by Brad Thor
“Patriotic Resistance of Ituri,” Harvath said, finishing the translator’s sentence for him. “What happened?”
“They demanded that Mr. Leonce pay their toll. He had very little money with him. When they tried to take his package from the backseat, he struggled with them. One of the rebels struck him in the stomach with the butt of his rifle.”
“And then what happened?”
“They wanted to know why Mr. Leonce was so protective of the package. They thought maybe he was transporting drugs. They moved his car to the side of the road and took him and his boy to see their commander.”
Harvath looked at Decker. He could tell that she was thinking the same thing he was.
“Then what?”
“The commander did not believe Mr. Leonce. He opened the package and dumped out its contents. He says one of the vials broke.”
“Ask him to describe the commander.”
Jambo did and replied, “Medium height, medium build. Thirty-five with a thick scar across his forehead.”
“Shit,” Decker exclaimed.
Harvath couldn’t have put it better himself. “So much for yellow fever,” he said to her.
“We still don’t know enough,” she replied, composing herself.
“I know enough,” he stated, turning back to Jambo. “Keep going.”
“Mr. Leonce and his son were allowed to leave. They repacked the box and drove to Bunia. The plane they were supposed to meet had already taken off, so they had to wait until the following day for the next one.
“The car gave them trouble on the way back. They had no money for repairs, so they left it with a mechanic in a village several kilometers away and walked back. When they arrived at their village, they saw their animals being slaughtered and thrown into the back of a truck. None of the other villagers were anywhere to be seen.
“They ran through the jungle toward the clinic. They could hear gunshots from the area where they burn the trash. When they got to the edge of the clearing, they ducked down and watched as a group of four men put on protective suits.
“It was then that Mr. Leonce thought to film what he saw. The men walked into the clinic and began shooting. The rest of the story you already know.”
“And Mr. Leonce and his son have been in hiding ever since?” Harvath asked.
Jambo nodded.
Harvath was about to say something else when his phone chimed.
CHAPTER 22
* * *
Even though his digital guru, Nicholas, was groggy and angry from having been awakened at such an ungodly hour back in the States, he had made quick work of the assignment Harvath had given him.
With his laptop balanced on the hood of LC1, Harvath scrolled through the satellite images. Nicholas had highlighted all the cell towers that Leonce’s phone had shaken hands with.
The pictures drew a path back to Bunia.
“That’s not good,” Ash said over Harvath’s shoulder.
He didn’t bother turning to look at him. “What do you see?”
The Brit reached over, put his finger on a cluster of buildings near a cell tower on Harvath’s screen, and said, “MONUSCO HQ.”
“Let me guess,” Harvath replied. “That’s Swahili for rebel central.”
“Worse. United Nations Stabilization Mission in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. MONUSCO is the acronym for the official name in French. You could probably pronounce it, but I don’t parlez le frog.”
The historical animosity between the French and the Brits always made him laugh. “Why is it worse than rebel central?”
“You ever work with a UN stabilization force?” Ash asked.
Harvath shook his head.
“Then trust me. As the old saying goes, you can’t spell unprofessional, unethical, or unaccountable without the UN. The cholera outbreak the old blue helmets caused in Haiti? Over ten thousand dead, and it has spread to the Dominican Republic and Cuba. The rapes and sex crimes they have committed in Mali and everywhere else? The stories of their depravity and brutality are legion.
“Their entire ‘military,’ if you can call it that, is shot through with corruption and rampant lack of accountability. They even allowed two of their own unarmed military observers in Bunia to get slaughtered years ago because none of their fellow UN troops wanted to risk a rescue operation. They’re pathetic.”
UN troops were indeed known for a lack of honor and discipline. Harvath was familiar with the horror stories surrounding their deployments. He could think of no greater nightmare than to have his country reliant upon the UN to provide “peace” and “stability.” He’d rather take his chances combatting whatever was causing the war and instability in the first place.
A fish rots from the head down and any organization that boasted a human rights council, yet accepted human-rights violators like China, Cuba, Russia, Saudi Arabia, and even slavery-infested Mauritania as members couldn’t be taken seriously, much less be expected to police and field an effective and honorable military. In short, Harvath didn’t have much use for the UN.
“What about this?” Harvath asked, advancing to another image.
“Downtown Bunia,” said Ash. “About three clicks from the hotel we stayed at.”
Harvath pushed a button and the red dots representing cell towers dimmed, and a cluster of green dots became visible.
“What do those represent?” Ash asked.
“Opportunity,” Harvath replied.
•••
Decker felt certain about one thing. If Leonce and his son were not already exhibiting symptoms of whatever illness they were looking at, they likely weren’t going to.
Her emphasis on the word likely didn’t put Harvath or the security team at ease. None of the men were willing to roll their personal dice on her assessment. She had signed on to be a doctor and willingly commune with the sick of Africa, they hadn’t.
After Harvath gave her a wad of bills, Jambo drove Decker to the village where Leonce had left the clinic’s vehicle. The repairs had been minimal, and the car was already waiting. She and Jambo returned twenty minutes later. In an act of solidarity, she would be driving back to Bunia with Leonce and his son while the rest of the team rode in the Land Cruisers.
Decker didn’t have to worry about the harrowing river crossings they had conducted on their way in. Her little vehicle would never make it. They had to go far out of their way and cut back toward Bunia. All the while, Harvath and the security team were keeping their eyes peeled for roadblocks. None of them had any desire to bump up against the FRPI again.
Their trek was long, but thankfully uneventful. When they arrived at the Bunia Hotel, it was well after dark. After checking in, they unloaded all of their gear and secured it in their rooms. Ever eager to spread money around the family, Jambo had offered to ring up his relatives and have them come back and babysit the trucks, but Ash had said it wasn’t necessary. Harvath, though, thought he might have another use for them.
Those green dots on his laptop earlier corresponded to six cell phones Nicholas had traced to a walled, concrete structure on the other side of town. It reminded Harvath of a poor man’s version of the Bin Laden compound in Abbottabad.
He wanted to do a drive-by and Ash had agreed to go with him. They brought Jambo just in case.
When the hotel security guard opened the gates, Ash put the Land Cruiser in gear and pulled out into evening traffic.
Motorbikes carrying passengers, known as boda-boda, weaved in and out between cars, while bicycle riders piloting black mambas, so named because they left trails in the dust that resembled those of the deadly snake, grabbed onto trucks and other vehicles to hitch free rides. Harvath and Ash kept their Glocks under their thighs, hidden from sight.
The GPS system on Harvath’s phone guided them toward their target. Along the streets, small, ramshackle s
hops sold everything from cheap Chinese televisions to cooking pots.
Harvath had long held that with its incredible resources, Africa should be the most powerful continent on the planet. But because of its tribalism and terrible governments, it was relegated to permanent third world status. Seeing it firsthand always made him appreciate even more what he had back at home.
Thinking of back home, he checked his phone again. Lara still hadn’t texted him back. It was for the best. He didn’t have time to get involved in any additional drama. His time with Decker in the jungle shower had been bad enough.
Decker hadn’t liked being rebuffed, but that was her problem. He had tried to make it clear that he wasn’t interested. She had persisted anyway, sensing that there may have been some sort of opening with him. She had been wrong.
When she had stepped into the shower and had tried to press herself up against him, that’s when he steered her back out and told her in no uncertain terms what the situation was.
He couldn’t have been the first man to say no to her, but watching the Brits continue to drool all over her, he wondered if maybe he was. Not that it mattered to him. He had something much better waiting for him at home—provided he could salvage it.
His fidelity seemed to turn Decker on even more. That, or she saw it as a challenge. In either case, he was glad to not have to ride to Bunia with her and was equally pleased to be away from the hotel and not have to deal with her there.
Nearing the compound, he tried to put Lara, Decker, and everything else out of his mind.
They would only get one look tonight and as their Land Cruiser rolled slowly by, he took in everything—the wall heights, window and door placement, the lighting, security measures, adjacent buildings, as well as all of the nearby businesses.
“I vote no,” Ash stated as they kept on going.
Harvath looked at him. “No to what?”
“No to everything you’re thinking right now.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?”
“The same way I knew yesterday morning that you wouldn’t radio us even if it did go tits up out in the jungle.”
“Technically, you said to call only if it went pear-shaped,” Harvath replied.
“Are you taking the piss now? Is that what this is?”
“No, but that’s a good idea. Pull over.”
“I didn’t say take a piss,” Ash clarified. “I said taking the piss. It means—”
“I know what it means,” said Harvath. “And yes, I’m pulling your chain, but I still want you to pull over. Up there by that bar. Pardon me, by that pub.”
“I know what a bar is, you nonce.”
Harvath smiled. “Just taking the piss again. Don’t worry.”
“Something tells me I’m going to have plenty to worry about soon enough,” Ash replied as he pulled off the road and put the Land Cruiser in park.
From the backseat, Jambo looked out his window at the bar and asked, “Are we going in for a beer?”
“Ash and I are,” said Harvath. “You’re going for a walk.”
CHAPTER 23
* * *
SUNDAY
With his earbuds in, Jambo had pretended to be face-timing on his iPhone as he strolled the neighborhood and shot video. When they had reviewed it back at the hotel, Harvath and Ash were able to identify several places for static surveillance, plus launching pads if they needed to go dynamic. Harvath had no plans to attempt to breach the compound. However this went down, he wanted it to go down outside.
The next morning, they used Jambo and three of his relatives as cutouts to temporarily secure two second-storey apartments and access to a handful of rooftops ringing the target compound.
Even in a backwater like Congo, cell phone technology would allow Harvath and the team to feed images back to the Bunia Hotel. If Leonce and his son recognized any of the men, Decker would reply with a text.
With that said, there were limits to how clear a picture a camera phone would take. Harvath hadn’t come equipped for a surveillance assignment with long lenses and spotting scopes. They would have to make do with what they had.
Ash and the team had binoculars, but they didn’t have anti-flare lenses, so they were restricted to the apartments and forbidden from roof duty.
The team was operating under the assumption that they were dealing with active or former military personnel. From the little Jambo had been able to ascertain mingling in the market and throughout the neighborhood, the house they were surveilling was known by locals as the “white house.” It wasn’t a reference to the building in Washington, D.C., but rather to this structure’s occupants—all of whom were said to be white men. The team decided they would use the same name.
No one knew who the occupants of the “white house” were. Though sometimes seen on foot, they usually came and went in nondescript SUVs. They all wore sunglasses and had short haircuts. That was the extent of the description people in the neighborhood were able to provide. It was enough for Harvath.
They sat on the “white house” for thirty-two humid hours before the package Harvath had requested from Nicholas arrived. Ash sent Jambo to the airport with bribe money to pick it up and make sure nothing happened to it.
“What is it?” Mick asked as Harvath opened the box and lifted the item out.
“It’s a predator.”
“As in the drone?”
Harvath shook his head. “No. This technology preys on human weakness.”
“What?”
“Give me your cell phone.”
Mick handed it over.
“Now give me your Glock.”
“Why?”
Harvath motioned for him to hand it over, and Mick complied.
Turning the weapon in his hand, Harvath prepared to strike the face of the phone with the butt of the weapon when Mick intervened.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said.
Harvath smiled. “Exactly.” Handing them back, he stated, “That’s what I’m counting on.”
•••
Included in the delivery from the Carlton Group was additional surveillance equipment, which they parceled out among their observation posts, along with tiny, wireless cameras for the rooftops.
Leonce had already identified two of the suspects, but as better imagery came rolling in, Harvath fed the pictures back to the hotel and Leonce grew more emphatic that they were on to the right group of men. Harvath agreed.
They were pros. The men did everything right when they entered or exited the compound. This was not some JV team. Their heads were on swivels and they took their time. Nothing was rushed. Everything was smooth and by the book.
In addition to sending the pictures back to the hotel, Harvath had also been funneling all of the camera phone imagery back to his office in Virginia. So far, there hadn’t been any hits via facial recognition.
That didn’t necessarily mean anything. The men wore sunglasses and baseball caps. With such poor resolution, it was tough to tag the appropriate markers. Now that the new cameras had arrived, Harvath was confident they’d know who the men were soon enough.
Back at the Carlton Group offices, Nicholas had been tracing the calls from their cell phones, the majority of which were going to South Africa. There was one phone inside the house, though, that Nicholas couldn’t crack or trace. It was heavily encrypted and not like anything he had ever seen before.
He warned Harvath about it and told him that if he did end up hitting the house, to make sure he bagged all of the phones. Nicholas couldn’t tell him what specifically to look for because he didn’t know himself.
“Just bring me all the phones, and I’ll sort it out,” is what he had said.
Harvath, though, hadn’t changed his mind. He still had no intention of taking the house down. There was no telling how many men were inside, how wel
l armed they were, and what kind of resources they could muster if they got into a firefight. The last thing Harvath and his team needed were Armored Personnel Carriers full of UN troops rolling down the street and banging away at them.
The United Nations spent over $1.5 billion a year keeping twenty thousand troops in the Democratic Republic of Congo. It was their largest and most expensive area of focus. The UN had divided the DRC into six sectors, and Bunia was the seat of Sector Six.
Other than their phones pinging off a cell tower near the MONUSCO HQ, there was nothing to connect the men inside the “white house” to the United Nations. What was interesting, though, was that of all the countries who had sent troops to be part of the MONUSCO stabilization force, only four others had sent as many or more than South Africa.
Harvath was willing to bet that a high prevalence of South African troops in the UN stabilization force and calls back-and-forth from the target house to South Africa weren’t a coincidence.
What they needed was to identify not only when the “black phone,” as Nicholas had dubbed it, was moving, but also who specifically was carrying it.
The phone had already left the compound once and returned, but had done so at night in a two-vehicle convoy carrying eight men. Harvath and his team had watched the needle and the haystack roll right past them, but hadn’t been able to learn much about either. It was one of the reasons Harvath hated surveillance work. It could not only be mind-numbingly boring, but incredibly frustrating. And, if you were working with the wrong people, tensions could quickly mount.
To their credit, Ash and his SAS crew were thorough professionals. Nobody in their right mind enjoyed surveillance, but the Brits approached it with a sense of humor. Making fun of different people and things they saw happening down on the street, as well as directing jibes at each other, helped pass the time.
Jambo was an excellent cook, and they supplemented his meals with Chinese and Indian takeout from the hotel. With two long lenses, as well as IR cameras that could capture much better nighttime imagery, they recorded as much as they could and beamed it all back to the United States for analysis.