Brad Thor - Full Black

“What kind of warning are you giving the cities that do have the dots?”

Carlton shrugged. “The FBI will quietly inform local and state law enforcement of a nonspecific terrorism threat to their jurisdictions and they’ll raise their internal alert levels accordingly.”

“No mention of this to the public, then?” asked Harvath.

“Not right now. We don’t want to tip our hand. If we go public with this, it could speed the attacks up. Whoever is pulling the strings could give the cells the green light.”

The Old Man was right, but they couldn’t just sit and do nothing. “If this map is accurate,” said Harvath, “at least we know the cities where they’re planning to strike. How do we filter it down even more?”

Nicholas waved at all of his computer equipment. “I’m doing everything humanly possible. I’m looking for any data points I can find, no matter how small. I’m turning over every single digital rock you can imagine. We’re leaving nothing unturned. The ops tempo was already very hot, but with Chase saying he felt something was about to kick off, we’ve kicked everything on our end into overdrive.”

“What about the names Chase gave us? Karami? Sabah? Some Sheikh from Qatar?”

“It’s all in the blender. We just have to see what we get out.”

Harvath turned to Carlton. “How about any IDs of the cell members Chase took out in the safe house?”

“We’re working on that,” said the Old Man. “We’re also working on seeing if their forensics teams uncovered anything from the apartment building across the street where the explosion happened. For the moment, the Swedes are being very tight-lipped. They suspect the involvement of a foreign intelligence service and until they feel they’ve figured out who it was, they’re not talking with anyone.”

“I assumed you would have already helped them out with that.”

“It’s in the works. Trust me. Subtlety is a delicate art. It requires patience.”

“These guys, though, could begin lighting up American cities this morning,” replied Harvath. “There’s got to be something else we can do.”

“What you can do is go home and get some rest,” said the Old Man. “I want you ready to move as soon as we do hear something.”

Harvath was wiped out. He knew he needed sleep. Draining what was left of his cup, he stood up. “As soon as we hear from Iceland with the medical assessment on Mansoor, I want somebody to call me. They need to start interrogating him as quickly as possible. We have to access his cloud.”

“In the meantime,” said Carlton, “we’re working every other angle we have.”

“We still don’t have anything on who targeted my car in Yemen with that RPG, though, do we?”

The Old Man shook his head. “No. Not yet.”

“Obviously,” interjected Nicholas, “someone didn’t want the U.S. interrogating Aazim Aleem.”

“Obviously,” replied Harvath. “Whoever was responsible for having Aazim killed didn’t want him revealing either who he worked for or what the scope of his operation was.”

“There’s one thing that bothers me about all that. Whoever hijacked the unrestricted-warfare plan was running Aazim via whatever cutout the Chinese had established, ostensibly the Sheikh from Qatar. We don’t know if the Sheikh is a real person that members of the network have ever met with, or if he’s some disembodied figure who only communicates through emails or telephone calls.”

“What are you getting at?” asked Harvath.

“I don’t think Aazim was taken out to prevent him from revealing who gave him his marching orders. He couldn’t give away intelligence he didn’t actually possess.”

“So then he was targeted to prevent revealing the scope of his operation.”

“That’s what bothers me,” said Nicholas. “You and Chase were sitting at an outdoor cafe within sight of your car when it exploded. You said the RPG came from a rooftop a block or two away?”

Harvath nodded.

“Why silence Aazim? Why not simply aim the RPG a couple of degrees in the other direction and take out you and Chase at the cafe? In the ensuing chaos, Aazim could have been released from the trunk and then spirited away, disappearing yet again.”

Both Harvath and the Old Man looked at Nicholas. He had made an excellent point. “Don’t get me wrong,” he added. “I’m sure whoever was running Aazim didn’t want him interrogated. But it would have made more sense to kill you. The fact that he’s dead means that he either made someone very angry or had outlived his usefulness.”

“Or both,” said Carlton.

“Or both,” agreed Nicholas. “But with Aazim gone, there’s definitely tension and uncertainty within the network. I think that’s why this Karami character wanted Mansoor brought to Sweden. Maybe he doesn’t trust the Sheikh from Qatar. Maybe he wanted to pump Mansoor for as much information as possible. If that’s true, then maybe we can find a way to exploit the upheaval and use it to our advantage.”

“That’s a good idea,” replied Harvath as he said good-bye to both of the dogs. “But we’re going to need a hell of a lot more intelligence before we can even think of launching an operation like that.”

Carlton stood up, placed his hand atop Harvath’s shoulder, and guided him toward the door. “Go home and get some rest,” he repeated. “I’ll call you if anything breaks.”

Harvath did as he was told. Retrieving his personal vehicle from the garage, he headed south on I-495 toward home. By the time he hit US-1, all he could think about was a hot shower and falling into bed.

He let the water pound on his body for a good five minutes before turning it off and reaching for a towel. He was too tired to shave.

After cracking the bedroom window, he lay down and closed his eyes. Sleep should have come quickly, but it didn’t. Instead, his mind took over and replayed everything that had happened in Sweden, over and over again.

He couldn’t escape his feelings of responsibility, the guilt he felt over the deaths of the assaulters. He tried to focus on something else, something positive. He thought about Riley Turner and what she might be doing at the moment.

It worked for a while, but then he was back on the mental rack, his mind torturing him with what-ifs and second-guessing over what had happened. He thought about pouring himself a stiff drink and numbing it all away, but chose instead to lie there and take it.

Finally, two hours later, he drifted off into a fitful sleep. In it, he was haunted by visions of a larger, more gruesome attack he felt sure was about to hit the United States.

Robert Ashford possessed one of the key character flaws necessary to a traitor. He thought he was smarter than everyone else. This allowed the overeducated career bureaucrat to sell out his own country, because he believed he knew what was best for his nation and its people.

Of course, he was being well-paid for his treason, but he rationalized the money away by telling himself that it wasn’t about money. This was about right and wrong, and if only England and the rest of the West had stood up and done the right thing, none of what he was doing would have been necessary.

It was this deep-seated belief and growing disenchantment with the direction of the world that had drawn him to James Standing.

Ashford had read all of the billionaire’s books. Never had one person been able to put what he was feeling so succinctly into words. Standing was the high priest of a glorious new truth. A majestic ship was about to sail and there would be only so many seats on board. Ashford had no desire to be left behind. In fact, he thought he could be very helpful in bringing about the new dawn that James Standing was going to usher in.