by Brad Thor
He held his position as Casey quickly exited the bedroom and cleared the bathroom, which was jammed with the shipping crates they had seen being carried upstairs.
Together they moved into the living room and secured it, making sure no one was lurking beyond the apartment’s front door. Then and only then did they tend to the hostages.
Their chairs had been duct-taped in a sort of circle and the men to them. Harvath removed their hoods and the hostages wildly gestured with their chins at their chests.
He opened the shirt of the man nearest him and instantly understood. He didn’t need to see vests on the other two to know that they had them as well.
“Everyone relax. We’re going to get you out of here.”
Instead of calming down, the man who Harvath was standing in front of became even more agitated. He was gesturing even more urgently, but not at the vest anymore. He seemed to be nodding toward the corner of the room. Harvath turned and looked behind, but couldn’t understand what the man was trying to tell him.
When Harvath couldn’t figure it out, the man became even more impatient. His eyes were wide and he was yelling from behind the layers of duct tape that had been wrapped around his head and over his mouth.
“Don’t move,” Harvath said as he pulled out his knife. The man didn’t listen and Harvath had to sling his weapon and grab the man’s face as he carefully made an incision along the left side of the tape.
Peeling enough of it away to get a good grip, he then pulled back—hard.
“The camera!” John Vaughan shouted as the tape came free. “There’s a camera between the books! The vests are triggered to remote detonate!”
It took Harvath a second but he found the camera and spun it so it faced the wall.
When he turned back around, Casey had opened the shirts of the other men, revealing their explosive vests.
“Get out of here, before they detonate!” said Vaughan.
“Easy,” replied Harvath. “The men who brought you here drove off in their truck. That’s a wireless camera with a limited range. If somebody was watching us, they would have already detonated.”
“I’m Sergeant John Vaughan with the Chicago Police. There’s going to be a terrorist attack.”
“We know,” said Casey as she examined the man’s vest with her flashlight, “but I need you to be still for a minute. Don’t talk, okay?”
Vaughan fell silent as she examined his vest and then looked under and behind his chair.
“Are you looking for the trigger?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“There’s something in the small of my back. I think it’s a cell phone.”
Casey put her flashlight between her teeth, bent down, and very carefully slid one of her hands behind the police officer. “I feel it.”
“Can you disarm it?” Harvath asked.
“I won’t know till we get him out of the chair and I see it.” Straightening back up, she looked at Vaughan and said, “There’s something called a mercury switch. The way it works is—”
“I’m a Marine. I was in Iraq,” interrupted the policeman. “I know what a mercury switch is.”
“I’m trying to figure out if moving you will trigger this vest.”
“We got the crap jostled out of us in those crates. Trust me, there’s no mercury switch.”
“So all they did was tape you to the chairs?”
“Yes,” said Vaughan.
Casey took out her knife. “Let’s cut him loose.”
Once Vaughan was free, Harvath helped him stand, while Casey studied his vest. “It’s similar to the mechanism they used in London; probably how the vests in Amsterdam were set up.”
“Who are you?” asked Vaughan.
“That’s not important,” said Harvath.
“Don’t worry,” added Casey. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Thank God, because—”
“Done,” she replied, having disconnected the cell phone trigger.
“What?”
Casey raised her finger to her lips for him to be quiet as she studied the buckles on the vest. She then put the flashlight back in her mouth and carefully unfastened them.
“Now very slowly,” she ordered, nodding at Harvath to grab the opposite side of the vest, “we’re going to lift up and I want you to slide out of it. If you feel even the slightest tug, a snag, even if you think you’re imagining it, I want you to freeze. Okay?”
“Okay,” said Vaughan.
“Good. Now on three and remember, slowly. Here we go. One. Two. Three.”
The policeman slowly slid out of the vest and backed away from it. Harvath then took it from Casey and held it up for her to examine.
Her eyes narrowed as she moved in to look at something. “What the heck is this?”
“What did you find?” asked Harvath.
“I’ll tell you after we look at the other two vests. Let’s hurry up.”
CHAPTER 69
Everything went okay?” asked Jarrah when Rashid returned.
“No problems,” he replied. “Everything is in place.”
“And Mohammed Nasiri?”
“Mohammed is ready, as are the rest of our brothers. He told me to thank you and that he is sorry for any trouble he may have caused.”
Jarrah smiled and looked up at the two men behind Rashid. “You have done very well. Go and prepare yourselves. We will pray together shortly.”
When the two men had left, Marwan motioned for his protégé to sit with him. “Come and take tea with me.”
“I think caffeine is probably the last thing I need right now,” said Rashid as he sat down and dried his palms on his thighs. He looked at the empty tables where the suicide vests had been constructed and the reloading equipment he had used to build his special ammunition. “Did you think about what I asked?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“And how are your testicles, from where the woman kicked you?”
“For the tenth time, Marwan, I’m fine. And in case I didn’t make myself clear the other nine times I said it, if you ever want something that stupid done again, you can do it yourself.”
Jarrah pointed at the closed circuit television set near him. “We have it recorded on video, if you would like to watch.”
“Have you been replaying it for everyone? Is that what you’ve been doing? You think that’s funny?”
“She kicks hard, like a donkey,” the man said with a chuckle. It took him a minute to compose himself. When he had, he reached into his pocket and set a pill bottle on the table. “Here.”
Rashid picked it up and read the label. “Valium? You think I’ve got some sort of an anxiety disorder?”
“It has nothing to do with a disorder. It will help you to relax. Trust me, you need it.”
“The hell I do.”
“There’s two left. Take them.”
“No. And what do you mean there’s two left? What happened to the rest of them?”
“I gave them to the Shahid.”
“Without asking me?”
“I don’t need your permission, Shahab.”
“What about your shooters? Did you give them Valium too?”
“Of course not. They’ve been given amphetamines.”
Rashid shook his head. “Just like Mumbai.”
“Have faith in Allah, Shahab. Today we will strike a mighty blow for Islam, Insha’Allah.”
Rashid leaned forward and poured two glasses of tea. “I guess you’re right. We have worked very hard for this day.”
“Yes, we have,” said Jarrah, accepting his glass and setting it down to cool.
They were quiet for several moments, each man pondering what was soon to happen. It was Marwan who eventually broke the silence. “I want you to know something.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to know that I believe in you.”
“Let’s not go down this road again, Marwan. Okay?” said Rashid. “I’ve got enough
on my mind already.”
The man raised his hand. “I’m telling you the truth. Sheik Aleem has gone to Los Angeles to prepare the next attack. He wants you to go to New York.”
“Are you serious?”
Marwan smiled. “Yes.”
Rashid thought about that. “You know after today, it’s going to be nearly impossible to pull off the same kind of attack.”
“With Allah’s help, nothing is impossible,” replied Jarrah, “but Sheik Aleem and I agree with you, which is why the next attacks have been designed to be different.”
Rashid leaned forward. “How different?”
“Airplanes will rain from the sky. Radiation and a plague will infect the infidel populations. They will know terror like they have never known before.”
“And what about the cells? Are they already in place?”
“Everything is ready and waiting. Sheik Aleem has prepared a communications protocol that—” Jarrah’s voice trailed off as his eyes shifted to his television monitor.
“What is it?” asked Rashid.
“Someone is in the store.”
The younger man pulled out his pistol. “How many? Where did you see them?”
“On the first floor of the showroom. The west wall near the stairs to the—”
“Down here to the basement,” said Rashid as he leapt up. “Stay right there. Don’t move.”
As he stepped into the cinder block hallway, he heard a shout. Seconds later, automatic weapons fire began.
CHAPTER 70
Vaughan, Davidson, and Levy had no idea where they’d been moved to after being captured and tortured—or in Levy’s case shot—at the mosque. They knew it was a basement room somewhere, but that was it.
As far as why they had been placed at Mohammed Nasiri’s apartment, Vaughan had only been able to pick up bits and pieces, but thought that maybe they were going to be used to draw in a bunch of police officers and then their vests would be detonated in hopes of killing as many as possible.
The only other information the men could contribute was in regard to the TATP they thought the terrorists were going to use and what Mohammed Nasiri and the other men they had seen looked like.
It wasn’t a lot to go on, but it became a large part of Harvath’s decision to hit Marwan Jarrah’s place of business. With all of the activity, it was obvious that the attack was about to happen. But what had cinched it for Harvath was the camera at Nasiri’s apartment. Even fully charged, it would run for only so long. Whatever the Chicago cell had planned, it was going to happen very soon. Harvath had decided they couldn’t wait any longer.
Though Levy had taken two clean, in-and-out gunshot wounds to the shoulder and someone had done a fair job of patching him up, he was still going to need to see a doctor. Davidson and Vaughan had been roughed up pretty good as well. Vaughan had suffered a broken wrist, and both of Davidson’s eyes were so swollen he could barely see out of them.
“You three need medical attention,” said Harvath.
“The hell with that,” said Davidson. “We’re going with you.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
When the Public Vehicles officer didn’t answer, Harvath replied, “I thought so.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Davidson replied as he flipped Harvath the bird.
“I agree,” said Vaughan. “The hospital can wait. We want to help take these guys down.”
Harvath took the officer aside and quietly said, “Listen, your team has done a great job, but you’ve got to let us finish it.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’m going to hold you in my custody until this is all over. And just so you know, my version of custody is duct-taping you back up, including the gags, and placing you in a Dumpster somewhere around here. If I get shot and don’t come back, you’ll be there till trash day, or till the rats gnaw through the restraints, whichever comes first.”
“What authority do you have to—” said Vaughan, but Harvath interrupted him.
“Whether you think so or not, you guys need a doctor. All of you. You’re only going to slow us down, or worse, get us killed.”
Vaughan knew Harvath was right. He didn’t like it, but he understood it and consented to follow his plan.
He and Davidson would take Levy to Dennis Stern, the trauma surgeon, who would keep everything quiet. Not reporting the pending terrorist attack went against his instincts as a cop and his loyalty to his department, but Harvath had made it very clear that this was now a national security issue and needed to remain classified. The men were told they couldn’t even contact their wives, who had probably already filed missing persons reports, until Harvath released them to do so. Vaughan agreed to hole up in Stern’s office, gave Harvath the surgeon’s cell and office numbers, and then Harvath handed over enough cash for them to get a taxi to the hospital.
When Harvath and Casey were back in their vehicle, they radioed the rest of the team to get ready to take down Jarrah’s store.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, when the team was regrouped and ready to take down the store, Harvath gave the “go” command.
Ericsson disabled the alarm, but that was the extent of their prep work. There was no way they could shut down the power, which meant the closed circuit camera system would still be operational. Based on what Cooper had seen while inside the store, they had developed the best plan they could. Speed, surprise, and overwhelming violence of action would have to work.
They entered from two separate points and moved fast. Cooper and Rhodes took the first-floor office, while Harvath, Casey, and Ericsson headed for the basement. They had just made it to the bottom of the stairs when one of the delivery goons spotted them. He was completely naked, his skin damp as if he’d just stepped out of the shower.
Seeing the intruders, he yelled as he disappeared back into the room he’d just exited.
Harvath, Casey, and Ericsson advanced, only to be driven back by a heavy barrage of machine-gun fire. Several of the rounds ricocheted off the walls and ceiling as well as the pipes that surrounded them.
There was a grunt, followed by Ericsson saying, “I’m hit.”
“How bad?” shouted Harvath as he returned fire and tried to keep their attackers pinned down.
Casey examined her teammate’s wound. “Upper thigh. It’s starting to bleed pretty good.”
“Damn it,” Harvath replied as he fired another burst.
“Office is empty. We’re on our way,” said Cooper over the radio.
“Hurry up,” ordered Casey.
Harvath noticed movement in the hallway and let loose another burst from his MP7. When he realized what had happened, he barely had time to yell, “Flash bang!” as a concussion grenade was banked off the wall at them.
It went off immediately in a blinding flash of white light with a thunderous boom that overpressured the basement. Harvath had barely shut his eyes and his mouth was only partway open when it happened; not enough to fully mitigate the effects. He had no idea if the rest of his team had heard his warning or not.
His vision blurred from the flash, he thought he could see two forms coming right at him. He raised his weapon to fire, but someone beat him to it. There were two loud booms and both figures dropped to the ground. He didn’t know who had fired and how he could have heard it over the ringing in his ears, as everyone on his team was using suppressed weapons. Then he realized the shots hadn’t come from his team. They’d come from someone else; someone at the other end of the hallway.
CHAPTER 71
Drop your weapon!” Harvath yelled. “Drop it now!”
Abdul Rashid straightened his trigger finger and allowed the pistol to roll upside down and hang from it.
Harvath repeated the command in Arabic.
“I’m going to bend down and set it on the ground,” Rashid replied in English.
“Slowly,” said Harvath, his vision and hearing coming back. “Very, very slowly.”
>
“I’m setting it down.”
Once the weapon was on the ground, Harvath said, “Back up five steps and kiss the ground.”
Rashid did as he was told, and while Rhodes helped tend to Ericsson, Harvath and the rest of the team cautiously advanced.
Harvath kept his weapon trained on Rashid while Casey and Cooper cleared the two rooms on either side of the hallway. Once they were done, he checked the two men Rashid had shot. They were both dead.
“Where’s Jarrah?”
“There’s another room at the far end of the basement. He’s barricaded in there.”
“How many other people in the building?” demanded Harvath.
“There’s nobody else. This is it. Listen, you can’t shoot him. I need Jarrah alive.”
Harvath looked at Casey and Cooper. “Go get him.” Looking down at Rashid, he removed a pair of EZ Cuffs and said, “Put your hands behind your back.”
“My name’s Sean Chase. I’m with the CIA. Ground Branch.”
“Shut up and put your hands behind your back,” Harvath repeated.
Before Chase could respond, Alex Cooper yelled, “Gun!” and all eyes turned to the end of the hallway where Marwan Jarrah had just stepped from around the corner with an AK47 and begun firing.
CHAPTER 72
Marwan Jarrah never had a chance. As the bullets popped and zinged all around her, Alex Cooper stood her ground and returned fire.
Though she wanted to kill him on the spot by putting two rounds right into his head, she focused on his chest and didn’t lay off of her trigger until he laid off of his.
The Iraqi fell back against the wall and left a trail of blood as he slid down into a sitting position. His AK clattered to the ground next to him and Cooper kicked it away.
Chase tried to get up, but Harvath kept his knee in his back as he zipped his cuffs.
“I don’t know who the hell you are,” shouted Chase, “but if he dies, you’re in a lot of trouble.”