Full Black - Brad Thor [48]
The team all nodded. “He may still be dressed like this,” continued Harvath, “or they might have made him change clothes. Just remember his face.”
Once again the team nodded as Harvath added, “And don’t forget, you take him down just as hard as you do the others. If you have to Tase him, Tase him. He’s a big boy. He can handle it. The other cell members have to believe he’s one of them. Got it?”
A chorus of “Roger that” swept through the truck and Harvath turned his computer back around and powered it down.
The team went over their satellite footage of the area once more. They discussed points of ingress and egress, as well as plans B, C, and D.
When they had finished, Schiller opened one of the cardboard boxes. He lifted out what looked like two thin plastic briefcases with a shiny, metal scorpion logo in the middle, and handed them to Harvath.
“What are these?” Harvath asked, opening one of them up.
“Stinger Spike Systems.”
It looked like a collapsible metal wall bracket for a makeup mirror, except that it was studded with very sharp, stainless-steel spikes. Harvath had seen law enforcement agencies lay them down across roadways to take out the tires of vehicles in high-speed chases.
“Just in case we need to buy a little more time,” Schiller added.
It was a good idea and Harvath was glad the assault team leader had thought to bring them along.
All that was left to do was to launch the assault. Harvath and Schiller had briefly gone back and forth on the timing. They had debated hitting the safe house just after sunset in hopes of catching the cell members in their Maghrib prayers, but it was a very limited five-to-ten-minute window, and there was no telling exactly when they would start their prayers.
There was also the issue of when a moving truck would legitimately show up to unload. Late afternoon was believable, and though early-evening moves did happen from time to time, they were out of the ordinary and would therefore attract attention. Schiller’s assaulters were already amped up and pulling on the leash. Harvath decided that the team would move now.
First in would be the assaulter Schiller had assigned to cover the back of the building, a former Green Beret named Pat Murphy. Murphy grabbed a small backpack and hopped out of the truck. He would repark the other car and approach through the wooded area behind the apartment complex where he would take up his position.
As he climbed out of the truck, one of the other assaulters leaned out the window and said, “God help us if there’s an Irish bar between here and there.”
Murphy flipped the man the finger, shouldered his pack, and began walking. Harvath watched as he crossed the parking area and disappeared around the corner.
Reaching down into the gym bag, Harvath turned on his radio. Twenty-two minutes later, they heard from Murphy. “Phoenix Seven, in place,” he stated. “Bang a gong.”
That was the all-clear they had been waiting for. It was time to take down the safe house.
CHAPTER 23
Deserted streets always made Harvath nervous. Over his career, he’d been ambushed a handful of times and the scene had always looked the same. People and even animals seemed to be able to sense when something bad was about to happen. More often than not, either the bad guys had told the people to hide inside or the people had noticed the bad guys were up to something and therefore quickly made themselves scarce. Whatever the reason for this block being devoid of any activity, Harvath didn’t care. It just gave him a bad feeling.
“Pretty quiet,” he said as they neared the apartment complex.
“Too quiet,” replied Schiller, who covertly banged on the cabin bulkhead behind him to let his assaulters in back know that they were rolling up on the target.
Harvath scanned the windows and rooftops for any sign of a spotter, but saw nothing.