Brad Thor - State Of The Union

“I would have thought you do your best work at night,” replied Harvath.

“A man with a sense of humor. I like that! Please, take a seat,” laughed Marc, as he cleared away a stack of videocassette sleeves from the leather couch behind him.

“I’m not going to stick to this, am I?” asked Harvath.

Marc continued laughing and rolled his chair back over to his ergonomically designed edit station. “There’s that sense of humor again. You Americans love to kid.”

“Who’s kidding?” said Harvath under his breath to Herman. “Marc,” continued Scot, trying to move things along, “What about our footage? Were you able to get anything from it?”

“The first thing I looked at when Max arrived were the digital stills from the traffic cameras. All they show are individual cars in the midst of committing traffic infractions. Without knowing what specific car you are looking for, it is not very helpful. The cameras cover the intersection only and nothing parked up the street, so I decided to set that aside.

“The bank footage, on the other hand, was much more promising. The bank uses very wide angle lenses on its outdoor cameras.”

Harvath watched while the image in front of them broke down into hundreds of little blocks and became a blur as Schroeder scrolled backwards until he got to the point on the tape that he wanted. “Here we are. Two days ago.” He pushed play and sat back in his chair.

Harvath watched for a few moments and then said, “I don’t see anything. It just looks like the outside of the bank to me.”

“Watch the top of the screen,” offered Schroeder. “It’s coming in five seconds.”

Harvath watched until he saw what appeared to be two or more men huddled close together move quickly across the screen. “Can you enhance that?” he asked, leaning forward on the couch, excited by what he might have just witnessed.

“No problem. Let’s watch it again with full zoom,” said Schroeder who punched a series of commands into his Avid.

They watched it again and this time it was obvious that there were three men, two of whom looked to be half carrying a third as if he were drunk.Or incapacitated by a Taser.

“Marc,” said Harvath. “Show it to me again, but this time can you run it in slow motion?”

“Of course,” answered Schroeder who ran it back again.

“Shit,” exclaimed Harvath after watching it a third time. “They enter from one side of the frame and in a matter of seconds exit out the other. You can’t see any faces at all. It’s almost as if they were purposely trying to avoid the video cameras.”

“Either that, or they got lucky,” said Herman.

“Is there anything else you can do to enhance the picture, Marc?” asked Harvath.

“We can run it again with the mathematical filter.”

“Do it.”

Harvath watched again and though the image was slightly better, it still wasn’t good enough. The surveillance tape had caught three men moving together across the street, two seeming to half-carry another, but even with all the enhancements, the quality wasn’t good enough to identify any of them, not even Gary. The disappointment in the room was palpable.

Harvath sat there staring at the screen as the video footage continued to unfold. He couldn’t believe that they had come this far only to be turned away with nothing. He was getting ready to get up from the couch when, all of a sudden he yelled, “Stop!”

Both Max and Herman stared at him as Marc paused the feed.

“Run the tape backwards five seconds and play it again,” said Harvath.

Schroeder did as Harvath instructed and ran the footage again.

“I don’t see anything,” said Max.

“Neither do I,” replied Herman. “What are you looking at?”

“Run it again,” was Harvath’s answer, “but this time take it back and start it from where the men walk out of the frame.”

Schroeder rewound the tape to the appropriate point and let it play.

“Nothing,” said Max, frustrated.

“Scot, it’s an empty street scene,” added Herman.

Suddenly, Marc Schroeder sat up straighter in his chair. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He swiveled around, looked at Harvath and said, “Lower screen right?”

Harvath nodded in reply.

“Lower screen right?” argued Herman. “There’s nothing there.”

“Yes there is,” returned Schroeder. “Right on the very edge. I can’t believe I didn’t catch it. I’ll put a spotlight on it for you.”

Moments later, with the lower right hand portion of the screen highlighted, they all saw it. Just barely in frame, was the back of a late model BMW with part of its license plate visible. Then it was gone.

Karl Überhof’s apartment was located just off Unter den Linden, once one of the best known boulevards in all of Europe and the preeminent thoroughfare of East Berlin. With the information they had gathered from the bank footage, Marc Schroeder was able to scan the digital stills from the traffic cams until they had found what they were looking for. A black BMW had in fact blown through a red light at the intersection of Grunewaldstrasse and Goltzstrasse. By comparing the time code stamped on the digital traffic cam photo with the time code on the bank footage, they knew they had a match. The picture gave them a complete license plate number, which jibed with the partial they already had. With one phone call, Sebastian was not only able to get the registration information on the car, but his contact was able to fax him the drivers’ license photo of the man it was registered to-Karl Überhof. Though the quality wasn’t the best, it was still good enough for their purposes.

Harvath had been against storming Überhof’s apartment, especially after what had happened at the Capstone safe house. Though he didn’t believe Überhof had any idea they were on to him, at this point, he was their only lead. After weighing all of the potential outcomes, Harvath decided they would be better off shadowing him to see where he might go.

Sebastian didn’t agree. He and his men had checked Überhof’s parking garage and had verified that his black BMW was there, which likely meant that the man was upstairs asleep. Sebastian wanted to surprise Überhof in his bed, confront him with what they knew, and force him to talk.

‘And if he’s a professional?’ Harvath had asked. How long might it take until they finally broke him? What if they couldn’t break him? What if they screwed up and killed him? What then?

No, Harvath had reasoned, it was better to let Überhof take them right to Gary Lawlor. And though Sebastian had eventually agreed, he had also brought up a very good argument. What if Gary actually was in Überhof’s apartment? Merely staking out his place wasn’t going to tell them that. What’s more, what if Überhof and whoever he was working with were torturing Gary? What if when they got to him it was too late? How long was Scot prepared to sit outside and do nothing?

It was one of those textbookdamned if you do, damned if you don’t scenarios that all too often presented themselves in hostage situations. The weight of the decision was not one Harvath enjoyed riding on his shoulders, but he accepted responsibility for it nonetheless. In the end, he agreed with Sebastian that a time limit should be set. It was the decision that made the most strategic sense. If Überhof didn’t show his face by the appointed time, they would kick the door in and take down the apartment.

Having not slept much over the last two days, Harvath appreciated being able to close his eyes for a while, even if it was stretched out in the back of the MEK’s mock bakery truck. He’d slept in worse places and if there was one thing his training had taught him, it was that sleep was a weapon.