Foreign Influence_ A Thriller - Brad Thor [126]
“Okay,” said Martin when they arrived at the center of the district, the only point the bombers’ paths had intersected, “what are we looking for?”
Harvath’s eyes scanned the area until they fell on one particular window. “Her,” he said.
The intelligence officer looked, but couldn’t understand what Harvath was talking about. “The ugly prostitute in the blue cover-up?”
Harvath kept moving. “What do you think her nationality is?”
“Who knows? They all dye their hair blond.”
“Look at her face.”
He did, but he still couldn’t figure it out. “With all that makeup, she could be Palestinian, or she could even be Norwegian.”
“Look at the eyes,” said Harvath.
“Filipina?”
“How about Indonesian?”
De Roon saw it. “You think that’s the controller?”
“She, he, whatever, is the only hooker in De Wallen wearing a robe and a scarf in the middle of summer.”
De Roon understood that Harvath meant it was probably a man trying to disguise himself as a woman and watched as the American pulled his pistol.
Harvath kept the weapon hidden behind his leg as he approached the window. The man inside had been gyrating to music that couldn’t be heard out on the street. He stopped as he noticed Harvath’s approach.
The subtle change in the man’s demeanor wasn’t lost on Harvath. He kept walking forward and said to de Roon, “Tell the snipers to get ready to fire.”
Either the man in the window was an incredible lip reader or he saw on Harvath’s face that his cover had been blown.
Out of the blue, he lunged for his purse and that’s when Harvath raised his pistol and fired.
The glass of the window erupted and people began screaming and running in every direction.
Harvath took the steps up to the little private room two at a time and kicked the door open. The figure with the scarf around its neck lay dead, a pool of blood rolling across the sloped wooden floor toward the front of the room.
Behind the man’s left ear, Harvath saw a thick, ropey white scar. “Take them down,” Harvath said over his radio. “Take all of the bombers down now.”
He looked up to locate de Roon and as he did, a burst of traffic came over the radio. Less than a second later, an enormous detonation shook the entire red-light district as a roiling fireball exploded into the night sky.
CHAPTER 61
Leaving de Roon’s men to process the corpse and secure the scene, Harvath raced in the direction of the explosion.
“What the hell happened?” he screamed over his radio.
“One bomber detonated before we could take a shot,” a voice replied.
“What about the others?”
“All neutralized.”
Harvath ran against a sea of people who were all fleeing the bombing. Klaxons wailed in the distance and a heavy pall of dust and smoke hung in the air. It was like 9/11 in miniature. The force of the blast had shattered every window he passed. Shards of broken glass blanketed the street. As he got closer, he began to develop a sense of how bad the attack had been.
The walking wounded stumbled past him, unsure of where to go, knowing only that they had to get away, they had to get out of the area.
Then came the people who couldn’t move. They sat or lay near walls, and despite the bravery of a few Good Samaritans, there weren’t enough hands to administer aid, so the wounded stayed where they were, waiting for help. Many were crying and in extreme pain. There was blood everywhere. Then came the bodies.
Harvath had no idea how much explosive the bomber had been carrying, but its impact was unbelievable. It was one of the worst scenes of carnage Harvath had ever witnessed. The dead and dying were scattered everywhere. Some had even been tossed into the air and were hanging from signs or out of second- and third-story windows.
The buildings were charred and the stench of burnt human flesh was overwhelming. It took Harvath a moment to get his bearings and when he did, he was overcome with a sense of dread. The bombing had happened almost directly in front of the window Nikki Rodriguez had been in.
He attempted