Brad Thor - Takedown

Wiggling the thin metal cubicle-style partition next to him, Harvath was seriously considering using it as poor-man’s body armor, when he heard a voice at the other end of the room.

“I told you not to move.”

He looked up to see Tracy Hastings marching right toward him. She was armed with a small toolbox and a look of pissed-off determination.

“What?” she said seeing the look on his face. “Did you think I wasn’t coming back?”

“The thought had occurred to me. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t.”

“What? And miss an evening of dinner, dancing, and sparkling conversation?”

“I don’t know about sparkling conversation.”

“Neither do I, but it doesn’t matter. I never leave a soldier behind. Especially another anchor clanker.”

“Hooyah,” replied Harvath with as much confidence as he could muster as Tracy disappeared back beneath the platform.

Once she was situated, she said, “Those fuckers are pretty clever. You were right. It is too simple, but I couldn’t see it.”

“Couldn’t see what?”

“This is exactly how they got me in Iraq. I can see that now. Two of the most important rules we learned in handling IEDs were never to assume there was only one device and rule number two-”

“See rule number one,” said Harvath, finishing her sentence for her. Finally the curtain had lifted from his mind, but he had to give Hastings the credit for it.

“No matter how positive you are that there isn’t another device, you always, always, always assume the presence of at least one more. I blew that in Iraq, and I almost blew it here. If I’d touched the one you’re standing on right now, we’d both have been wall covering. The magic lies in the second device.”

“Which you’ve found?”

“Yeah, I found it. Goddamn, these guys are good.”

“How good?” asked Harvath, the tentativeness evident in his voice.

“Not as good as me. You and I are going dancing. And trust me, the conversation is going to be sparkling. Now, be a good boy and zip it so I can do my job.”

“You sure that thing’s not going to detonate?”

“No, and that’s why I need absolute quiet. Discovering the second device is only half the battle. The hard part is making sure neither of these things go off.”

STRATEGIC INFORMATION AND OPERATIONS CENTER

FBI HEADQUARTERS

WASHINGTON, DC

Director Sorce summed up his command in two words as he left his secure SIOC conference room, “Do it.”

His deputy director, Stan Caldwell, wasted no time. First he ordered a chopper, then he called Gary Lawlor and told him to be ready.

As the pair flew toward Fort Meade, Caldwell gave Lawlor the Highlights for Children version of what the FBI had learned. The NSA’s director, Lieutenant General Richard Maxwell, had called the FBI director personally for interrogation assistance. He explained that the NSA had been running a highly classified intelligence gathering operation out of New York City and that three of its four facilities there had been taken out and all the personnel killed.

Of course, none of this was news to Lawlor. He was the one who’d informed the NSA of the situation, including how he’d shot and killed Joseph Stanton after the man had killed Captain William Forrester and was in the process of trying to kill him. What was news was that the NSA had already identified the person who had leaked the locations of the crush depth facilities. They had a strong suspicion that the attacks on their facilities and the attacks on New York were connected, which made them doubly angry and desirous for justice.

The final piece of information, which Lawlor could have seen coming a mile away, was that the fourth NSA crush depth location was now unresponsive. Since his was the only qualified tactical team with relatively current top secret clearances, Lawlor was the obvious choice to bring along. What still wasn’t making sense to Gary was what the DIA’s role in all of this was.

He couldn’t help but wonder if his pending visit to the NSA might reveal more than just who had leaked the classified locations of the New York facilities. Now that he was face-to-face with Stan Caldwell, he had one question in particular he was very anxious to ask, but he was smart enough to know that he should save it until after the interrogation.

Lieutenant General Maxwell’s assistant met Gary Lawlor and Stan Caldwell at the helipad and steered them inside to the director’s office. It had been said that the letters NSA actually stood for No Such Agency, or if you were an employee, Never Say Anything. So far, the National Security Agency’s well-known penchant for obfuscation was holding up quite well. What would be interesting to see was how candid Dick Maxwell was actually prepared to be.

They were shown into a modestly furnished office hung with photos of Maxwell in a variety of desolate, far-flung locations around the world. It was the first time Lawlor had met the man, and when the lieutenant general stood up and walked around his desk to welcome his guests, Lawlor was immediately struck by how much he resembled George Patton-his facial features, his bearing, almost everything about him. The only things missing were the ivory-handled Colt.45s and a bull terrier trotting alongside. If he wasn’t sure that it had been remarked upon a thousand times already, Lawlor might have said something, but it wouldn’t have been professional, and it had nothing to do with why they were here. Lawlor was here for answers, not to become buddy-buddy with the enigmatic head of the Puzzle Palace.

“Thank you for coming, gentlemen,” Maxwell said as he showed Caldwell and Lawlor to a seating area at the far end of his office. “Can I get anybody anything? Coffee? Tea? Something a bit stronger, maybe?”

“No thanks, Dick,” replied the FBI’s deputy director.

“Nothing for me either,” said Lawlor.

“Okay, then, let’s get right to it. Based on information we have received, we now believe that all four of our program facilities in New York City have been hit.”

“What sort of information?” asked Gary.

“The facilities are not responding correctly to specific computer-generated requests from this end. Someone apparently wanted it to appear as if it was business as usual, but we’ve been able to figure out that it’s not.”

Now they were getting to the heart of what Gary wanted to know. “And what exactly is business as usual for this program?”

“That’s classified,” replied Maxwell.

“You mean it was classified.”

“No,” said the NSA director. “Even though the operation has apparently been compromised, it’s still classified.”

“As is the reason one of your senior operatives believed it was worth killing for?”

Maxwell shook his head. “Unfortunately, there’s not much I can tell you there either, but not because I don’t want to. Joe Stanton went off the deep end.”

Be that as it may, Lawlor needed more information, and he knew Maxwell had it. “Exactly what type of information was being processed at the New York facilities?”

“I’m sorry, but as I said, that’s classified.”

“Then why are we here?”

“Deputy Director Caldwell is here to conduct an interrogation. I agreed to allow you to be present out of professional courtesy.”

Not only was Lawlor a fairly good judge of people, he was also better than average at reading between the lines. But Maxwell was very difficult to figure out. In fact, so was Stan Caldwell. They both, in their own fashions, were helping him out, but why? To a certain degree, he could understand Maxwell’s motivations. The man knew that Lawlor had the only team on the ground that was hot on the trail of the group responsible for killing his NSA employees, as well as their marine security details. Caldwell ’s motivations, though, were much less clear.