by Brad Thor
“Relax. I have an extra cell phone up in the office,” he replied. “And as for the armor-piercing rounds, load two of the thirty-round magazines for each man.”
“That’s all?” Rashid asked.
“Yes, that’s all. They will use the rounds we have tested as their primary ammunition. Your armor-piercing rounds will be a backup if they need them.”
“So you’ve got no problem, in the heat of battle, with them having to remember to transition to armor-piercing when the police show up.”
“Not at all. I have every faith and confidence. These men are well trained. They will remember.”
“It’s your operation.”
“It is our operation, Shahab, and you have contributed many, many good things to it. Tomorrow, the infidels will be shaken. It will be the first blow of many that we will deliver on their own soil. After tomorrow, we will discuss the future and what Sheik Aleem and I have planned for you. But now, why don’t you tell me what you are going to do with our guests; the police officers.”
The younger man reached for a piece of paper and a pen. He drew three squares whose tops came together to form a triangle. “These will be the chairs that we duct tape together. Essentially, we’ll be creating three separate blast directions like three claymores.”
“So each of the men will be wearing an explosive vest?”
“Yes, but it won’t be obvious. As with our Shahid, their vests will be hidden by clothing.”
Marwan smiled. “So you will place them in the center of the room and no matter how their colleagues gather around them, they will all be vulnerable?”
“Exactly. And along with duct-taping them to the chairs, they’ll also have hoods and duct tape around their mouths so they can’t speak or gesture.”
“Very good. How will you know the exact moment to detonate?”
“With this,” said Rashid as he reached over and picked up one of the remote camera balls John Vaughan and Paul Davidson had been caught placing in the alley behind the mosque.
The Iraqi brought his hands together in a clap. “This is very good.”
“And it will be an excellent beginning to the chaos. It will draw tremendous resources to the exact opposite side of the city.”
“I’m proud of you, Shahab. You have indeed done a very good job. I just wonder if we should consider using another location.”
“No. Mohammed Nasiri’s apartment is perfect.”
“How are we going to get the police officers in there without drawing attention?”
This time it was Abdul Rashid’s turn to smile. “Do you have faith in Allah, Marwan?”
CHAPTER 66
As they had a very small surveillance team, Harvath decided that they could risk exposing only one of their operatives. Because she was biracial and Jarrah’s furniture store catered to a largely ethnic clientele, Alex Cooper had nominated herself to go in and look around.
Armed with her camera phone and an exceptional when-I-want-your-help-I’ll-ask-for-it attitude, she walked around inside ostensibly taking pictures of furniture while getting the most accurate lay of all three levels that she could.
She found the door to the basement, but it was locked. The door to the business office, on the other hand, was open and she walked right in. She was immediately confronted by two very large Middle Eastern men who told her in broken English that she was in an area off-limits to customers.
Feigning insult, Cooper scolded them for being rude and demanded to know where the ladies’ room was.
One of the men directed her back into the showroom and pointed at a door on the far side. After she had washed her hands and come back out, the two men were talking to another, younger man who also appeared somewhat Middle Eastern.
As soon as he saw her, he headed straight for her. Cooper pulled her camera phone back out and began taking pictures again.
“Can I help you, miss?” the man asked. He was tall and a bit skinny, but appeared quite fit.
“No, thank you,” she replied haughtily. “I’m just browsing.”
“You’ve been taking a lot of pictures.”
Cooper turned to him with her camera in one hand and the other on her hip. “Is there a problem with that?”
He put on a smile, spread his hands and replied, “It’s unusual.”
“It’s unusual? Or it’s unusual when a black woman does it?”
“It has nothing to do with the color of your skin.”
“Oh, really?”
His smile faded, and he glanced at a closed circuit camera as if someone else might be supervising their exchange and said, “I just want to know why you’re taking pictures.”
“You want to know why?” she said, turning the attitude knob all the way up. “Because I’m tired of sending shit back. I’m tired of my boyfriend not liking a damn thing I buy. That’s why I’m taking pictures.”
“We do have a Web site.”
“I know you’ve got a damn Web site.”
“I’d also be happy to get you a catalog.”
Cooper clicked her phone shut and got right in the young man’s face. “You know what? You can keep your damn catalog and your damn Web site. I’m going to find another store that isn’t afraid of having black customers.”
The young man reached out. “May I see your phone before you go?”
Cooper drew it to her chest. “What the hell is wrong with you? No you may not. You people are crazy,” she said as she began walking toward the door.
The young man trotted alongside her and then stepped right into her path. “You’ve been in here almost half an hour taking pictures.”
“I happen to be moving into a very big house.”
The young man was completely blocking her path now. He put his hand straight out. “Give it to me.”
Cooper tapped her foot and then rolled her eyes before putting the phone into her purse. “What are you going to do now?”
Rashid reached for the purse and before he knew what had happened, Cooper had kicked him right in the crotch.
“Never mess with a woman’s purse,” she said as she stepped over him and quickly exited the store.
* * *
Cooper crossed the street, walked over two blocks, and turned the corner. Harvath was waiting in the Sportage. “How’d it go?” he asked as she got in.
“You were right. They’re beyond paranoid in there.”
“Did you learn anything?”
“From what I could see, they take their security very seriously. There were a couple of Middle Easterners who got pretty upset when I stumbled into the office. The door to the basement was locked, which could mean anything or nothing, and their CCTV system looked like it came out of a Vegas casino. It was a little overkill, but what do I know? Maybe they have a problem with people shoplifting dressers and armoires.”
“Did you see anyone matching Jarrah’s description?”
“No, but I did get pictures of his employees and a couple of the goons he’s got working there,” said Cooper.
“So we have no idea if he’s in the building or not.”
“No.”
“Do you think it’s worth taking a look after dark?” asked Harvath.
“If we can get around their security system, I think it would be a great idea.”
The team spent the rest of the day and into the evening watching Jarrah’s business. As darkness fell, the doors were locked and the lights dimmed. A handful of employees filed out, but missing from their ranks were the man Alex had kicked and the two goons who had chased her out of the office.
Shortly before eleven p.m., there was activity in the alley as a truck pulled up to the loading dock. A Pakistani-looking driver backed it in and one of the store’s large, overhead doors was raised.
Casey looked at Harvath. “Seems pretty late for a delivery.”
“Or a pickup,” he replied as he watched three medium-sized crates being wheeled on dollies into the truck.
“Those are the two goons I met ear
lier,” said Cooper over the encrypted radio as the men, dressed in matching delivery uniforms, placed the crates in the back of the truck and then were joined by the plainclothes driver. “And that’s the man who tried to take my phone,” she said as a fourth man appeared. He was wearing a matching uniform.
Harvath and Casey watched from their vantage point in the KIA as the other team members held their positions.
The young man stepped out onto the loading dock and took a slow look around. Satisfied, he pulled down the truck’s rear door, enclosing the two goons and the Pakistani man with the crates inside.
He said something over his shoulder and the furniture store’s overhead door was closed. He then hopped off the loading dock, got inside the truck, and started it up.
“What the hell are they up to?” said Ericsson. “Do we follow them?”
As the truck’s engine rumbled to life and it began to pull away from the loading dock, Harvath had a decision to make.
“No, you stay here,” he replied. “We’ll go.”
Putting the KIA in gear, Harvath pulled out into traffic and kept as much distance as he could between themselves and the truck. As he drove, Casey reached into the backseat and flipped up the lid of one of the Storm cases. Removing a 4.6 mm Heckler & Koch MP7 submachine gun, she affixed its rectangular, Gem-Tech “Brick” suppressor, inserted a fresh magazine, and chambered a round. “Something tells me this is going to be a very long night.”
CHAPTER 67
Marwan didn’t need to tell him to drive carefully, but he did anyway. With two cops and a private eye boxed up in back, Rashid wasn’t exactly anxious to get pulled over.
Traffic was light and the drive up to Nasiri’s apartment took half an hour. The truck was large and difficult to maneuver, but he nevertheless conducted several SDRs to make sure he wasn’t being followed.
In the alley behind Mohammed’s building, he stopped and walked around to the back of the truck. The exterior stairwell was just as Nasiri had described. It was going to be a bitch carrying the three crates up to the apartment, but without an elevator, they had no other choice.
Rashid and Nasiri assisted, but Marwan’s goons did the bulk of the work. They were sweating and cursing quietly even before they got halfway up with the second crate. This was probably not how they had envisioned spending their final night alive. And that went for Nasiri as well. They all knew what tomorrow would bring and they probably wished to already have ritually bathed and shaved themselves for their journey to Paradise.
Rashid had wondered if Aleem would lead the Shahid in prayers, but Marwan explained that the man had already left the city. It was important that he see to what was coming next. As usual, what that was, Marwan wasn’t disposed to say.
When they got the third and final crate into the apartment, they closed the door and Rashid made sure the drapes were drawn as tight as possible. The odor in the kitchen was terrible. There was a plate of rotting food on the table, which Nasiri picked up and tossed into the garbage. He then pulled out some glasses and put on a pot of water for tea.
Rashid closed the blinds in the living room while the goons caught their breath and then set to work opening up the crates. The plan had worked perfectly. They hadn’t seen any neighbors and even if one or two had been watching, it would have looked as if Mohammed Nasiri had purchased a three-piece bedroom set, as that’s what was spray-painted on the side of the crates, and was having it delivered. Sure it was late at night, but with America’s 24/7 culture, most of his immigrant neighbors wouldn’t know to think anything of it.
Rashid arranged three chairs in the living room, just as he had diagrammed it for Marwan. They then tightly duct-taped the two cops and their detective colleague to them. The detective, whom he had shot at the mosque, had begun bleeding again.
Rashid checked their vests and dismissed the goons to join Nasiri in the kitchen for tea. He was almost finished.
After powering up the cell phone detonators, he adjusted their clothing to cover up the vests and then hid the camera ball between a couple of Nasiri’s books in the corner of the room.
Satisfied that everything was exactly how he wanted it, Rashid joined the men for a fast cup of tea. Marwan would want them back as quickly as possible.
They gathered up the crating material and Rashid made sure to wipe down everything he touched so as not to leave any fingerprints. The other men didn’t have to worry. Very soon, they wouldn’t even have fingers.
As Nasiri and the goons threw the garbage in the back of the truck and climbed in, Rashid pulled down the door and checked his watch. It was after midnight. Wednesday had passed into Thursday. The day of the attack had come and now it was only hours away.
Rashid climbed back into truck and started it up. As he drove off down the alley, he had no idea that Harvath and Casey had been watching him the entire time.
CHAPTER 68
As the truck exited the alley and disappeared from view, Harvath motioned to Casey and they stepped away from the Dumpster they’d been hiding behind.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Harvath looked up at the apartment. All of the lights had been turned out and the curtains were still drawn. “I think that they’ve got something very bad in those crates.”
“That’s what I’m thinking too. Whatever they’re planning, it’s big and they’ve got a lot of it.”
“Let’s go take a look.”
She put her hand on Harvath’s shoulder and said, “Wait a second. Shouldn’t we be sure there’s nobody else up there?”
“Trust me,” he replied. “There’s nobody else up there.”
“How do you know?”
Harvath started down the alley. “Because if they had more men, they would have gotten those crates up into the apartment a lot faster.”
Despite his confidence that the apartment was empty, Casey noticed that Harvath was still very careful about how he moved. He avoided motion lights and stayed close to large objects that could function as cover and concealment.
It had been hot and humid ever since they had landed in Chicago. There wasn’t any breeze and the alley was thick with the odor of over-ripe garbage. Casey was sweating. Her shirt clung to her back as she followed him.
Their target was a four-story brick building with a wooden set of fire stairs behind it. A section of chain-link fencing with a broken gate separated the property from the alley.
They walked down the narrow gangway and were about to mount the stairs when Cooper’s voice came over their earpieces. “Two new trucks just pulled up to the loading dock.”
“What are they doing?” Harvath whispered.
“Bunch of Middle Eastern guys have come out of the store and are now loading cardboard boxes.”
That place was like a clown car. Just when you thought it was empty, more of them crawled out, Harvath thought.
“Do you want us to follow them?” she asked.
“Only if you see someone matching Jarrah’s description. Other than that, hold your position and write down the license numbers, descriptions of the trucks, and anyone you see getting in.”
“Roger that,” said Cooper.
Looking at Casey, Harvath asked, “Ready?”
She adjusted the laptop bag she was carrying and flashed him the thumbs-up.
Harvath opened his messenger-style bag the rest of the way and wrapped his hand around the grip of his suppressed MP7 and led the way up the stairs.
Though the weapon was extremely compact, it was difficult to conceal beneath casual, summer clothing so they carried their MP7s in bags that wouldn’t look out of place in an urban environment. Beneath their shirts, each also carried a Glock 19 in a paddle holster.
All of the apartments they passed were dark. When they reached the third-floor landing, they could hear a television through an open window somewhere off in the distance, but nothing from inside the apartment itself.
They stepped carefully on the landing, just in case Harvath had been
wrong about the unit being empty and a warped board gave them away. He moved to the door and pressed his ear against it while Casey covered him. He still heard nothing from inside.
He checked the door frame for any alarms or trip devices and when he didn’t find any, he tried the knob. The door was locked.
Harvath removed one of the lockpick guns that had been included with their gear and went to work. When the dead bolt slid back, he returned the device to his pocket, removed his MP7 completely from his messenger bag, and stood back so that Casey could grip the doorknob.
He took a deep breath, then nodded, and Casey quietly pulled the door open. Harvath swept into the kitchen searching for hostile targets. Despite the drapes on the window being drawn, a certain amount of ambient light from the buildings on the other side of the alley illuminated the room. It also smelled like someone had forgotten to take out the garbage.
With Casey behind him, he moved past a card table to the other side of the small kitchen. Across a narrow hallway, he could see through an open door into a bedroom. Next to that was a closed door, which he assumed led to the bathroom. To see any further, he needed to stick his head into the hallway, but suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
Harvath hated hallways. They had a bad habit of funneling the gunfire of even the worst shooter right at you. But that wasn’t it; not completely at least.
His sixth sense was trying to tell him something. Someone else was in the apartment. He could feel it now. He didn’t know if they were in the bedroom closet, behind the closed door to the bathroom, or at the end of the hallway where he couldn’t see. Wherever it was, there was danger in this apartment and his body was tensing up in anticipation of engaging it.
He signaled Casey that he would cover the hallway while she crossed to clear the bedroom. When he was ready, he nodded and swung out into the hallway, and that’s when he saw it.
In the eerie half-light of the living room was the outline of a hooded figure sitting in a chair. Harvath lit up the scene with a flash from his weapon light and saw that it wasn’t just one figure, but three.