Black List (40 page)
It was an agonizing process, and Harvath was tempted to skip right to the end, until one ad in particular caught his eye.
Seconds went by. He didn’t blink, he didn’t breathe; it felt like even his heart had stopped beating. Then everything started up again in a rush.
It was Carlton’s ad. There was no question. It had been posted four days ago. That meant two days after the attack on him in Paris and a day before the attack in Spain. It had to be the Old Man. Even the burn code he used was right on the money. No matter how badly he was ever tortured, Harvath didn’t want to believe that he’d give up their ultimate code, the code that existed just between the two of them.
Nevertheless, it troubled Harvath that a personal ad had been posted on the very same day that he had thought he’d been conversing with Carlton over Skype.
Damn it,
he thought to himself. This entire thing was so hard to make sense of. He was starting to second-guess everything. This was exactly the kind of doubt that he and the Old Man loved to sow in America’s enemies. He didn’t like that the shoe was on the other foot.
There were three status levels that Carlton could have conveyed in his transmission, coded X, Y, or Z. Z meant charcoal, the absolute worst; that he was completely burned and Harvath shouldn’t try to find or contact him. But that wasn’t what Carlton had transmitted. He had selected Y—situation severe, but he was okay and attempting to regroup. Harvath decided that for now he’d play along.
Making sure to mirror the language used in the other male-to-male ads he had read through, he crafted a careful, short response:
Really turned on by your ad. Am going to be in town on business. Would love to hook up.
Harvath then closed with the phrase he and Carlton had devised so that he would know it had come from him:
Let’s do dinner, but not sushi. Am only into meat eaters.
With that, Harvath had logged out of the dating site and had signed off of the computer he was working on, and exited the FedEx office.
“So?” Gretchen Casey asked as Harvath slid back into her car. “Any news?”
Harvath took a moment to gather his thoughts before answering. Finally, he turned to her and with a reserved smile said, “I think, at least as of four days ago, he was still alive.”
Casey turned her high-wattage smile right back at him. “That’s fantastic. If he slipped the hit they put on him, he would have gone right to ground and there’s no way they’d be able to track a man like him.”
“I hope you’re right,” Harvath had replied.
That had been more than ten hours ago. Now they were in Virginia, Harvath was lying in the Suburban’s cargo area, and Casey was unbuttoning her shirt. It was time for them to get it on.
B
ecause they didn’t have the manpower to devote to a car that could follow Bremmer from the Pentagon to his daughter’s field hockey game, there’d been discussion about the best place to lay their trap.
Rhodes had been in favor of waiting in the parking area and taking him there. Harvath disagreed. Even though this was an “away” game, there was still the potential of his being recognized by other parents. If they saw him pull into the lot, only to turn around and leave with a stranger, it could set off alarm bells. At the very least, someone might say something to Mrs. Bremmer, and Harvath needed her to stay put.
Rhodes did raise one point that Harvath agreed with. From what they’d been able to learn from reading Molly’s Facebook posts, her father was chronically late to all of her matches. Rhodes used that as a selling point. There was probably a better than equal chance that Bremmer would be late. If so, the issue of other parents being in the parking area might not be a concern.
Having been a high school athlete himself, Harvath knew Bremmer wouldn’t be the only father likely to be late to the game. They couldn’t stage in the parking area and hope to take him down without notice. Too much could go wrong. The fact that Bremmer would probably be in a hurry to get to his daughter’s game, though, worked to their advantage.
If Bremmer was in a hurry, he’d probably take the most direct route from his office and he’d be focused more on getting to his destination than on what was going on around him.
In almost any other situation, pulling up next to him as he got out of his car, throwing a hood over his head, and dragging him off in the Suburban would have been fastest, cleanest, and most effective. Today, they were going to have to be a little less fast and a whole lot less clean, but as long they were effective, the ends would justify the means.
After scouting the area where the match would take place, they left Rhodes behind to set up her part of the operation. Casey and Harvath then thoroughly scouted two additional locations they’d need, before driving back out to the highway and the exit they were confident Bremmer would be taking.
No sooner had Harvath shut off the engine than Casey restarted the argument they had been having since she had first heard Bremmer’s name.
“It completely escapes me how you think we’re going to go along with this.”
“It’s the only way it works, Gretch,” Harvath replied.
“The hell it does.”
He understood why she was angry. If the situation were reversed, he might feel the same way. “About Rhodes…,” he said, changing the subject.
Casey knew what he was referring to. “She’ll do it,” she replied. “She won’t like it, but she’ll do it.”
“You’ve got to trust me on this.”
“Trusting you and liking what you’ve asked us to do, though, are two different things.”
“I know,” said Harvath and he meant it. He respected Casey. She was a highly accomplished and highly skilled operator. Whether in spite of those facts or because of them, he knew he was going to have to keep an eye on her. If she changed course on him, it wouldn’t be the first time an operator had decided their view of how to handle the situation was the best one. Harvath had done it more times than he could count.
He succeeded in changing the subject and they made small talk until
one of the clean cell phones Casey had brought with her vibrated and several MMS messages came in with pictures attached. She scrolled through and then handed the phone to Harvath. Molly and her mother had arrived. Rhodes had taken pictures not only of them but also of their vehicle. Everything, so far, was on track. Checking his watch, he decided it was time to get ready.
Removing the wireless entry fob, Harvath left the key in the ignition, and he and Casey climbed out of the vehicle. After removing the license plate from the front bumper, they walked around to the back.
Triggering the hatch, he counted how long it took to open and then hopped up into the cargo area. Once he was in, Casey closed it and stood by as Harvath tested using the fob to open it from inside. Satisfied, he gave her the thumbs-up and she returned to the driver’s seat.
Because of their position, they were stuck with an obstructed view of the highway. There wouldn’t be much time between identifying Chuck Bremmer’s vehicle and having to pull out after him. Checking her appearance in the rearview mirror, Casey adjusted her shirt.
“I’m not going to have to remind you to smile and turn on the charm, am I?” he asked, from the back, where he was lying out of sight.
“If he’s like any other man I’ve ever met, it’s not my smile he’s going to be looking at.”
“Good point,” Harvath replied. “Don’t forget your speed, okay?”
“How did I ever survive without you?” she snarked. “I know how fast I have to be going to get the airbags to deploy. Don’t worry about it.”
“Sorry. Just give me a heads-up so I can brace for impact.”
“I’ll try to remember.”
Harvath shook his head and smiled. She didn’t like being told what to do and what to remember. He couldn’t blame her. He was the same way. He began to say something else, but she cut him off. “I can’t hear you,” she said, “I’m watching the road.”
Harvath smiled again and contented himself with waiting. Ten minutes later, Casey said, “Contact,” as she tossed her binoculars into the passenger seat, and started the engine.
He didn’t like being positioned in the cargo area. He would much rather have been behind the wheel, but it had been his idea, and it was the
right way to carry out their plan. Nevertheless, he didn’t like the feeling that he wasn’t 100 percent in control. “Remember,” he cautioned, “watch your speed and let me know when to brace.”
“Want to take a stab at what’s worse than a backseat driver?”
“I get it. Just remember your precious cargo back here.”
“I know you can’t see,” she replied, “but I’m rolling my eyes up here.” Before Harvath could respond, she added, “He’s exiting now.”
“We’re sure it’s him?”
“Stand by.”
The seconds ticked past. When Bremmer’s vehicle hit the top of the exit ramp and turned right, Casey said, “We’ve got him. That’s him,” and pulled out onto the road.
It was a rural thoroughfare in suburban Virginia. Thick-trunked trees and grassy fields were interspersed with cookie-cutter housing developments. Based on how fast they were traveling, Harvath tried to picture where they were and how soon they’d arrive at their assault point. He was tempted to ask Casey, but she needed to focus on driving, so he kept the question to himself. The problem, though, was that she was continuing to accelerate, and even from where he lay, he could tell they were going well above the speed limit.
“What the hell is going on?” he finally asked.
“I guess Daddy doesn’t want to disappoint his little girl.”
“How fast are we going?”
“You don’t want to know,” Casey replied and then added, “The way he’s driving, I don’t know if he’s going to stop when he gets to the stop sign. Should I pit him?”
Pitting, slang for the Pittman Maneuver, referred to turning the front quarter of your vehicle into the rear quarter of the target vehicle in order to cause them to spin out. It was an effective move, but it could also be deadly if the target vehicle hit a tree, crossed into oncoming traffic, or went into a ditch and flipped. Harvath didn’t want to risk it. “No,” he said from the cargo area, “don’t pit him.”
“Then what do you want me to do? It doesn’t look like he’s slowing down.”
“He’ll stop.”
“I don’t think so. I can already make out the stop sign, and if I can see it, so can he.”
“How much distance do we have between us and him?”
“Maybe six car lengths,” said Casey.
“He’s not going to overtly risk a ticket. He’ll do a California stop. He’ll slow down and look left and right and then step on the gas again. You need to hit him before he accelerates.”
“I’ll try.”
Harvath pressed himself up against the third row of seats and got ready for impact. Casey gunned the heavy SUV, only to step on the brakes almost immediately as she tried to time her arrival at the intersection for just the right moment. With the speed at which Bremmer was moving, Harvath sensed the calculation was extremely difficult.
He felt the shudder of the antilock brakes kicking in as Casey made another massive correction in the vehicle’s speed. Five seconds later, she depressed the accelerator, ramped up speed, and shouted, “Brace!”
C
olonel Chuck Bremmer had done exactly what Harvath had said. He’d rolled the stop sign. Gretchen Casey had also done what Harvath had said and had timed her impact perfectly.
The SUV struck the rear of Bremmer’s car just as it entered the intersection. The impact was hard enough to pop open the lid of Bremmer’s trunk and give him a good jolt but, to Casey’s credit, not so hard that it deployed her airbags.
Slamming on his brakes, Bremmer came to a complete stop in the middle of the road.
“The lid of his trunk released,” said Casey, as she put the SUV in park. “He’s getting out. I don’t see any other vehicles headed toward us.”
“Roger that,” said Harvath.
As he heard her open her door, he counted to five and then activated the rear hatch. Even before he had slipped from the cargo area, he could already hear Bremmer yelling.
“You idiot! What the hell is the matter with you? I could have been killed!” he screamed as he leapt from his car. When he saw what he was yelling at, another part of his anatomy kicked in and his tone instantly changed.