by Brad Thor
Per Mike Dent, Yusuf was actually a furniture importer in Chicago named Marwan Jarrah. He had fled Iraq during the 1980s and eventually became a U.S. citizen. He was an influential member of the American branch of the Islamic Relief Foundation, or IRF, a Saudi Arabia–based charity and member of the Conference of NGOs. The IRF had conducted multiple projects with the World Health Organization, the United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund, the United Nations High Commission for Refugees, and the World Food Program. Prominence in this organization had provided Jarrah cover to travel anywhere he wanted. It was no coincidence that the greatest hotbeds of terrorism and radical Islam were in the same parts of the Muslim world so keenly focused upon by the IRF.
In order to prevent Jarrah’s relatives from tipping him off, Dent had arranged for the ones he had questioned to be detained until Harvath okayed their release. For the first time since this operation had begun, Harvath felt that he had been able to take more than just one step forward before getting knocked on his ass.
He had to block the scenes from Amsterdam from his mind or he wouldn’t be able to focus on what still needed to be done. Along with the pit of children from Fallujah and the little Iraqi boy who had died in his arms, he tucked them all into the iron box he kept for the unpleasantness of his job and shoved it back into the deepest recesses of his mind.
He tried to think of something positive, something he could look forward to, and was surprised when Riley’s image bubbled up in his mind. It made him feel disloyal to Tracy, and Tracy brought him back to the issue of having children; the exact thing he’d been sitting on his dock thinking about when all of this had begun.
As quickly as thoughts of Tracy and the hard decision he needed to make about his relationship with her came to mind, they were pushed aside by the work he had yet to do.
There had been some debate as to how the team should proceed once it landed in Chicago. They had no arrest or law enforcement powers. Acts of terror plotted and committed on American soil were treated as criminal acts, which Harvath had always thought a big mistake. By not treating them as acts of war, the United States government was only inviting escalation, greater bloodshed, and exponentially greater loss of life. The jihadists were at war with America, yet American politicians refused to go to war with them. They saw them as petty criminals to be tried and given all the benefits of the American legal system. The Department of Defense, though, saw it a different way.
The entire idea behind the Carlton Group was to protect America and her citizens, period. That was where things were now very sticky. Harvath and his organization had knowledge of pending terrorist attacks on U.S. soil. They also had intelligence regarding the man they believed to be in charge of those attacks inside the U.S. It could very well be argued that the information should have been shared with the FBI. But that was not how Reed Carlton or the small cadre of men to whom he answered inside the Pentagon saw it.
They wanted Marwan Jarrah all to themselves and they had no intention of sharing him. They also had no intention of reading him his Miranda rights or helping him secure an attorney. There was no telling how many cells he had within the United States. They needed to grab him, interrogate him, and neutralize his network as rapidly as possible. And if it meant violating a few terrorists’ “rights” along the way, then that was the way it was going to be.
With Carlton doing the groundwork for them, they used their time aboard the plane to eat, check on Nikki Rodriguez via the in-flight Satcom system, and grab as much sleep as possible.
When they landed in Chicago, it was just after three in the morning. Two vehicles stuffed with gear were waiting for them; a windowless Chevy Astro van and a dented KIA Sportage with tinted glass. Harvath was anxious to set up surveillance and put together their plan for taking down Jarrah.
They divided up the equipment and broke into two teams. Once they had established a rendezvous point, each team made a reconnaissance drive through Jarrah’s residential neighborhood and the neighborhood where his furniture outlet and the American office of record for the IRF was located. Two things immediately became clear.
The first was that surveilling Jarrah’s house from a vehicle was going to be next to impossible. Street parking was by permit only and even if they had a permit, there wasn’t a single space to be found. There were also Neighborhood Watch. We call police signs mounted everywhere, including in people’s windows. Harvath had always hated doing residential surveillance and this was one of the biggest reasons. Neighbors tended to not only know and watch out for each other, but they also knew what everyone drove. Effectively, nonresidents stood out.
The second problem they faced was that there appeared to be multiple entrances and exits to Jarrah’s furniture store. It was a large three-story commercial building with glass along the front and doors that opened onto the sidewalk. There was a fire escape and loading dock area in back that accessed the alley, a side door that allowed people to enter from the parking lot, and an exit on the far side of the structure that fed into a narrow gangway with the building next door. It was a lot to cover.
There was a third problem that Harvath didn’t even want to think about. The fact that Jarrah’s home and business were in Chicago didn’t mean that he was. For all Harvath knew, he could be in New York City getting ready to oversee his first attack. Chicago had been their best and only lead.
Harvath would have given a year’s salary to have placed drones overhead at the house and the business, or to have satellites retasked to help give him extra sets of eyes, but that wasn’t going to happen, not without setting off a bunch of alarm bells back in D.C. and getting them all in trouble. None of them were supposed to be here. Posse Comitatus notwithstanding, if anyone discovered that the DOD had created and was running its own covert, direct action network, there’d be absolute hell to pay. Harvath and his team were going to have to figure out how to get the job done while remaining under everyone’s radar.
As they couldn’t sit outside Jarrah’s house, Megan Rhodes suggested they walk right up, ring the doorbell, and see who answered. As soon as the stores opened, she could buy an arrangement of flowers and pretend to be delivering them.
Harvath didn’t like it, and Gretchen Casey immediately shot it down. “Just like London and Amsterdam,” she said, “this guy’s paranoia level is going to be off the charts. An incorrect delivery is going to be highly suspect.”
“Who cares?” replied Rhodes. “The door opens, my Glock goes in his face, everybody wins.”
“Not if he’s got six other guys behind the door armed better than you are,” said Harvath.
“Six guys isn’t even a fair fight. Now, if he had twelve, then maybe …”
“It’s a nice idea, Megs, but keep thinking,” said Casey, who asked Harvath, “What if there was another way we could get close to the house without arousing suspicion?”
“I’d be willing to entertain it. What are you thinking?”
“Do you think we could coopt one of the neighbors?”
Harvath shook his head. “I doubt it. I saw two parked cars with Iraqi flag stickers. Either they both belong to Jarrah, or he and his neighbors share more than just the same zip code.”
“I’m with Scot,” said Cooper. “I think we need to focus on the furniture store.”
Casey nodded. “Okay, I agree. But I still want to see if we can’t figure out some way to gain access to his house.”
“In the meantime,” replied Harvath, “I want to get our surveillance network in place before it’s light. If Jarrah is there, he’s not only going to be expecting surveillance, he’s going to be actively looking for it.”
CHAPTER 65
I don’t know,” said Abdul Rashid as he pushed himself back from the table he was working at. “You tell me. Would you want to already be shooting armor-piercing rounds, or swap out magazines once you finally come to the conclusion that you’ve got a problem? That’s assuming you can remember which one of your mags is the one with the c
orrect rounds to begin with.”
Jarrah looked at the reloading equipment and the piles of ammunition. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”
“No. And it’s a good thing. You know what I found?” continued Rashid as he rolled his chair over to the adjoining table, picked up a cell phone, and tossed it to the man. “This phone has something wrong with it.”
“We tested all the phones. What’s the problem?”
“You tested to see if they’d vibrate and activate the detonators. I checked their electrical integrity. For some stupid reason, every once in a while this one pulses and gives off an electrical charge.”
“How strong?”
“Strong enough that I’d be worried about it prematurely setting off one of the explosives.”
Marwan walked over and kissed the younger man on the forehead.
“What was that for?” he asked.
Jarrah swept his arm around the room. “For all of this. The improved ammunition. The double-checking of the explosives. All of it. You’ve done a very good job, Shahab. We are almost there.”
“So how do you want me to load the magazines for the shooters?”
The man thought about it for a moment. “I’m apprehensive that we haven’t had an opportunity to test the new ammunition you have fabricated.”
Rashid grabbed one of the rifles and a magazine he had loaded. “Let’s go try it in the parking lot right now.”
The Iraqi laughed at the young man’s joke. “You are as excited as I am, but we must be practical with our orchestration; cautious.”
“So no plinking in the lot?”
“Shahab, I believe that you know what you are doing. I also believe that Allah blessed your journey yesterday and that it adds a layer of security to what we are doing.”
“Good, so we’ll use the new ammo.”
Jarrah waved his hand dismissively. “We’ve already practiced with the other ammo.”
“The stuff you got from that gangbanging gunrunner? When?” asked Rashid.
“Weeks ago,” the older man replied.
Rashid looked at him. “You’ve known all along that this was going to be a Mumbai-style attack.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you, Shahab. The mission must always come first. You know that.”
The young man turned away and rolled his chair back to his reloading equipment.
The Iraqi smiled. “You’re tired. You should rest. Tomorrow will be a glorious day, Insha’Allah.”
“I still have work to do. We’re going to need to replace the bad cell phone and you haven’t told me how you want the magazines loaded.”
“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.