Black List

CHAPTER 58

As they drove past the bright brick house in the Capitol Hill neighborhood, it appeared that Chuck Bremmer had kept his word. There was no sign of the surveillance team that he had following Kurt Schroeder. At the end of the next block they found his vehicle parked exactly where the Colonel had told them it would be.

Harvath checked his watch. “Ten minutes,” he said to Rhodes and Casey as he looped around the block, getting a feel for the neighborhood before settling on a place to park. Both of the ladies wanted to go in with him, but he needed someone to stay with the truck, especially if Schroeder tried to run. Harvath decided to take Rhodes and have Casey stand by outside.

Bremmer had given them everything he could remember about Schroeder and where he was going to be this evening. Without having the file in front of him, there was only so much he could bring to mind. It would have to be good enough.

The row houses looked like neighbors had taken turns throwing darts at a paint wheel at Home Depot. There were red, blue, orange, aqua, white, and then their target—a bright yellow house with white mullioned windows. If someone told Harvath he’d just been transported to Old San Juan or somewhere else in the Caribbean, he might have believed it.

The homes all had fenced patios in back that abutted the fenced patios of the homes behind them. Had Harvath wanted to come in the back door, he would have had to start at the top of the block and jump numerous fences until he got to theirs, halfway down. The chances of being spotted or running across a dog were too great to risk it, and so he’d decided to go right in through the front door. If he was right, no one was going to notice.

Harvath knew that Casey didn’t want to sit outside in the SUV. She wanted to be inside, where the action was. He couldn’t blame her. The two were very much alike. Nevertheless, he had no idea how big Schroeder was or the size of the person he was meeting with inside. If it got rough, he had no doubt Casey could hold her own, but Rhodes was taller, with more upper body strength, and could handle a larger opponent if need be. To her credit, Casey didn’t complain. But she didn’t have to; Harvath could tell she was unhappy with him.

There was something odd about the way she was acting toward him that he couldn’t put his finger on. He didn’t know if it had to do with letting Bremmer live, whether she held him responsible for Riley’s death, or what it was. Frankly, he didn’t care. They had a high-value target inside that building, and all that mattered was getting him out alive.

After checking their weapons, Harvath took a deep breath. At his nod, they climbed out of the car.

“Remember—” he began to say, but Casey interrupted him.

“Signal if I see anything. Good suggestion. Thanks.”

Shaking his head, he closed the door and began walking up the block with Rhodes.

There were lights on inside the row house on both the first and second floors, the plantation shutters inside closed. “You think it’s going down yet?” she asked.

Harvath checked his watch again. “Probably. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed.”

A hedgerow ran in front of the house, bifurcated by a low iron gate. Three concrete steps led from the sidewalk to a narrow, pristine, landscaped walkway that stretched fifteen feet to the front door. “Classy,” Rhodes remarked, and Harvath held a finger to her lips to silence her.

At the front door, he removed the lockpick set Casey had brought with her from North Carolina and told Rhodes to stand so that any neighbors who might be looking couldn’t see what he was doing. Pressing his ear against the door, he listened for several seconds before going to work on the lock.

Used to working with a lockpick gun, he fumbled with the tiny pieces of metal. “Want some help?” Rhodes whispered, but Harvath shook his head.

A few seconds more and there was a click, followed by the bolt being drawn back. Harvath removed the picks, placed them back in their small leather case, and tucked it back into his pocket. Pressing his ear against the door again, he listened one last time.

When he was confident that they were good to go, he nodded at Rhodes, depressed the thumb latch on the handle, and slowly pushed the door inward.

It slid noiselessly back on its well-oiled hinges, and Harvath and Rhodes slipped inside. Drawing their weapons, they stood stock-still, taking in every sight, every sound, and even the smells of the home’s interior.

It had wood floors and exposed brick walls. There were electric baseboard heaters and instead of a fireplace, only a faux mantelpiece. The furniture was tasteful but nothing special. A few pieces of art hung along the walls, but there were no personal photos anywhere. In fact, there were no personal touches at all, no books, nothing. It looked more like some sort of impersonal corporate rental than anything else.

Moving as quietly as they could, they crept through the tiny dining room, past a bathroom, and into the galley-style kitchen, where they located the rear door to the patio beyond. Rhodes pointed at two half-empty wineglasses next to the sink.

Harvath pointed at a men’s belt on the opposite counter. Then, from the floor above, they could make out what sounded like an argument. A man attempted to speak but was instantly shouted down by a woman with a booming voice. Harvath gestured to Rhodes that they should go upstairs.

They passed back through the dining room and into the living room. Harvath hated wooden stairs. No matter how quiet you tried to be, there was always that one squeaky board you didn’t know was there until too late. Focusing his weight on the very outside of each stair, he signaled Rhodes to do the same and carefully climbed toward the second floor.

As they neared the landing, the argument became louder, but it was muffled, most likely behind a closed door. Whoever the woman was, she was giving the man absolute hell. Suddenly there was the sound of someone or something being struck, and Harvath stopped. Turning to look at Rhodes, he flashed her the thumbs-up and continued to climb.

At the top of the stairs, a narrow hallway gave way to a door for the bedroom over the living room, a bathroom, and the rear bedroom over the kitchen area where all the shouting was coming from.

Slowly, Harvath crept down the hallway, his weapon up and at the ready. He didn’t need to look back to know that Rhodes was doing the exact same thing. Everything was going perfectly until, four feet away from the door, Harvath put his foot down on a warped floorboard that groaned beneath his weight.

Instantly, he froze. And just as quickly, the woman’s voice from inside the rear bedroom fell silent. There were a couple of muffled words of protest from the man, wondering what was going on, but those were cut off so fast, you would have thought the woman had clapped her hand over the man’s mouth.

Harvath didn’t move a muscle, but his brain was screaming, Damn it! He had to make up his mind. Would the man convince the woman it had been nothing? Maybe, but he doubted it. They’d lost the element of surprise. It was time to hit the bedroom.