Foreign Influence_ A Thriller - Brad Thor [106]
Buildings whipped beneath the belly of the helo as it rapidly closed the distance with their destination. Harvath had been surprised by the central London location. It wasn’t that the cell’s controller couldn’t be fully integrated into British culture—the wave of British doctor attacks had proven that—it was just incongruous with what Harvath’s experience had been. Normally, these guys used ethnic neighborhoods as cover. There, they could blend in and disappear. The neighborhoods were difficult for non-Muslims to penetrate and the close-knit, often ethnic makeup of their inhabitants provided an unending supply of lookouts and human trip wires.
That said, only hours earlier, Harvath had cautioned Bob Ashford not to underestimate their enemy, and now he reminded himself to heed his own advice. Expecting the controller to be holed up in some blighted Muslim neighborhood sitting on a carpet drinking tea while he coordinated bombings was sloppy thinking on his part. He was trained better than that. This guy could be a banker or a professor at the London School of Economics for all he knew.
As the Lynx banked again and raced up the Thames, Robert Ashford’s voice came over Harvath’s headset. “We’ve lost the signal.”
CHAPTER 50
CHICAGO
Just try to breathe,” said John Vaughan. “In and out. Nice and easy. You’re going to be okay. Just relax and breathe.”
“Jesus, it hurts,” said Levy. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”
“Focus on the sound of my voice, Josh. Listen to me. You’re going to be okay. We’re going to figure out a way to get out of here.”
“They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?”
“If they were going to kill us, they’d have done it already.”
“Either way,” added Davidson, “I’m a dead man. If they don’t kill me, my wife will. How many days have we been here?”
All three were bound and hoods had been placed over their heads. As a Marine, Vaughan was the only one who had been trained to withstand captivity and interrogation. He knew that most of it was a mental game, and that meant that he had to help Davidson and Levy get through this.
“We’ve only been here about twenty-four hours, give or take an hour or two.”
“That’s it,” said Davidson. “My marriage is definitely over. My wife is never going to believe I was taken hostage.”
Vaughan kept his attention on Levy. “Josh, I want you to describe to me how you’re feeling.”
Levy took a moment to form his assessment. “My shoulder hurts like hell, and I have a lot of pain in my chest. My back hurts and so does my neck.”
“Welcome to what it feels like to have been shot.”
“But I was shot in the shoulder, not in the chest.”
“Your torso absorbed a lot of blunt force trauma. You’re going to feel it everywhere.”
“I have tightness and trouble breathing.”
“That probably has more to do with anxiety than anything else.”
“He’s right, Josh,” said Davidson. “Try not to think about how long it has been since you last clipped your nails.”
“Up yours.”
As Levy and Davidson started laughing, Vaughan felt relieved. They needed to keep their spirits up.
Ever the wiseacre, Davidson said, “Hey, do you guys know what the only thing in the world shorter than a Muslim terrorist’s dick is? His to do list.”
There was another roll of quiet laughter, but the elevated mood didn’t last.
“What do you think they’re going to do with us?” Levy asked.
“We gave them everything,” replied Vaughan, “so I don’t know that there’s any other information they could squeeze out of us.”
“Which reminds me,” said Davidson. “I thought you big, tough Marines were supposed to be able to hold out indefinitely under interrogation.”
“No one can hold out indefinitely, Paul. That’s just in the movies.”
“But we told them everything,” said Levy. “What possible value could