Brad Thor - Blowback

“And without having to split the money with anyone.”

Marie nodded her head.

Harvath stood from the table and said, “We need to see those remaining artifacts.”

“Why?”

“Because even though your husband never made it back from that chasm, the weapon the Romans paid so dearly to prevent getting to Rome actually did.”

Lavoine was shocked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, the man you call Elliot Burnham has been working with Muslim terrorists, and they plan on using Hannibal ’s weapon against the Western world.”

“The weapon actually exists? What is it?”

“An illness of some sort,” replied Jillian. “Please, Marie, whatever artifacts you have still, we need to take a look at them. We promise you, that is all we want to do. We have no intention of taking them from you. Millions of lives may be at stake here. We know Bernard had no idea as to whom he was helping, but you can help us to fix this. Please, we need your cooperation.”

Lavoine thought about it for several moments and then said, “Okay,” as she stood. “Get your coats. You’re going to need them. It’s very cold outside.”

WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM

WASHINGTON, DC

O nce the secure videoconference link with CIA headquarters in Langley had been established, the president began speaking. “I assume I wasn’t called out of my meetings upstairs because you have good news.”

“Unfortunately no, Mr. President,” responded the director of Central Intelligence, James Vaile. “Two days ago we made a very important electronic intercept related to the village of Asalaam.”

“If you made it two days ago, why am I just hearing about it now?”

“With all due respect, sir, our Arabic translators are seriously overworked and dangerously backlogged.”

“I know. I know,” said Rutledge, “and I’m doing everything I can to get you additional funding to hire more of them, but now’s not the time for this discussion. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve got.”

“We intercepted a posting in an Islamic chat room that commented on the hand of Allah successfully striking down all but his most faithful followers in a remote location referred to as the place of peace.”

“Asalaam?”

“That’s what we think,” replied Vaile. “The fundamentalists like to describe Iraq as the crusaders’ burial ground. The people talking in that chat room signaled that the place of peace was within the land known as the burial ground of the foreign crusaders.”

The president was silent as the DCI continued. “One of Osama bin Laden’s most beloved was also said to have been present to witness the power of Allah firsthand.”

“Khalid Alomari.”

“We think so. There were enough allusions to his past accomplishments for us to be fairly certain it’s him. We’ve been monitoring the room, but the poster hasn’t returned, or at least not under the same handle as before. We’re not holding out much hope of tracking him down. Just like cell phones, these guys will use a chat room once and then never come back to it again. They know it makes it impossible for us to trace them that way.”

Though none of this was exactly good news, Rutledge knew his DCI well enough to know that he was saving the very worst for last. “What else did you find out?”

“One of the people in the chat room claimed that what happened at the place of peace was only a small example of what Allah and his most holy warriors had planned for the enemies of Islam, in particular the United States.”

The president was again silent for several moments as the confirmation of their worst fears began to sink in. Finally, he asked, “Is that it?”

“No sir,” replied Vaile. “There was one other thing.”

“What is it?”

“According to the transcript, the means by which Allah intends to decimate all but the most faithful followers of Islam has already arrived in America. It says that it’s only a matter of days before the bodies of our citizens begin piling up-overflowing our hospitals, morgues, and cemeteries.”

FRANCE

Carrying flashlights, Harvath and Alcott followed Marie out into the bitterly cold night and were led behind the hotel to a small barn at the far end of the property.

“You keep the artifacts in here and don’t even keep it locked?” Harvath asked as Marie pushed the door open.

“No one locks their doors here. If you do, you send a message that you have something worth stealing. Besides, how long do you think it would take if someone really wanted to get in here?”

The woman had a point.

Marie closed the door behind them and then used her flashlight to point to a stall in the middle of the structure. “In there.”

After moving several bales of hay and kicking away the loose pieces of straw, Harvath found the trapdoor. Drawing it back, he played his flashlight down a series of stone steps, which led into a large cellar.

Jillian joined him, and with Marie bringing up the rear, they descended the steps. The cellar was enormous. Marie found a box of matches and lit several of the lanterns hanging from the low ceiling. As the lanterns illuminated the room, Harvath heard Alcott draw a sharp intake of breath.

Perfectly arranged on clean sheets across the cellar floor were hundreds of artifacts contained in clear plastic bags. Jillian couldn’t help herself and she rushed over to get a closer look. “How were they able to transport all of this?”

“Strong backs, big packs, and many, many trips,” replied Marie.

Joining Jillian, Harvath carefully picked up one of the sealed bags and examined its contents. Inside was a weapon he recognized from his study of military history-a Celtic falcata. With its inward curving blade, legend had it that the powerful short sword could slice through a shield and helmet with just one blow. There was something else about it that interested Harvath, though. Stuck to the bag was a piece of masking tape with a string of numbers. Holding it up so Marie could see them, he asked, “Do you know what these are?”

“I have no idea,” said Marie, shaking her head sadly. “I took several of those pieces of tape to a friend of Bernard’s who is also a mountain guide. I hoped he would be able to decipher it. I thought it might be GPS or something like that. I thought maybe it would help us find Bernard and Maurice, but they seem to be just a bunch of numbers that do not make any sense.”

“Actually,” replied Jillian as she read the numbers along her bag, “they do make sense. They’re grid coordinates.”

“Like on a map?”

“Very similar. Ellyson must have established a grid system over the site where the artifacts were found. The first numbers are a reference point, maybe an outer corner or dead center in the middle of the site. The next set of numbers explains what part of the grid the item was found in.”

“What about this last set of numbers, the one with a degree marker after it?” asked Harvath. “That’s not a longitudinal or latitudinal designation?”

“No. It’s degree of elevation followed by a depth designation. I’d say Ellyson was dealing with a very steep surface and was cataloging not only at what point along the slope he was finding things but also how deeply embedded.”

“Embedded?”

“Yes, probably in ice. Call him what you will, but the man was thorough,” said Jillian.

“Thorough, but not to the point that these strings of numbers will tell us where the actual discovery was made.”

“No. They’re all in relation to that first set of numbers. Those are the anchor which all the others work off of. We’re missing one key piece of the puzzle-the Rosetta stone, if you will, which explains the overall message.”