Black List (48 page)
“Blue Sand!” Harvath said.
Nicholas nodded. “And guess which location ended up being selected?”
“Camp Williams. Also known as Site Blue.”
“Precisely. There, the NSA began its two-billion-dollar construction
project. Spy Center covers more than one million square feet of data storage, technical support, and administrative space—five times the size of the U.S. Capitol. It includes its own power stations, backup generators, and massive stores of fuel and water.
“But here’s the most dramatic feature. According to Caroline’s notes, the Comprehensive National Cyber-security Data Center isn’t just about collecting and storing data. Its real purpose is to be the nucleus of the brand-new, government-controlled Internet. So, in answer to your question,
Why now?
, it’s because ATS is ready. Finally, all the technology exists. The only thing they need to make the change—”
“Is a crisis,” Harvath said, finishing his sentence for him, “explosive enough to justify it.”
T
hat was it
, Harvath thought to himself. It didn’t matter
how
they planned to do it, all that mattered was
what
they were planning to do, and now all of it made sense to him.
When the Internet was collapsed, it was going to be deadly—airplanes and trains would collide, the power grid would shut down, banks and financial services would fail, utilities and emergency services would grind to a halt and so would the delivery of fuel, food, and medicine. Tens of thousands of people, if not hundreds of thousands or even millions, would die. And while society crumbled, Craig Middleton and the board of directors from ATS would sit on their secure, well-stocked 200-acre estate in Virginia and ride out the storm. Harvath, though, wasn’t about to let that happen.
Even if he stopped the attack from happening, the political fallout would be off the charts. The board of directors at ATS read like a who’s who of the most powerful in government. Politicking and diplomacy had never been his thing. That was an area in which the Old Man excelled. Which reminded him of something.
Turning to Nicholas, he pointed at the wall of screens and asked, “Can you open up a connection to the Net on one of those for me?”
The little man climbed into Schroeder’s chair and got to work. A few moments later he said, “Got it.”
Harvath gave him the URL he wanted him to plug in. Nicholas paused and looked over his shoulder. “Seriously?”
“Long story. Just do it, please.”
Nicholas turned back around and did as he was told. When he had navigated to the page, he pushed back from the desk and surrendered the system to Harvath.
Harvath rolled his chair over, grabbed the mouse, and began to click through the ads until he got to the Old Man’s. There was a response! He couldn’t believe it. The response invited him into a private chat section. Harvath decided to follow the link.
Based on the wording, he had zero doubt that it had been written by the Old Man. It was him and he was alive. There was also a phone number.
Harvath had to assume it was a burner, a chat-and-chuck that the Old Man could dump if and when he needed to. The question was, was ATS on to it? Would calling the Old Man lead their goons here to Schroeder’s loft?
Harvath thought about going downstairs, getting in the Suburban, and driving somewhere to make the call, but if someone was listening and trying to track him, they’d probably use one of the many CCTV cameras in the city to pinpoint his vehicle and follow it when he drove back.
On the other hand, according to Schroeder, he was the only one Middleton had tasked with tracking down Harvath and the Old Man. There wasn’t an army of analysts at ATS working on it around the clock.
It made sense. Middleton was all about compartmentalization. The less his staff knew, the better. Schroeder had proven capable enough. He had tracked Harvath to Paris, Spain, and Texas—not to mention all the other operators he had tracked. Roping more employees in, regardless of how little he told them, would only end up risking exposure for Middleton. Harvath decided it was worth it.
On the third ring, Reed Carlton picked up the phone. After a quick back-and-forth to establish their bona fides, the Old Man said, “I can’t tell you how good it is to hear your voice.”
“Yours too,” Harvath replied. “We need to meet. There’s a lot I need to fill you in on.”
“Are you in town?”
“I am. How about you?”
“No. I needed some fresh air,” said Carlton.
“That’s probably a good idea. Why don’t I come to you?”
The Old Man agreed and once their call was complete, he transmitted the specifics.
∗ ∗ ∗
An hour and a half later, the two men were reunited in a tavern parking lot, not far from Tommy Banks’ barn apartment. Carlton wrapped his arms around Harvath and gave him a huge hug. “I
thought
you were dead.”
“I thought the same,” Harvath said, hugging him back, happy beyond words that the Old Man was still alive. His mood, though, shifted when he let go of Carlton and shared, “It happened so fast. There was nothing I could’ve done for Riley.”
The Old Man shook his head. “We’re going to make those bastards pay. I just wish we had more help.”
“We’re not completely alone,” he replied. Removing his flashlight, he cupped his hand partly over the lens and gave it two quick flashes.
Harvath had dropped off the two Athena Team members a half mile up the road and they had circled back. Casey appeared out of the darkness first, followed by Rhodes, who was carrying a long nylon case that contained a LaRue PredatAR rifle outfitted with a night vision scope that Strieber had brought along on his return trip “just in case.”
The women had never met Carlton in person. After shaking hands, he suggested they continue their conversation back at the farm. Harvath agreed and they climbed into their two vehicles. Once the Old Man had pulled out onto the road, Harvath fell in a safe distance behind him.
Back at the farm, Banks kept watch over Martin Vignon above the barn, while Carlton made coffee for the team in the kitchen of the farmhouse. Tommy told him not to worry and assured him he would straighten everything out with his landlords when they returned from their trip.
Harvath filled Carlton in on everything that had happened, and then Carlton took his turn. He began by explaining why he had sent Riley to
Paris. A French banker had been helping several rogue nations circumvent financial sanctions and had also begun assisting in arms transactions. There was a fear that the CIA station in Paris might have been compromised, so Carlton had been asked to send in his own team. Before he could task Riley and Harvath with the assignment, though, the night of the long knives had come.
The Old Man walked him through everything else that had taken place. In his inimitable fashion, he revealed only those facts he thought Harvath needed to know and kept the rest to himself. Casey and Rhodes sat quietly and listened, taking in all the details.
After he had finished and they had fired questions back and forth about ATS, Carlton looked at Harvath and said, “You’re right about the political fallout. An accusation alone, without some sort of corpus delicti, isn’t going to be enough to bring them down.”
“What about what’s on the flash drive?”
“Even if I had read through all of the material, I don’t think I’d want to bet all the marbles on it.”
“What about testimony?” Harvath asked. “You’ve got Vignon. We’ve got Schroeder, and we can roll up Bremmer at any time.”
“All three of whom were kidnapped by us at some point in this process and will refuse to testify on grounds of self-incrimination. They’ll only talk with some sort of immunity deal. To get that, we’ll have to go to either the President or the Attorney General and give them something substantial—something tangible and incriminating.”
“That’s all well and good, but we don’t have that kind of time. This attack is about to happen, and you know what? I don’t give a damn about political repercussions. I want to prevent this attack. We can worry about the fallout later.”
Carlton took a sip of coffee, the gears turning inside his mind. “I agree. No matter what we gave to the President or the DOJ, because of the players involved, they’re going to make damn sure they’ve investigated this up one side and down the other before they make a single move.”
“In other words, paralysis.”
“No, not paralysis. We’re talking about political and career radiation from any misstep or mistake. I think exceedingly meticulous caution is
what the watchwords will be. But you’re right. It’s going to move very slowly. They’re going to do everything by the book, dot every
i
and cross every
t.
”
“And that’s fine. The bigger the case they can build, the better. All I care about, though, is disrupting the attack.”
The Old Man took another sip of coffee. No one spoke. The only sound was the ticking of a Regulator grandfather clock out in the hallway.
Finally, Carlton looked and him and said, “What do you want to do?”
Harvath didn’t need to formulate an answer. He knew exactly what he wanted to do. “I want to go in. Tonight. Now.”
M
ike Strieber was a godsend. Flying people back at night, he had taken the initiative to bring along the new rifle Rhodes was using, as well as night vision equipment for Harvath. It was part of the multiple Storm cases’ worth of gear Harvath, Casey, and Rhodes had loaded into the Suburban before leaving D.C. to meet up with Reed Carlton. Now, as Harvath made his way through the darkness of the wooded, northern edge of the ATS estate, he was very appreciative.
Schroeder had sketched out what he knew about the estate, but it was Vignon, the security chief, who really provided them with the best overall view. Of course, it was under extreme duress, but there was enough there to help in planning a halfway decent assault.
Most helpful were the anticipated personnel levels, what their backgrounds were, and how likely they were to engage an intruder they viewed as a threat. Vignon didn’t mince words, especially when it came to the last issue. The estate security agents were highly skilled and were authorized to kill any hostile intruders. As Harvath wasn’t pedaling up on a bike selling magazine subscriptions, he had no question which category he’d be placed in if they caught him. The key was not to get caught.
As he picked his way through the woods, Riley Turner popped into his mind. He couldn’t allow himself to think about her, not now. He
needed to focus. Placing her back inside the iron box he kept in that far, dusty corner of his mind, he slammed the lid shut and locked it. There’d be time to come to terms with Riley’s death; now wasn’t it. Shifting his attention to what lay ahead of him, he went back over everything he had been told about the ATS compound.
According to Vignon, they didn’t use dogs on the estate. That was a big relief. But according to Schroeder, and this was seconded by Vignon, they did use multiple layers of highly sensitive intrusion detection systems. Luckily, Schroeder had helped install and centralize them. From his loft back in D.C., with Nicholas supervising his every move, Schroeder was able to create dead zones through which Harvath could slip and approach the main building. He also helped their radios pierce the signals blackout that normally blanketed the estate.
When Harvath came across the first guard patrol, right about the distance Vignon had assured him they would be, he quietly alerted Rhodes to their position. “Overwatch. This is Norseman. Do you copy? Over.”
“This is Overwatch,” she replied. “I copy you, Norseman. Over.”
“I’ve got two guards on foot just east of my position. Can you see them? Over.”
“Negative, Norseman. Stand by.”
Seconds passed before Rhodes came back over Harvath’s earpiece and said. “Norseman, this is Overwatch. I have them now. Over.”
Mike Strieber had brought along one of his high-end M4-style rifles, which had been zeroed in with a powerful night vision scope. It wasn’t lost on Harvath that he was launching an operation very similar to the one ATS had launched against him in Texas. Reflecting on this, he had warned Rhodes to be careful not to get ambushed.