Brad Thor - Takedown

When Ali hit the ground, it took him several moments to pull the officer’s body from the platform and hide it beneath one of the nearby trains. Once he was done, he radioed for the rest of the men to hurry up.

Though rappelling in made much more sense than trying to gain access to the tracks by walking through the middle of Grand Central Terminal, Ali wasn’t going to feel safe until they had left this location far behind them. His sixth sense was speaking to him again, and he didn’t like what it was saying.

Once the rest of the team had joined him, Ali led the way across the tracks toward 50th Street and the Waldorf-Astoria’s secret railway platform. Built in the early 1930s, the platform provided VIP guests with their own private railway cars-a covert alternative to Penn Station or Grand Central Terminal. The platform had been used to gain access to the hotel by such notables as Generals Douglas MacArthur and John Pershing as well as President Franklin D. Roosevelt, who appreciated yet another feature of what became known among the cognoscenti as the Waldorf’s secret station.

In the middle of the platform was an enormous six-foot-wide freight elevator capable of transporting Roosevelt’s 6,000-pound, armor-plated Pierce Arrow from the Waldorf station up to a highly secure and cleverly hidden section of the hotel’s garage, which had its own private exit.

In addition to being the official residence of the United States Ambassador to the United Nations, Abdul Ali prayed to his God that the Waldorf-Astoria was housing one other noteworthy guest-Mohammed bin Mohammed.

Approaching the freight elevator, Ali looked at his Casio and paused to catch his breath. Three minutes later, he entered the code given to him by the Troll and listened to the hum of the elevator as it made its way down to the platform. When it arrived, the team worked quickly to get themselves into place. Once they were all situated, Ali depressed the button for the elevator’s one and only other stop, and the team began its ascent.

When the man sitting in the emergency hatch gave the command, Ali halted the elevator. The torch was quickly lifted up, and the man set to work on the grate covering the old airshaft tunnel. Once it had been removed, the rest of the team crawled inside.

The marines guarding the entrance to the Grail site, so codenamed because its analysts handled the most valuable of the Athena Program intelligence, had no idea what hit them when Ali and his team burst from a wall-mounted air duct with their guns blazing. Two additional teams simultaneously appeared from a hallway and a nearby stairwell.

Dropping to the floor of their bulletproof cubicle, the marines scrambled for their assault rifles. Ali’s men, though, didn’t let up for even a fraction of a second. In a perfectly choreographed ballet of deadly fire, the Chechens assaulted the security hut in wave after wave, never giving the marines a chance to return fire. So engaged, neither Ali nor his mercenaries noticed when a heavy metal plate was slid open in the upper corner of the wall behind the marines, and a large-caliber machine gun opened fire.

Two of the Chechens were mowed right down, their bodies torn to shreds by the heavy lead rounds. Falling back, the teams retreated to their breaching points as Sacha yelled orders to his men.

As the Chechens directed all their fire toward the marines in the security booth and the opening in the wall where the machine gun had appeared, Sacha loaded a fast-arming M381 high-explosive round into the 40mm grenade launcher mounted beneath his assault rifle and let the golf ball-sized projectile rip.

When it connected, the explosion was deafening, and it not only succeeded in knocking out the machine gun, but it tore a huge hole in the upper corner of the wall. One of the Chechens raced toward the security booth armed with his 9mm pistol and a good-sized shape charge, but neither did him any good. The two marines inside had opened a narrow slot in the bulletproof glass and began to return fire, killing the man before he could reach their position.

By focusing fire on the slot, the Chechens were able to push the marines back and keep them pinned down while another one of their teammates rushed forward and attached the shape charge to the side of the booth. Even if they had tried to escape, the marines never would have had a chance. The charge leveled the structure, killing both of its occupants instantly.

While the team kept watch for any more peepholes or slide boxes through which weapons could be fired, another shape charge was affixed to the facility’s main door. Retreating a safe distance away, the team donned their gasmasks, blew the charge, and immediately launched a series of tear gas canisters into the series of rooms on the other side.

When the first of the Chechens ran inside, two marines fully outfitted with gas masks of their own were waiting for him and blew the man apart. Stunned at their mounting losses, the Chechens came to a momentary standstill, but Sacha and Ali drove them forward. They hadn’t come this far to give up now.

By the sheer force of the resistance they were encountering, Ali felt in the depths of his soul that they had finally found where Mohammed bin Mohammed was being held captive. All they needed to do now was put down the last of the resistance. Loading another fast-arming M381 into his launcher and pointing it at the marines, Sacha looked ready to do just that.

The round exploded with an overwhelming concussion wave that knocked almost all of the Chechens to the ground, but when the Americans eventually arrived to claim their dead, they’d have to scrape what was left of their precious marines off the walls and the ceiling if they intended to have any sort of a burial for them.

Regaining their feet, the remaining Chechens quickly and methodically made their way through the facility. Ali was filled with anticipation with each door he kicked open, positive he would stumble upon Mohammed at any moment, but as the team swept into the last of the rooms, the man again was nowhere to be found.

Ali slammed a fresh magazine into his weapon, beside himself with both rage and frustration. How could they have hit four sites and not found him? Ali was about to share this thought with Sacha, when the redhaired giant took his small bag of electronic devices and headed toward the facility’s servers. At that moment, Ali’s sixth sense began speaking to him again. He probably should have pushed the outrageous thoughts from his mind, but he let them stay. Something told him that what he was thinking might not be so far off the mark. Ali was developing more than a sneaking suspicion that he had been used.

As Abdul Ali seethed, downstairs near the platform, fatally wounded MTA officer Patrick O’Donnell had finally summoned enough strength to radio for help.

The debate, if it could have been called that, was over before it began. Tracy Hastings was right. There was only one way they could cover that kind of distance in enough time to have a chance to catch the terrorists on the other end.

While the team had been able to somewhat weave in and out of traffic and even ride down the sidewalk when necessary, it was still perilous and too often very slow going. That was where Tracy ’s idea came in.

When they got to Times Square, they weren’t surprised to find that just like all the other subway stations in New York this one was closed too. A heavy iron gate at the bottom of the stairs had been locked tight. Harvath looked at Morgan as he dismounted from his bike and drew the Mossberg 590 12-gauge shotgun from his scabbard pack.

Morgan ejected his shells, replaced them with breaching rounds, and headed down the stairs. The subway system of the city that never sleeps had not intended its locks to ever be subjected to any real assault, so Morgan had the gate open with one deafening blast from his Mossberg. Less than a minute later, he had blown through a second lock on the handicap access gate near the turnstiles, and returned to the bottom of the stairs to wave the rest of the team on down.