Brad Thor - Takedown

Staring at the carnage that had been created during the assault on the Grail facility, Ali began to formulate a plan.

By the time Harvath and his team stormed through the Waldorf’s Lexington Avenue entrance, the sound of gunfire had already stopped. They couldn’t help but suppose the worst.

Running toward 49th Street, the team pulled up short just before the corner of the building. Peering around the side, Harvath saw a very well equipped NYPD Emergency Services Unit preparing to breach what appeared to be a Grail facility stairwell door.

Raising his ID above his head, Harvath whistled to get the men’s attention and began walking toward them. Seeing the weapon tucked into his waistband, several of the officers spun and squared up on Harvath ready to fire. He didn’t have to see the red dots painted on his chest to know that their laser sights were lighting him up like a Christmas tree. He moved purposefully, but without making any sudden moves that could be misinterpreted.

“Department of Homeland Security,” said Harvath as he came within earshot of the team commander.

The commander waved him off, yelling, “We’ve got active shooters on site. Get the hell out of here, now!”

“Negative,” said Harvath as he continued approaching. “My team and I have been on their trail most of the evening. Trust me, you’re going to need our help.”

Though reluctant to waste any more time, or accept assistance from a Federal agent he knew nothing about, the commander was smart enough to realize that Harvath might very well have intelligence that could prove helpful. Leaving a contingent of men to watch the door in case the shooters reemerged, he moved behind the safety of a blacked-out Tahoe parked on the sidewalk to speak with Harvath. “Okay,” he said, “you’ve got about thirty seconds to tell me what’s going on here.”

Harvath really didn’t care about maintaining the secrecy of the NSA and its covert operation, but nevertheless he remained circumspect. “The men inside that stairwell have hit three other government installations this afternoon.”

“Three others?” replied the man whose name tab on his vest identified him as McGahan. “This is a hotel, not a government installation. The closest thing we’ve got to government inside this building is the residence of the U.S. Ambassador to the UN.”

“There’s a special freight elevator from the train platform beneath the hotel,” said Harvath. “It goes to a secret facility within the hotel that is being used by one of our intelligence agencies.”

McGahan looked at him like he was nuts. “Are you for real?”

Harvath gave the commander the broad brushstrokes of what they had witnessed up to that point and then let the man make up his own mind.

It didn’t take McGahan long. “And you’re sure about the diagram that marine gave you?”

“One hundred percent,” said Harvath.

McGahan walked over to one of his men, relieved him of his radio, and brought it over to Harvath. “I wish I had more, but that’s all I can spare. Our truck is two blocks over and I don’t think either of us want to waste any more time.”

“You mean, this isn’t your truck?” asked Harvath as he took a step back from the Tahoe.

“This belongs to whoever the shooters are.”

Harvath should have known they wouldn’t leave their escape vehicle too far away. With its lights left flashing, who would have suspected it was anything other than a very official vehicle on very official business? It really was a clever idea. “Did your people look through it?”

“We were just wrapping up a quick cursory when the shooters came out of the stairwell and began firing at us.”

“Did your men find anything?”

“No. It’s pretty clean.”

Harvath nodded his head. A more thorough search of the truck would have to wait. Hopefully, though, it wouldn’t be necessary. Pulling the LaRue tactical knife from the sheath on his vest, Harvath punctured both passenger-side tires. One could never be too careful.

“Okay, then,” said the commander. “Get your team over here. I want to brief them and be inside that building in less than three minutes.”

Harvath signaled Herrington, who brought the rest of the team from around the corner and up 49th Street to where he and the commander were standing.

Compared to the special response unit, Harvath’s team was woefully underequipped, but there was nothing they could do about it. Even if the NYPD officers had wanted to help out, it wasn’t as if they drove around with duffels full of extra helmets, kneepads, and body armor. What they did have, though, were explosives.

After synchronizing their watches, the Emergency Services Unit breacher tapped Harvath on the shoulder, handed him a small canvas bag with det cord and everything else necessary to blow a heavy metal door off its hinges, and said, “Just in case.”

THE WHITE HOUSE

Pulling the secretary of defense to the side of the situation room, the president demanded, “Where’s General Waddell?”

“He’s still tied up at DIA and asked me to give you his regrets.”

“Regrets? What the hell does he think this is, a tea party?”

“Of course not, sir, but-”

The president cut him off. “Don’t defend him, Bob. This situation has gotten way out of control. It’s worse than I could have imagined. How the hell did al-Qaeda figure out we have Mohammed bin Mohammed in New York in the first place?”

“Again, sir, we don’t know that the intercept specifically referred to Mohammed. It could have been referring to Sayed Jamal.”

“Like hell it was,” replied Rutledge. “It only happened this morning, and you and I both know that Scot Harvath conducted a perfectly clean grab. He dragged the man back through the woods to get him across the border, for crying out loud. Nobody was following them. This attack on New York is in retaliation for Mohammed.”

“Either way, someplace there’s a leak, and we’re working overtime on identifying it.”

“What about the operation itself? Whether al-Qaeda knows about Jamal or Mohammed doesn’t matter. They know we have one of their people in New York. How do we know they’re not mounting some kind of rescue operation?”

Hilliman chuckled and said, “I think that’s highly unlikely, sir.”

The president didn’t find any of this amusing. “What should have been highly unlikely is anyone finding out that we had either one of those men in New York in the first place, but it still happened, didn’t it?”

The smile fell from the secretary’s face. “Yes, sir, it did.”

“So what’s being done to help reinforce the men running this operation?”

“Nothing,” replied Hilliman.

“Nothing? What are you talking about?”

“Sir, in all fairness, the intercept didn’t specify a location. All it referred to was our taking a subject to New York City.”

“What about the man who’s running the operation for us-what does he think?”

“Mike Jaffe? From what I was told, he wanted immediate evacuation.”

“So why wasn’t it granted?”

“Sir, the only way we can preserve Mohammed’s legal status is to make sure he doesn’t touch U.S. soil until we’re ready to close out the interrogation phase and move him to trial. If we evac him, we’d have to position an appropriate vessel outside our territorial waters and airlift Mohammed back out to sea. When that NYPD helicopter was shot down, a bubble was placed over Manhattan. No air traffic in or out.”

“But that was hours ago.”

“And in that time, Jaffe and his team have reported no problems whatsoever,” said Hilliman as a bit of a cocky smile crept back across his face.