Brad Thor - Foreign Influence

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.”

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.

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.”