Act of War

CHAPTER 33

The flight to Nashville would take a little over an hour and the FBI would have a car waiting at the airport for them to use. Harvath had requested something with a big trunk, as well as rope, plastic sheeting, and several other things Director Erickson would probably rather not have known about. Harvath also asked him to arrange a safe house, preferably in the middle of nowhere, with lots of acreage and no neighbors.

He had watched the man write everything down and was sure that as soon as the instructions had been relayed to the field office in Tennessee, Erickson would burn the list. He was a decent man who played by the rules. The way Harvath handled business obviously made him uncomfortable. Not because he couldn’t stomach violence, but because he believed in the rule of law and the concept that Americans should hold themselves to a higher standard than their enemies.

It was a noble notion and one that Harvath wanted to live by as well. The trouble was, it was something that no nation could afford to cling to without having a Plan B. When your enemies succeed because they aren’t constrained by rules, at some point you have to either accept defeat, or tear up the rulebook. Harvath had pretty much played by the rules while he was in the Secret Service. The President at that time had joked that it was like staking a pit bull to a chain in the backyard. No matter how mean he looked or how loud he barked, there were some people who wouldn’t be deterred.

Take that same pit bull, though, unchain him and let him go, and it was a different dynamic altogether. The pit bull might bite the wrong person someday, but if he was well-trained enough, you wouldn’t lose sleep over something that might happen. You actually might sleep much better knowing he was on duty. That was how President Jack Rutledge had seen Harvath then and how President Paul Porter saw him now.

Onboard the plane, Harvath and his team stowed their gear, chose their seats, and buckled up. They had been given priority clearance for takeoff.

Once the plush Citation Longitude was airborne, Harvath accessed the pressurized luggage compartment behind the lavatory and retrieved his load-out bag. He wanted to clean and check the weapons as they went over what the plan was going to be.

“And if he’s not there?” Sloane said as she broke down the LaRue rifle. “What then?”

“Then we’re going to let ourselves in, take a look around, and let ourselves out.”

“What about wiring the room?” Chase asked.

Harvath shook his head. “I don’t have that kind of equipment. The Bureau is sending one of its top guys, but he won’t get in until later tonight.”

“It had better be a top guy,” Sloane interjected. “If he doesn’t do a first-class job, and Deng finds something, that’s it. We’re blown.”

“I agree. That’s why I’d rather follow him and see where he leads us.”

“Understood,” Chase replied as he tried the action on Harvath’s Remington. “How long are we going to let him walk around before we grab him?”

It was a difficult question. Time was a double-edged sword. The longer they followed Deng, the more they might learn from him. The flip side was that the longer they followed him, the greater their odds of losing him. The biggest factor, though, was that every minute that they weren’t interrogating Deng was one minute the terrorists were closer to pulling off their attack. Usually, as the clock was winding down, you wanted to score as soon as you could. Putting up some Hail Mary right at the buzzer wasn’t an act of professionalism; it was an act of desperation. Sometimes, though, a Hail Mary was all you had.

Harvath didn’t intend to let it come to that. “We’re going to watch him for as long as we can. I’ll let you know when it’s time to roll him up.”

That answer seemed to satisfy Chase and the team went back to checking the equipment before restowing it in the load-out bag.

Because Sloane and Chase hadn’t had to share a plane back home with a pissy ambassador, they had slept a lot better than Harvath. Despite a little bit of jet lag, they announced they were ready to hit the ground running.

When the Longitude touched down, it taxied to the general aviation area of Nashville International and a local Signature Flight Support FBO. An impressive array of high-end jets was lined up outside. Nashville hosted a lot more than just country music. The city was booming in high tech, biotech, health care, publishing, and finance. Harvath knew more than a few Tier 1 military operators, as well as intel people, who had purchased homes and land in the Volunteer State.

Inside the Signature building, an envelope had been left at the desk under one of Harvath’s aliases. Opening it, he found a set of keys for a blue Ford Taurus sedan parked outside.

The team exited the building and Harvath popped the trunk. Inside were all the items he had requested. Pulling out his phone, he texted the Old Man that they had landed and that everything was a go.

Next, he called the FBI agent whose card had been left in the envelope. Special Agent Dennis Urda had been designated the team’s local liaison.

While the FBI’s main Tennessee field office was in Memphis, it operated satellite offices, referred to as “resident agencies,” in other cities, such as Clarksville, Cookeville, Columbia, and Nashville.

Urda was the number-two agent in the Nashville office, and he answered his phone on the second ring. “Special Agent Urda.” He spoke with a slight New York accent.

“Agent Urda, this is Scot Harvath.”

“Did you find the car?”

“Yes. We just arrived at the airport. Thank you. Can you give me a situation report?”

The Residence Inn by Marriott in Cool Springs was situated in a mixed-use office park. In addition to high-rise office buildings, there were single-story buildings that housed retail businesses, including bars, restaurants, and a yoga studio.

When Harvath had insisted the FBI pull back their surveillance, he had agreed that they could covertly set up in any of the office buildings, but he didn’t want them in the parking lot or the hotel itself. He had also insisted that none of the agents move around the area on foot. Experienced operatives could smell law enforcement from a mile away. Unfortunately, pulling back had limited what the FBI could see, especially at night.

“Lots of what we would consider normal hotel traffic,” said Urda. “No obvious signs of our guy.”

“What about his room?”

“The TV is on, the Do Not Disturb is still on the door, and the drapes are still pulled.”

“Okay,” Harvath replied. “You’ve got my cell number. Call me if anything changes. We’re headed your way now.”

Urda agreed to call Harvath if anything changed and they ended their call.

Turning to Sloane and Chase, Harvath said, “No matter what happens, we absolutely take this guy alive. Understood?”

His two operatives nodded and Harvath signaled for everyone to get in the car. As they did, a sense of foreboding swept over him. He silently hoped that they had made the right decision by coming to Nashville.