Brad Thor - Takedown

“Sergeant, we know there is a fourth and final site. Captain Forrester mentioned it before he was killed. If we’re correct, that’s exactly where the terrorists are headed next.”

Gonzalez didn’t respond.

“He’s right,” replied Tecklin. “We need to warn them.”

“Quiet,” ordered Gonzalez.

“Why? These guys know about the fourth site, and they’re right that the terrorists probably do too.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Sarge, they’ve hit three out of four. I’d say the chances are pretty good al-Qaeda knows about the last location. We can’t just sit here and let our guys get killed. We’ve got to warn them.”

Gonzalez was torn. On one hand there were the lives of fellow marines at stake and on the other were a set of orders that didn’t seem to make much sense at this point. Nevertheless, orders were orders.

“Will you at least call the fourth location and warn them?” asked Harvath.

“It doesn’t matter. I already tried from one of the pay phones outside before we came in here.”

“No answer?”

“All I got was a fast busy signal and a ‘circuits are overloaded’ response.”

“Did you try calling Transcon and Geneva Diamond?”

Gonzalez again nodded his head. “Same thing.”

“You’ve got to tell us where that fourth location is.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss any other location or locations.”

Bob Herrington had had enough. “For fuck’s sake, Sergeant. Those people are going to die over there if you don’t help us out. Make a goddamn command decision.”

“I can’t.”

“The hell you can’t. Your CO has been shot by the NSA program manager, and at this point you are the most senior marine on site. You think they’re going to court martial you for trying to save that other location?”

“The NSA program manager?” remarked Tecklin.

Gonzalez didn’t want to know anything further. He’d made up his mind. “I’m sorry, I have my orders.”

“Well, you and your orders can kiss my fucking ass,” said Herrington. “I thought marines were smarter than this. I guess I was wrong.”

As Bob walked away in disgust, Harvath pulled Gonzalez aside and said, “Steve, I’ve got a lot of respect for your orders, but at least take Morgan and get over there. You guys might be able to help even the odds. The terrorists have enough players on their team to fill at least two Tahoes.”

The sergeant shook his head. “No can do. We’ve got to secure this site and make sure no one else gets in or out until help arrives.”

“You know that could be quite a while.”

“It doesn’t matter. This information needs to be protected.”

“Even if that means other marines might die?”

Gonzalez looked at Harvath and slowly nodded his head. Come hell or high water, he was going to stand his post. In the process, though, several of his comrades were most likely going to lose their lives.

For a fleeting moment, Harvath wondered if they could muscle the marine and get him to crack, but he decided against it. As wrong as he believed the man’s decision to be, Harvath wasn’t going to torture a fellow serviceman faithfully executing his duty.

He was about to make one more impassioned plea, soldier to soldier, when Paul Morgan caught his attention and signaled that he needed to talk to him.

“What’s up?” said Harvath as he crossed over to where Morgan was standing.

“I know where the fourth site is.”

Harvath couldn’t believe it. “How?”

“Tecklin gave it to me. We both went through basic at Camp Pendleton. It turns out we had the same D.I.”

“So because of a drill instructor he just gave the information to you?”

“No,” replied Morgan. “His brother is part of the security detail at the fourth location. When they joined the Marines together, they promised their old man they’d do everything they could to make sure nothing bad ever happened to the other. He respects Gonzalez, but the way he sees it, the Marines not only taught him how to follow orders, but also to react when old orders didn’t make sense anymore and lives were on the line.

“That’s why he wanted us to have the location. But wait till you hear where it is. At first I thought he was pulling my leg, but he swears it’s for real.”

“Where is it? Where’s the fourth location?”

Morgan held up a diagram made by Lance Corporal Tecklin, and it made such perfect sense that Harvath almost couldn’t believe it.

Abdul Ali watched as Sacha drew his Para-Ordnance 1911 pistol, affixed its silencer, and finished off his wounded comrade. They had done all they could to save him, but it was clear to everyone that Khasan wasn’t going to make it. He was slowing them down, and that made him a liability. As cold as the decision was, they had no choice. Their own survival necessitated the act. Just like the man who had been killed during the assault on Geneva Diamond, Khasan’s payment would be made to his family, including the bonus at the end of the job. Sacha would see to it personally.

Ali knew that the lead Chechen, as well as the rest of his men, held him responsible for this most recent death. Ali had almost walked into an ambush in Central Park and had brought whoever had orchestrated it out after them. The man on horseback had fired his first shot through the rear window of one of their Tahoes, hitting Khasan at the base of the throat. The man’s next shot had gone straight through the tailgate, killing the Chechens’ dog, Ivan, while the third shot had punched through the other side of the tailgate and missed by a matter of millimeters one of their men gunning from the backseat. As far as Ali was concerned, the first shot was all that mattered. The team was down two men now and still had two more locations to go.

With the rear window shattered and the back row of seats covered in Khasan’s blood, Ali decided they not only needed to get rid of both the bodies they were carrying, they needed to get rid of the damaged Tahoe as well. First, though, they needed to find a suitable vehicle as a replacement.

Nearby in the tony Lenox Hill neighborhood, Sacha saw what they were looking for. The all-black GMC Yukon Denali was as close to perfect as they were going to get. Three blocks later, they dumped the damaged Tahoe, the bodies of their two dead comrades, and the body of the woman from whom they’d just carjacked the Denali.

They drove south toward Midtown east and their next assault. With multiple breaching points some distance apart at this location, timing was going to be everything. Though Ali would have preferred to have been on one of the street-level breaching teams, he had no choice but to go with the team that would be coming up from underneath. Theirs was the most perilous trek, and it was also the most likely to encounter resistance from inquisitive police officers. If push came to shove, only Ali and his grasp of American English could help the subterranean team pull it off.

The Denali sped toward 50th while the intact Tahoe pulled up onto the sidewalk of 49th Street, and Ali’s team unloaded its equipment. Startled onlookers backed away as men in balaclavas and black tactical gear set up a utility company-style screen, sparked a Gentec portable acetylene torch, and began to cut through the sidewalk grating. Once the grating was pulled free, a high tinsel tripod complete with enormous rubber feet and a pulley and winch system was suspended above the opening, a rope was fed through, and Abdul Ali prepared to be the first one down.

The goal was to fast-rope in as quickly as possible. That all changed when only halfway down an MTA officer spotted Ali and reached for the radio mic clipped to his shoulder. With the laser sight of his MP5, Ali painted a red dot on the man’s chest and pulled the trigger, quieting any premature announcement of their arrival.