Foreign Influence_ A Thriller - Brad Thor [86]
Aside from a few people who could see what was going on, the Europeans were a lost cause. Rather than fight the Islamists in their midst, they chose to commit cultural suicide. They starved their law-abiding citizens with high taxes in order to gorge an invading army on massive social programs. Europe’s steadfast devotion to the failed religion of multiculturalism and political correctness not only emboldened its enemies, but encouraged more attacks and was hastening its downfall.
The other thing that troubled Harvath was the knowledge that with each attack in Europe, the United States would be focusing more and more of its limited resources abroad. That invariably meant less attention to what was going on at home. Sooner or later, America wouldn’t have enough eyes on the ball in its own backyard, and that’s when its enemies would strike.
“What U.S. cities have been targeted?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit,” spat the Troll.
“I’m telling you the truth,” Sterk insisted. “They’re playing the American attacks close to the vest.”
“How about when?” asked Harvath.
“After the bombings in Europe have all been carried out.”
“How many are left?”
Sterk was silent.
Harvath grabbed her throat and clamped down. “How many?”
“Two,” she finally coughed. “Please. I can’t breathe.”
“Where?”
“Please, I can’t—”
Harvath squeezed harder. “Where?”
“London and Amsterdam.”
“Where in London and Amsterdam?”
“Piccadilly and the Dam Square.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow night. Now, please. My throat—”
Harvath dug his fingers in. “How do we stop them?”
“You can’t. They’re fully operational. The cells have gone dark.”
“The Brits need to shut down Piccadilly and the Dutch need to shut down Dam Square,” said the Troll.
Sterk could no longer speak. She shook her head.
Harvath relaxed his grasp.
“It won’t work,” the woman said as she gasped for air.
“Why not?”
“Both cells have alternate targets. No one but them knows what they are. If you shut down Piccadilly and the Dam Square, they’ll just move to the second location on their list.”
There was more that Harvath wanted to know, but Carlton needed this information right away. He stepped to the other side of the warehouse and pulled out his phone.
CHAPTER 40
CHICAGO
Vaughan and Davidson both had their hands tied behind their backs and their ankles bound to the legs of the chairs they were sitting on.
They were in a dank room somewhere in the basement. Their pockets had been turned inside out and all of their belongings were now laid out on a table.
One of the men from the alley did all of the talking. “You are police?” he said.
“You’re damn right we are,” stated Davidson, “and you’re in a lot of fucking trouble, my friend.”
The man walked over to Davidson and punched him so hard in the face, his chair rocked onto its rear legs and almost fell over.
He then looked at Vaughan. “Tell me what you are doing here.”
The pain of having his wrist broken was nothing compared to his conviction that these men were up to something very bad and had nothing to lose. He felt certain they wouldn’t think twice about killing them. “You have taken two Chicago police officers hostage,” he said. “This entire building is going to be crawling with police very soon.”
The man drew back his fist and hit Vaughan even harder than he had hit Davidson. The Marine was knocked so far backward that his chair fell over and even having his arms tied behind his back couldn’t stop his head from cracking against the cement floor.
Immediately, two of the other men stepped forward, picked his chair back up, and returned to where they had been standing.
The man bent down and looked into Vaughan’s eyes. He was so close the Marine could smell his foul breath. “Back in my country, I spent ten years as an interrogator in one of the worst prisons you could ever imagine. My colleagues and I laughed at your Abu Ghraib