who had been crouched behind the tire right next to him, yelled, “Cover me,” over the din of heavy machine-gun fire and ran for the middle vehicle.

  As soon as he took off, green tracer rounds began chewing up the dirt behind him. It was as if someone had a phosphorescent marker and was trying to draw a line to him.

  Angry as hell at his friend, but left with no other choice, Harvath rolled out from behind the left front tire of the Land Cruiser and began firing.

  Based on the tracer fire, Harvath could make out two distinct positions from which the belt-fed machine guns were being fired. When Gallagher had made it to the second vehicle, Harvath rolled back behind the tire, pulled out his NODs, and powered them up.

  He could tell by where the rounds were hitting that their attackers knew they were hiding behind the tires on the opposite side of the Land Cruiser. But, because their attackers were higher up the hillside, all they could do was shoot down. They couldn’t shoot through the tires or underneath the truck. Normally, Harvath would have seen that as a good thing. The only problem was that they had taken out the lead vehicle with an RPG. Two more and they could take out the middle vehicle as well as the Land Cruiser. The men had to do something, fast.

  Sliding his NODs on, Harvath looked at Fontaine, who had already done the same, and nodded. In unison, both men rolled out from behind their tires and began firing at their attackers. This time Harvath had the advantage of his night vision goggles and could see what they were up against.

  In the green glow of his NODs the steep slope on the other side of the road looked like an anthill, swarming with fighters armed with Kalashnikovs. There were at least seventy of them; maybe even eighty.
These had to be Massoud’s men, and Baseer’s count had been right on the money. Harvath also figured he knew who had tipped them off. If that little shitbird Usman suddenly stood up on the hillside and waved, it wouldn’t have surprised Harvath at all.

  Firing the last round in his magazine, he rolled back behind his tire. They were pinned down. They needed to get away from the vehicles to a more defensible position.

  Harvath glanced over at Gallagher, who was pressed up against the rear of Fayaz’s SUV with Asadoulah and the chief elder pressed up right behind him. As the two Afghans took advantage of the limited cover provided by the rear passenger tire of the SUV, Gallagher balanced his LaRue sniper rifle on the truck’s back bumper and raked the hillside. As far as Harvath could tell, none of the other people in the vehicle had survived.

  “We need to get the hell away from these trucks,” Harvath yelled to Fontaine. “If they’ve got any more RPGs up there, we’re going to get smoked.”

  Fontaine nodded. “What do you want to do?”

  “About thirty meters down on this side of the road is an old mud hut. I saw it when we came in. It’s not perfect, but it’s a hell of a lot better than this.”

  “All right,” said the Canadian as he readied the interpreter to run. “I’ll stay here and provide cover fire.”

  “No,” replied Harvath as he inserted a fresh magazine into his MP5. “You’re not getting paid enough to bring up the rear.”

  “Then how about a raise?”

  “The Afghan capitalist got the rest of my money. Now take him and get over to Gallagher’s position. I’ll cover you.”

  “Roger that,” said Fontaine, who, after signaling to Gallagher what he was about to do, grabbed hold of the interpreter. “When I say go, I want you to stay low and run as fast as you can to that other truck over there. Do you understand?”

  Daoud nodded.

  “Okay. One. Two. Three. Go!”

  As the two men took off running, Harvath rolled back out and began firing again. From Fayaz’s SUV, Gallagher did the same thing, paying special attention to the two heavy machine-gun positions.