Brad Thor - The First Commandment

The neighborhood people had no idea who the man with the blueprints was, but based on the size of his bodyguard he had to be somebody very important. If he was visiting El Tepe, that could only mean one thing-redevelopment. And redevelopment meant money, lots of money.

They watched as the man studied his plans and his assistant took photographs of their shops and buildings, while the dutiful bodyguard stood by, ready to discourage any unbidden approach.

Eager to look worthy of the businessman’s interest in their neighborhood, several of the shopkeepers along the street shuffled inside to get brooms and began sweeping off their sidewalks.

Harvath continued to gesture, using his pen to point out how the power cables entered several different structures. Satisfied that they had garnered the right kind of attention, Harvath studied his blueprints for a few minutes more, then pointed at the gangway just ahead of them. Tucking the drawings for Tim Finney’s new riding arena at Elk Mountain under his arm, he began walking. This would be one of the most dangerous moments of their entry plan.

Tom Morgan had covertly piggybacked onto an NSA satellite that allowed him to monitor everything that was going on from back in Colorado. As of this moment, Ronaldo Palmera’s home was empty. If they were going to get inside, now was the time to do it.

Receiving the “all clear” over his earpiece, Ron Parker relayed the message to Harvath, and they casually turned into the narrow gangway. It was strewn with garbage and smelled like urine. Harvath had smelled worse.

He ignored the smell and even a rat that looked as if it could have been a contender at Churchill Downs and made his way to the end of the passageway.

He had his lockpick gun halfway out of his pocket when he arrived at a heavy wooden door laced with black iron bands and realized they’d have to think of something else. The door looked as if it had been pulled from a medieval castle or fortified Spanish mission, and its thick iron lock was just as forbidding. They’d have to go over the high stone wall.

Fortunately, they were fairly well concealed from the street, and Harvath got right to work.

Taking two steps backward, he counted to three and then leaped for the top of the wall. He latched on and gave a silent thanks that it wasn’t capped with broken glass-a common security measure in third world countries. He pulled himself up, swung his legs over, and dropped into the garden below.

As he did, he heard something that turned his blood to ice.

The animals tore out of their makeshift doghouse and barreled down on Harvath with amazing speed. His vision narrowed. All he could see were their contorted, hideous faces with their grisly teeth and pitch-black eyes.

In an instant, they were airborne-their mouths wide open, ready to tear at his flesh. Harvath had time neither to draw his weapon nor to get out of the way. His only reaction was one of pure instinct. He raised both his arms to protect his face.

There was the sound of two quick pops as the animals slammed into Harvath and knocked him back against the wall. Quickly, he spun away from them, surprised to have his arms free.

Harvath readied for the dogs to launch their next assault and then realized it wouldn’t be coming. He looked up and saw Ron Parker straddling the wall, his silenced pistol clasped in both hands. His eyes quickly scanned the garden for any other threats. Seeing none, he hopped down and joined Harvath.

“Tom Morgan sends his apologies,” said Parker, as he made sure the animals were dead. “He never noticed the dogs.”

Harvath looked down at the two bodies on the ground. The animals were absolutely vile. They appeared to be some sort of pit bull-Doberman cross that had gone horribly wrong. They were revolting to look at. All the same, Harvath regretted having to kill them. He loved dogs.

But there was no question that these boys would have torn him apart. He was lucky Ron Parker was such an exceptional shot.

“Thank you,” said Harvath as he pulled his weapon.

“That’s one you owe me,” replied Parker as Finney came over the wall and landed just a few feet away.

“Those are the ugliest dogs I’ve ever seen,” said Finney as he grabbed them by their hind legs and pulled them toward the corrugated metal doghouse.

While Finney hid the carcasses, Parker scanned the adjacent windows for any sign they’d been discovered, and Harvath worked the locks on Palmera’s back door.

When he had the door open, he signaled Finney and Parker and they slipped inside behind him.

Just as the Troll had said, Palmera didn’t have an alarm system. But somehow the Troll had overlooked the dogs. Harvath made a note to take it up with him later.

With their weapons drawn, the men quickly swept through the house, clearing each room as they went. There was no sign of Palmera or anyone else. That gave Harvath a few extra minutes to look for something.

With Finney watching the front door and Parker the back, Harvath started searching. He began with the downstairs closets, and when those turned up empty, he headed upstairs.

He looked through all the closets, under the bed, and was pulling up a chair to gain access to a hidden attic space when Finney called for him to come back down.

“What’s up?” whispered Harvath from the top of the stairs.

Finney tapped his ear bud. “Morgan’s got a car inbound that matches the description we’ve got for Palmera.”

“How long?”

“Forty-five seconds, tops,” replied Finney. “We need to get in place.”

Harvath glanced over his shoulder toward the bedroom where he’d found the tiny attic space and decided it could wait.

Harvath was halfway down the stairs when he heard his friend say, “Guys, we’ve got a little problem here.”

Harvath hurried down the rest of the stairs and joined Finney near the windows at the front of the house. He was right. They did have a problem. Ronaldo Palmera wasn’t alone.

Palmera climbed out of his Toyota Land Cruiser accompanied by two additional men-neither of whom looked Mexican.

The pair were both just a hair shorter than the six-foot-tall Palmera, and had obviously been spending a lot of time out of doors. Their skin had been darkened by the sun, and while they might have been able to pass for South Americans with some people, their facial features immediately gave them away to Harvath. These two were Arabs; most likely connected to one of Palmera’s training camps.

If that was true, they posed a very serious threat. Harvath had to think fast.

One of the most popular covert methods of subduing a dangerous suspect was to hand him a ticket for a five-second ride via a Taser X26. When the electricity began coursing through the subject’s body, his neuromuscular system was impaired and he collapsed to the ground. Some screamed, but most were so locked up they just fell to the ground where their hands and feet could be Flexicuffed and a strip of duct tape could be placed across their mouth.

That was how a Taser was used against a single suspect. Three men was something else entirely.

Harvath checked the secondary cartridge holder below the Taser’s handgrip. He wasn’t surprised to find it empty. The weapon had probably been used before it had made its way into his hands. For what, he didn’t want to know.

The absence of a secondary cartridge left Harvath and his team with very few options.

Finney and Parker would do what it took to get the job done. They weren’t afraid of getting their hands dirty, but they couldn’t just pop Palmera’s buddies because they looked Arab. Though they probably were a couple of dirt bags involved in some very bad things, there were still some things Harvath wouldn’t do, and killing men who hadn’t given him a reason was one of them.