Brad Thor: The Apostle

“Ready when you are,” whispered Fontaine. “Are you getting enough light through the scope?”

While Harvath would have preferred engaging their targets at a much closer range, the chance that someone might hear even the suppressed report of the rifle and raise the alarm was just too great. The other problem was that they were not going to be able to get anywhere close to the building they hoped was holding Gallo without encountering at least one set of guards. And while Harvath had no problem using a knife and getting his hands dirty, the guards were all out in the open. Sneaking up on them would be next to impossible.

“The light’s good enough,” said Harvath. “Let’s go.”

Fontaine guided Harvath as best he could and when Harvath was ready, he exhaled and gently applied pressure to the trigger.

His first Taliban target dropped like a stone, and Harvath quickly readjusted and took out his two colleagues. The first man went down instantly as well, but the next man took two shots before he fell to the ground.

Fontaine tsk’d out loud over the need to take a second shot on the third Taliban. Harvath ignored him.

“Group two,” he said as he adjusted his position and reoriented himself.

“One shot, one kill this time,” said Fontaine.

Harvath raised his middle finger and readjusted his shoulder against the stock. “Call ’em,” he said.

Fontaine did, and Harvath took the three men down in rapid succession, all with bullets through their heads.

Handing Fontaine back the rifle, Harvath pulled out his NODs, powered them up, and slipped them on. Once the men had their weapons hidden beneath their patoos, they made a line straight for the storage building.

They were traversing open ground on what remained a relatively bright night. If any of Massoud’s men had decided to step outside for a breath of fresh air or a visit to their luxury toilet facilities, that would have been the end of everything. Providence, for the moment, appeared to be on their side.

They made it across the open ground without being seen. Creeping up on the structure, Harvath saw it was windowless, just as Reshteen had said it was. Harvath took a step back and studied the outside of the door. A heavy wooden peg held the lock in place.

With one hand still wrapped around the grip of his MP5, Harvath leaned in toward the door and listened. Not a sound came from the other side.

Reaching down, he gently pulled the peg free. As it came out, Harvath exposed his weapon fully and Fontaine did the same. And then, just as they had done in Massoud’s village, Fontaine positioned himself to open the door so Harvath could immediately sweep inside.

Harvath took a deep breath and then nodded.

Fontaine drew back the handle, pulled open the door, and Harvath, weapon up and ready, rushed in.

The room was tiny. So tiny, in fact, that Julia Gallo could not even stretch all the way out. Instead, she sat on the dirt floor with her legs drawn up and her arms wrapped around them while she balanced her head upon her knees.

Other than the two wool blankets Zwak had brought her, the only other item in the room was a plastic bucket she was expected to use for her bodily functions. Upon hearing the door slide open, only her heart twitched, the rest of her body was too sore to move.

“Julia,” said a voice in the darkness. “Julia Gallo.”

Julia was certain that she was dreaming. Either that or she was finally losing her mind. Besides Zwak, only one other person had been to see her, and he had spoken English with a thick, almost Eastern European accent to ask her four very strange questions about her past. The man had then asked her other questions about Zwak and the boys who had accosted her, but this was definitely not his voice. This voice sounded American. It sounded like home.

Bending down, Harvath lifted the woman’s head from her knees and looked at her face. Even through his goggles, with her hair wrapped in her hijab, he could tell it was her. “Julia,” he repeated. “My name is Scot. Your mother sent us to get you. We’re here to take you home.”

Home. She didn’t want to allow herself to believe it. “Home?” she said. The men’s faces were disguised by something, almost as if they were wearing masks.

“Yes,” replied Harvath as he slipped a hand underneath her arm and helped her to stand. “Are you okay? Can you walk?”

Gallo quickly realized that she wasn’t dreaming; this was in fact real. “Yes,” she stammered. “I think so.”

“Good. You must remain absolutely quiet and do everything I tell you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Julia.

Harvath looked at Fontaine, who had slipped into the room behind him and closed the door. “We’re ready to go.”

Fontaine nodded and turned around and cracked the door. Glancing outside, he quickly popped his head back in and said, “We’ve got a problem.”

“What is it?” asked Harvath.

“We’ve got one of Massoud’s guys making a beeline straight for us. What do you want to do?”

“Maybe he’s going to one of the other structures.”

“Negative,” said Fontaine. “He’s on his way here and he’s going to see that bolt is missing.”

Harvath unslung his MP5, handed it to Fontaine, and pulled out his knife. “I’ll take him when he comes in. You protect Dr. Gallo.”

“Roger that,” replied Fontaine, as he gently maneuvered Julia into the corner and then stood between her and the door.

No sooner had they done that than Harvath heard footsteps outside. There was the sound of a hand on the outside of the door and then silence. Whoever was out there had discovered that the peg that held the door closed was missing.

Whether the person was hesitant or confused, seconds passed and nothing happened. Finally, the door began to creak open.

Harvath tightened his grip on the knife and prepared to strike.

The door opened farther and as it did, fading starlight and the dying rays of the moon spilled in. As it opened more, the figure of a man holding a rifle was cast in silhouette.

Just a foot more, thought Harvath as he angled the blade of his knife.

The man moved cautiously and continued forward. When the barrel of his rifle was within striking distance, Harvath lunged.

He grabbed the weapon and pulled the man off balance and into the tiny room. Wrenching the rifle from the man’s hands, he let it drop to the ground and slammed him up against wall. With his hand covering the man’s mouth Harvath pulled the blade back and prepared to strike, but then stopped.

He had felt something wrapped around the barrel of the man’s weapon. It had felt like tape. Baseer had said Massoud’s brother carried an AK-47 with its barrel wrapped with blue tape to let everyone know it wasn’t a functioning firearm.

Sheathing his knife, Harvath held the man tight against the wall and whispered for Fontaine to close the door.

As the door closed, Julia said, “Please. He’s mentally challenged. Don’t hurt him. He protected me.”

Looking over his shoulder at Fontaine, he said, “Shred those blankets. We’ll tie him and gag him.”

As Fontaine used his knife to cut the blankets in strips, Harvath held Zwak against the wall and kept his mouth covered. The man’s entire body was trembling. Harvath once again thought of the SEAL team that had been discovered by the Afghan goatherds. If he knew one thing about combat it was that you could never second-guess what another man had done unless you’d been there with him. He was thankful that he wasn’t faced with the same predicament they were.

If they acted fast enough, he hoped, they could be gone before anyone noticed Zwak was missing. He had also given Baseer, the chief elder of Massoud’s village, his word that if he encountered Zwak, he would do everything he could to make sure no harm came to the man.