Foreign Agent

CHAPTER 66

The white Toyota Hilux rolled forward, its occupants preparing to do a drive-by of the dwelling the American in the backseat had identified on his map.

They were almost to the edge of town when Harvath said, “Stop.”

“I can’t stop,” Yusuf answered. “We might attract attention.”

“Do it,” Harvath ordered. “Pull over, get out, and open the hood. Pretend like something’s wrong with the truck.”

Yusuf did as he was asked.

“There’s a building at our eleven o’clock,” Harvath said via his earpiece. “Three back from the corner. Do you see it?”

“Roger that, Norseman,” Lydia Ryan replied, watching the feed from the drone overhead. “We see it. What’s up?”

“Somebody has a ton of screens lit up in there.”

“Screens?”

“Monitors of some sort. I can’t completely see from here.”

“Can you get a closer look?” she asked.

“Not without getting out of the vehicle.”

“What else do you see?”

Harvath scanned the vicinity for anything that appeared unusual or out of the ordinary. “Generators,” he said finally. “Four of them.”

“Four?” Ryan responded. Why the hell do they need that many?”

He turned his head, subtly, toward the window and tried to peer through the mesh of the burka. “I’m guessing that whatever those monitors are, they’re drawing a lot of power. Plus, I can see air-conditioning units.”

“Stand by, Norseman,” she said.

Harvath waited.

A minute later, Ryan came back on line. “We’re very interested in what’s going on inside that building. Picking up lots of activity.”

“Electronic?” Harvath asked.

“Roger that. Can you get a closer look?”

He was just about to respond when Yusuf closed the hood and climbed back into the truck. “We need to go.”

“What’s up?”

“We’re being watched,” the Syrian said as he started the truck, revved it like he was having trouble, and then slowly put it in gear and began moving. “As soon as we stopped, a man appeared at the front of the building with a rifle and got on his cell phone.”

From where Harvath had been sitting, he hadn’t been able to see him. “Good eyes.”

Replying to Langley, he said, “Negative on that closer look. Going to do a pass of the objective now.”

“Roger that,” Ryan replied. “Be careful.”

As they moved up the street, Harvath glanced sideways, taking in everything he could about the building with the AC and the extra generators. Someone had spent some serious money on it.

Nearing Baseyev’s home on the edge of town, Harvath had the truck slow, but not much.

The drone had already provided them some exceptional footage. He was just getting a feel for the area at this point — who was parked where? What windows were open? Did any neighbors look too interested in what was happening outside on the street?

They were the most basic of things he needed to know before Yusuf coasted to a stop ninety seconds later and dropped him off.

“Do you have everything?” Yusuf asked.

Harvath nodded. “Just stick to the plan. It’s going to get very crazy very quickly. Do what I told you, and everything will be fine.”

“Here,” Qabbani said, as Harvath was about to close his door. He had brought an extra bag of dates and handed them to him.

“Shookran,” Harvath replied in Arabic. Thank you.

Gently closing the door, he watched as Yusuf drove off into the darkness and disappeared. If he didn’t make it back, they were going to be in a lot of trouble. Insha’Allah, he thought, that wasn’t going to happen.

He had left the burka in the vehicle and was dressed like the ISIS operatives in town, in jeans, a T-shirt, and a jacket. His keffiyeh, though, was wrapped so that it covered his face. He found the Hadids right where they were supposed to be.

“Any movement?” he asked.

Mathan pointed up toward the second floor of Sacha Baseyev’s house. There was a small balcony and its shutters were wide open.

“Did you see him?”

Thoman nodded. “He stepped out for a moment and then stepped back inside.”

Harvath hailed Ryan. “Second floor. Northwest corner balcony. Shutters are open. Can you get a peek inside?”

“Stand by,” she replied.

As they waited, Harvath glanced at his Kobold chronograph. It glowed with a green luminescence.

He tried to think what he would be doing right now if he were Baseyev. What would he be doing if he had just gotten back from a series of operations overseas?

No sooner had he asked the question than Ryan’s voice crackled over his earpiece. “He’s sleeping.”

“Say again,” Harvath replied.

“He’s sleeping. Or at least that’s what we think he’s doing. Someone is stretched out horizontal, on a bed, in that room, and they are most definitely alive and breathing.”

Harvath nodded. That was exactly what he’d be doing. He would have dozed lightly on planes, not giving himself completely over to sound sleep until he was someplace where he felt safe. Then he would collapse.

He would have a gun at hand and probably a knife, or two, but as soon as he was back to someplace he considered home, he would have stepped off the edge into the deep black abyss of complete and total sleep — until his alarm went off.

Then Baseyev would have to beat back his exhaustion, pry himself out of bed, and join his ISIS comrades for their celebration.

“Anyone else inside?” Harvath asked.

“Affirmative. Two additional tangos. One in the courtyard. Appears to be seated. And we’re getting a sketchy thermal from the first floor. Looks like just one person, but they’re working hard to stay away from the windows.”

“Roger that,” Harvath replied.

“Two bodyguards?” Mathan asked, once Harvath had signed off with Langley.

“Bodyguards or babysitters. I don’t know and I don’t care. I just want Baseyev,” he stated. “Are you ready?”

Both of the Hadids nodded.

“Let’s do it.”