Black List

CHAPTER 38

Harvath used the wire cutters from Maggie’s truck to cut through the game fence and slip inside. It was the one angle of attack he felt certain no one would expect.

Without knowing who or what he was up against, all he could do was envision how he would carry out a similar assault. Not only were the conditions favorable weather-wise, with heavy cloud cover and low ambient light, it was a Saturday night and most of the ranch staff was in town.

If Paris and Spain were any indication, this would be another four-man team. That seemed to be confirmed by the CCTV footage, as well as by the four dead males stripped to the waist back at the water trough.

He had no idea how long they had been surveilling the ranch, but they had accurately identified the guesthouse, and Harvath had no doubt that was the target. While Maggie had originally believed that the men had left the property, Harvath wasn’t so sure. They had done their flicker test. Now they would dig in and wait to take their objective.

Other than the olive trees in back, there wasn’t any vegetation obstructing the guesthouse. There were only two doors—the one in front and the one off the kitchen—and lots of windows. If Harvath were running this operation, he wouldn’t risk sending all four men inside. He’d take his best long-range shooter and set him up in an overwatch position.

The best place was a clump of red maples about four hundred yards north of the guesthouse. From there, you could see almost the entire structure. If he had to set up a sniper, that’s exactly where he would do it.

The breeze did little to keep Harvath’s body temperature down as he raced across the exotic game enclosure. He had picked the most direct route, cutting off one of the corners and running at a diagonal. When he reached the fencing on the other side, he had to use the wire cutters again and pull back a small section in order to slip out.

He wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t come across any game. They knew he was there long before they could see him. The breeze had been at his back the entire time, pushing his scent out in front of him like an olfactory air horn.

As he swung around in a loop, a thousand yards out from the maple trees, the wind was coming at him, no longer at his back.

Using a row of tall grasses for concealment, he continued moving forward. He was in rattlesnake country and while he tried not to think about it, he wished he had some sort of night vision gear and should have asked Maggie. If the security cameras were IR equipped, they probably had other equipment, especially for hunting at night. At this point, though, it was too late. He’d have to rely on his own natural abilities.

The dry autumn grass crackled underfoot and rattled like dry cornstalks as he moved through it. He did the best he could to minimize the noise, but it resulted in little attenuation. Very soon, he was going to have to abandon the safety of concealment for a quieter path.

Halfway to the maples, he stepped out from the grass, steadied his breathing, and listened. All the sounds were as they had been when he had stepped outside the guesthouse almost two hours earlier. Had he not seen the CCTV footage and the bodies on the adjacent ranch, there would be no indication that an intense danger was lurking somewhere in the darkness.

He began moving forward again but stopped after thirty yards, when he thought he smelled something. It was only the faintest whiff, and the harder he tried to zero in on it, the more he smelled only earth and other odors.

Exhaling through his nose, he gave up and continued on. Ten yards further and the scent was delivered unmistakably on the breeze. Cigarette smoke.

Smoking was something you were never supposed to do on an op, but it was a rule that was broken all of the time. Harvath now knew there was definitely someone up in the clump of trees. Hidden away, at least four hundred yards from his target, whoever it was probably thought they could risk a quick cigarette without tipping anyone off. Most likely, he was using the soldier’s trick of cupping both hands around the cigarette in order to prevent the glowing tip from being seen, but it didn’t make any difference. Harvath knew exactly where he was.

If the man was in fact a sniper, he’d be equipped with some sort of night vision device. But with both hands cupped around his cigarette, he’d be incapable at the moment of anything more than peering through a fixed rifle scope. He wouldn’t be actively looking to either side or, more to the point, behind him.

Quickening his pace, Harvath closed the distance to the copse of maples to thirty yards, then dropped to the ground and crawled in on his belly, inch by carefully silent inch.

He was less than ten yards away when he saw the sudden bright orange glow of the coal as the smoker uncupped his hands from the cigarette and crushed it out. There was a crackle of dry leaves while the sniper adjusted himself behind his rifle and peered into his scope. From his prone position, he slowly pivoted the rifle from side to side. Barely above a whisper, he spoke into his headset microphone and said, “Gold One, you’re clear. Gold Two, also clear. Gold Three, you’re good to go.”

Harvath drew his knife. With his other hand, he felt around him for a rock just the right size. He needed only to distract the man for a second.

As his fingers closed around what he was looking for, he took a silent breath, let it out, and sprang.