Brad Thor - Takedown

NEW YORK CITY

Harvath and Hastings exited the Waldorf via the 50th Street stairwell and took off at top speed for Park Avenue. As they neared the corner, they heard what sounded like a car crash, followed by spurts of automatic-weapons fire.

“Bob, what the hell is going on up there?” demanded Harvath over his headset.

“We’ve got ’em. They carjacked a minivan but collided with a cab and it got stuck on the median. They’re headed for St. Bartholomew’s church on the corner. What’s your ETA?”

“We’re thirty seconds out.”

“They’re going through the outdoor café area. Hurry up.”

As they ran, Harvath relayed everything to Tracy. When they arrived at the church, Herrington, Morgan, and Cates were waiting for them.

“What do we have?” asked Harvath.

“I count five tangos,” said Bob. “All in black Nomex with automatic weapons like the ones we found at the Grail facility. The HRT patches are the only way you can tell them apart from the good guys.”

“Do we know where they are inside?”

“Negative. Only that they went in this way.”

Harvath switched over to his police radio to raise Colin McGahan, whom he’d already given a report to as they were on their way down the 50th Street stairwell.

“I read you,” replied the ESU commander. “We heard shots fired. What’s going on? Over.”

“They’ve just entered St. Bartholomew’s, but we’re going to need help with containment. Can you spare anyone to cover the exits? Over.”

“I’ve already sent a couple of guys your way, but that won’t be enough to cover every exit. Over.”

“Tell your men to place themselves so that they can cover more than one door at once-even if it means they have to stand in the middle of the block. And make sure they know that we’re after five tangos dressed exactly like you guys, except with HRT patches on their vests. Over.”

“Roger that,” replied McGahan, who then signed off.

The St. Bart’s outdoor café had been converted into an open-air aid station, with waiters and waitresses providing bottled water and snacks to anyone who needed them. The sound of gunfire followed by heavily armed men running into the church had everyone terrified.

Approaching someone who looked like a manager, Harvath identified himself as DHS and said, “I need a map of the inside of the church with exits, stairwells, and elevators, and I need it right now.”

The manager nodded her head and quickly retrieved a narrow red binder from beneath the hostess stand. She withdrew a piece of paper labeled Fire Evacuation Plan and handed it to Harvath.

“Other than your staff, is there anyone inside?”

“No,” she replied, “the church is closed. Only the café is open.”

Harvath thanked her, and after asking her to get everyone off the terrace and as far away from the building as possible, he and the team went inside.

Knowing that the men they were chasing were very fond of booby traps, they made their way very carefully.

St. Bartholomew’s was a Romanesque church based upon the Cathedral of St. Marco in Venice and had been built in a traditional crucifix pattern with the altar at the top, facing east. It was an incredible structure, and on any other day this would have made for a perfect place to while away several hours, but they weren’t here to sightsee. They were here to take down a team of highly efficient killers.

Having been one step behind for so long, it was tough for Harvath to now place his mind one step ahead. He knew very little about his enemy, but he did know they were disciplined, well armed, and obviously very well trained. They were Chechen soldiers, some of whom probably had even been Russian Spetsnaz at some point. While they didn’t shy from conflict, they did seem to avoid it whenever possible, as they had in the Waldorf. Harvath knew this meant that they would probably be looking for an exit on the north side of the church, away from their pursuers.

Looking at the floor plan he’d been given by the manager of the café, Harvath figured the exits that made the most sense were the emergency ones on the northernmost side of the sanctuary. Falling into their conga line, they raced forward toward the doors that led into the main church structure. No sooner had they opened them than they were greeted with a searing wave of deafening weapons fire.

Jesus Christ,” said Morgan as they retreated back into the hallway and he looked up at the pockmarked wall just above their heads. “Flechettes.”

The word was French for tiny arrows, and that’s exactly how they had gotten their name. They were fin-stabilized steel projectiles that looked just like little arrows, which could be fired from a twelve-gauge shotgun, significantly increasing the weapon’s lethality.

Herrington looked at the wall and said, “Even so, watch your language in here.”

Cates asked, “Am I the only one who finds it ironic that we’re in a Christian church duking it out with Muslim terrorists?”

“So far they’re the only ones doing the duking,” replied Harvath. “Now here’s the plan. Bob, Tracy, and I are going in on my command. Cates and Morgan, you’re going to provide cover fire. Everybody ready?”

The team nodded its assent, Harvath readied his weapon and said, “Now!”

Rick Cates kicked open what was left of the door leading into the sanctuary, and he and Morgan laid down a vicious curtain of cover fire.

Crouching low and moving as fast as they could, Harvath, Herrington, and Hastings raced for the nearest row of pews. They went as far as they could until the men at the end of the church began returning fire, and then they hit the deck.

Harvath pulled the fire evacuation map from his vest and tried to get a fix on where their opponents were. As best he could tell, they were within spitting distance of an exit at the north end of the transept. But why weren’t they using it?

Grabbing his police radio, Harvath tried to raise McGahan. With the roar of the gunfire filling the cavernous church, it took a moment before he could hear anything over the radio. Finally, he could make out McGahan’s voice. “Are your men in place yet?”

“Affirmative,” replied McGahan. “I’ve got one on Fifty-first who almost got his ass shot off, but he just pushed the targets back inside.”

That explained it. And it also gave Harvath an idea.

If he could get McGahan’s men on the north and south ends of the transept, they could execute a classic pincer movement. Confident for the first time that they might have the terrorists all but in the bag, he radioed his plans to McGahan and then used his Motorola to radio Cates and fill him in.

Crouching near Herrington and Hastings, Harvath prepped them on the plan. As they nodded their heads, he then radioed McGahan and told him to get ready.

Harvath glanced at his Suunto, counted down thirty seconds, and then over both radios gave the command, “Go, go, go!”

Right on cue, Cates and Morgan laid down as much cover fire as they could muster. As they did, the terrorists returned fire and retreated into the back of the nave. Harvath didn’t need to look at his evacuation plan to know they had them trapped. There was no way out.

Reloading, Abdul Ali looked toward Sacha and commanded, “Find us a way out of here. Now!”

It had been the Chechen’s idea to flee into the church, where he had legitimately expected little to no resistance. But what the enormous warrior had not planned on was for the men chasing him to be reinforced so quickly-at least not in such a manner as to hinder their escape. They needed to put a lot of distance between themselves and their pursuers as quickly as possible.