Brad Thor - Path Of The Assassin

“So how are we getting in?” asked Harvath.

“We’re going to hop and pop.”

“No, seriously. How are we going in?” repeated Harvath.

“I am serious.”

“But right now we’re descending. Are you going to try and get us in under their radar in this jet?”

“No. We’re going to go in through the normal air traffic lanes with a commercial IFF signature so we don’t raise Libya’s suspicions. We’re descending now to below ten thousand feet so we can get everyone started on masks with one-hundred-percent oxygen.”

“And then what?”

“We climb to just over thirty thousand.”

“Then we hop and pop?” asked Harvath.

“That’s the plan. We’ll be under canopy for a little over a half hour, but it’s going to put us right on the money.”

“You’re forgetting one thing,” said Harvath, hinting in Meg Cassidy’s direction with his eyes.

“If there was an easier way to do this, I would,” replied Morrell.

Meg, who had been listening, but not understanding any of the exchange, finally spoke up. “What are we talking about here?” She had a bad feeling she wasn’t going to like the answer to her question.

“There’s been a decision made on the infiltration, Meg,” said Harvath.

“How are we going in?”

“It’s a technique called HAHO. A high-altitude, high-opening parachute jump.”

Meg’s face immediately drained of all color. “Exactly how high are we talking about?”

“We’ll be exiting the aircraft above thirty thousand feet. Ten to fifteen seconds later we’ll pop our chutes and glide down to the sand dunes behind the Hijrah Oasis. A piece of cake,” lied Harvath. He knew HAHOs were one of the most dangerous insertion techniques ever conceived of.

“Why is the plane going down?” asked Meg, growing more nervous.

“The plane is descending so we can use masks to begin breathing pure oxygen. It will help flush most of the nitrogen from the bloodstream and tissues.”

“What if I don’t want the nitrogen flushed from my bloodstream and tissues?”

“Have you ever been scuba diving?”

“Yes, but-”

“This is very similar. There are going to be pressure changes when we jump, and we’re all going to be on oxygen on the way down. It’s just a safety precaution to help prevent any decompression problems.”

“Scot, I can’t do this. I won’t do this.”

“Meg, look at it this-”

“No. One minute we’re training to beach on a small tropical island by swimming in from a rubber Zodiac, and now you want me to jump out of an airplane at over thirty thousand feet. I’m not doing this.”

“Ms. Cassidy,” interjected Morrell, “you did the wind tunnel and ParaSim at Fort Bragg, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but-”

“This is no different.”

“I’d say it’s a hell of a lot different, and I’m not doing it.”

“Ms. Cassidy, if there were any other way, believe me, we’d be doing it, but there isn’t. Hashim Nidal is conducting his meeting tomorrow night and we must be in place. We have no other choice.

“Now, there will be a radio inside your helmet and we’ll all be able to keep in touch during the jump. We’ll talk you all the way in. I know you practiced landings at Fort Bragg, and this will be just like that.”

“You’re still not listening to me. Find another way because I am not jumping out of this plane.”

“What if I jump with her?” asked Harvath.

“What are you talking about?” replied Morrell.

“We’ll go tandem.”

“A tandem HAHO? No way.”

“Why not?”

“For starters, you’d only be able to carry half the amount of gear.”

“Then reconfigure the loads. Your men are tough guys. They can handle a little more weight.”

“We’re talking about over two hundred pounds of food, water, ammunition-”

“-medical supplies, communications gear…I know what goes in the packs, Rick. Figure it out, or else you’ll be leaving the plane without us.”

“Scot,” said Meg, “I can’t do it.”

Harvath took her hand in his, not caring what Morrell or any of his men thought of it. “Yes, you can, Meg. You can do this. We’re going to do it together. I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, and I don’t intend to let you down, especially while we’re both sharing a parachute.”

The entire plane was silent. After several tense moments, Meg halfheartedly returned Harvath’s smile, nodded her head. The mission was a go.

Harvath kept a very close eye on Meg for the next two hours as they inhaled aviators’ breathing oxygen. This was the preferred oxygen for jump operations, as other forms, such as medical oxygen, contained too much moisture and could freeze up in the regulator, the hoses, or the mask during the jump and make it impossible to breathe.

He watched for any potential signs of hypoxia caused by the decrease in ambient pressure as they ascended. At thirty thousand feet, the air pressure was close to being only one fourth of that at sea level. The other factor Harvath was concerned with was psychological. Even though they were going to be locked together for the jump, Meg was still incredibly frightened. Harvath had seen otherwise self-confident operatives freak out and start to hyperventilate due to claustrophobia brought on by having their heads and faces covered with a helmet and oxygen mask. Scot kept speaking to Meg in soothing tones, encouraging her to relax.

The entire plane had been depressurized to acclimate the team for the jump. Over their fatigues, all of the members wore extreme-cold-weather jumpsuits. Though cumbersome, the superinsulated suits not only would keep the team members warm during their jump, but also had the added benefit of radar absorbency, which would allow them to glide across the sky without being detected by enemy radar.

At the two-minute warning, the team transferred from the jet’s oxygen console to the portable bottles strapped to their chests. They double and triple checked not only their weapons and equipment, but also each other one last time for any of the telltale signs of hypoxia: slowed reactions, euphoria, cyanosis-a bluish tint to the skin on lips or under fingernails-overconfidence, or lack of life in the eyes.

The cabin lights were switched over to jump lighting, and the jet was filled with an eerie red glow, punctuated by stabs of neon green at the ankles of each team member. Chem-lights had been taped to boots so team members could locate each other in the dark and avoid potentially deadly collisions.

Icy, subzero air blew across the open doorway as the Operation Phantom team lined up. Rick Morrell determined the order and had placed Harvath and Meg smack in the middle. As soon as Morrell gave the signal to jump, the line of bodies in front of them lurched forward, but Meg’s legs refused to move. She willed herself to follow, but it was no use. Either her brain was refusing to give the command, or her body was refusing to obey it. Whatever the case, it was imperative for the team to stay together and that could only happen by jumping at precise intervals. Harvath wrapped his arms around Meg, lifted her clear off her feet and made for the open door.

At the last minute, Meg tried to reach out and grab something to prevent their leaving the plane, but it was no use. Harvath’s grasp was too strong.

The frigid air burned their faces as they accelerated toward their terminal velocity of one hundred twenty miles per hour. Harvath glanced at his altimeter and watched the luminescent dial sweep off their rapidly increasing descent. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay,” he repeated over the radio to Meg. Harvath figured the temperature was at least thirty-five degrees below zero. It took only seventeen seconds to descend to twenty-seven thousand feet, but to Meg Cassidy it felt like a lifetime.