Path of the Assassin

CHAPTER 19

After Morrell finished his briefing, he ran his men through a series of what were known as “exercises on the objective.” The team practiced taking down the inside of the aircraft from every conceivable entry point, as well as some that they hoped the terrorists wouldn’t see coming. They ran through the drills of coming down the aisles with the lights on and then with the lights completely extinguished, assisted by their night-vision goggles. When Morrell was satisfied the men had it completely covered, he dismissed them and they all returned to the upper-deck lounge.

Harvath chose to wander the enormous 747–400 alone, memorizing every detail of its layout. By the time he was done, he knew where every exit, lavatory, galley, and storage compartment was located and how much distance lay between each.

When he was confident that he had taken in as much as he could, Harvath made his way along the main deck into the nose of the aircraft and the first-class section. Much to his delight, he found that the United staff had completely stocked the galley, but someone had failed to inform the SAS team, who were gathered upstairs playing cards, eating bland military MREs, or Meals Ready to Eat, and popping Halcion tablets in preparation for sleep.

While the goat cheese for his salad and his double portion of prime rib were warming up, Harvath checked the AV cabinet, and sure enough, it had been stocked with the latest releases. Well, this beats the hell out of playing old maid with the guys upstairs, he thought to himself. Harvath fired up a movie and set a place for himself, complete with linen tablecloth, at one of the elegant first-class sleeper seats. He seriously considered building a huge hot fudge sundae — all the fixings were there — but decided against it. He was, after all, on duty.

His timing was perfect as he kicked off his shoes, covered himself with one of the cashmere first-class blankets, raised his personal video monitor and settled in for his meal. The movie was just starting. All things considered, this really was the only way to fly.

He had selected what looked like a promising film, a sappy love story, and it had the desired effect. Halfway through, he felt his mind relax and his eyelids grow heavy. As Harvath donned an eye mask and inserted earplugs into his ears, he pressed the button on his armrest and the seat automatically reclined to a completely horizontal bed. His colleagues had always remarked at his gift for being able to quiet his thoughts enough to nod off before any type of mission. It wasn’t so much sleep as it was a Zen-like state of deep relaxation. Harvath always awoke refreshed and extremely focused, his thoughts and emotions perfectly calm.

When he did awaken and peek at his stainless-steel Rolex Explorer II, a quiet gift from the Swiss government for his role with Claudia in nailing the Lions of Lucerne, Scot calculated there were about two more hours before the plane would touch down. He made his way downstairs to the fitness center and closed the door behind him.

After some quick stretching, Harvath did two fast sets of bench presses, followed by curls, then dips and finally some pull-ups. He grabbed a quick shower and shaved with the razor he had found in one of the amenity kits in first class. He headed back upstairs to the galley, where he popped an eggs Benedict breakfast into the oven and poured himself a couple of glasses of fresh orange juice. While he ate his breakfast, he brewed a pot of coffee and threw together a platter of lox, bagels, and cream cheese. Some might have called it a peace offering, but those who knew Scot Harvath would have called it what it really was — a rub-it-in-your-face display of what the unimaginative SAS Team had missed by huddling together in the upper-deck lounge for the entire flight.

Harvath changed into the black Nomex Delta Force fatigues, grabbed the coffee and bagels, and made his way to the upper-deck lounge. Several of the SAS team were wide awake and eating tasteless MRE breakfasts when Harvath came up the stairs. Those that weren’t awake quickly came to when he set the tray down on the bar and the smell of fresh roasted coffee filled the cabin.

“Where’d you get that?” one of the men asked.

“We passed a Starbucks a little while ago and I thought it was the least I could do, seeing how well you treated me last time we all flew together.”

One of the other men, who had already picked up a coffee cup and had the pitcher in his hand, stopped and said, “Wait a second; you didn’t piss in this, did you?”

“Only in Morrell’s,” Scot responded.

The man just stared at Harvath for a moment and then, realizing it was a joke, went back to pouring his coffee.

“There’s juice and pastries down in the first-class galley. I also think I left a little hot water in the fitness-room shower, if anybody wants one.”

Several men looked ready to do just that until Morrell piped up, “This isn’t a fucking day spa. I’ve been informed by the pilot that we’ll be landing early. We’re going to do an equipment check, go over last-minute details, and, if time permits, run through the exercises on the objective again.”

Morrell threw his MRE into the trash can behind the bar, grabbed a bagel and a cup of coffee, then brushed past Harvath on the way back to his seat.

“What? No thank-you?” said Harvath. “After I slaved over a hot stove all morning? Well, I’m sure glad I didn’t serve any of my prime rib up here last night.”

“You had prime rib last night?” asked another operative.

“He’s pulling your leg. He got lucky and found some bagels and coffee,” said Morrell. “Quit causing trouble, Harvath, and sit the fuck down.”

A few of the men were obviously torn as to who was telling the truth, but Harvath quickly set them straight. “You bet your ass I had prime rib. And then I had eggs Benedict for breakfast. There’s even an ice cream sundae bar down there.”

“Ice cream sundaes?” said one of the younger operatives, who had obviously never flown first or business class before. “Now I know you’re bullshitting.”

“Ah, ya got me,” said Harvath as two other men, who could tell he was telling the truth, slipped quietly out of the cabin toward the first-class galley downstairs.

Morrell called the rest of his men to order and began relaying the latest situation report, or sit rep, for short.

“The CAG guys are inclined to agree with Agent Harvath on the flat-lens cameras.”

“You’re welcome,” said Harvath.

Morrell ignored him and kept going. “The Egyptians have been using microwave sound amplifiers on the aircraft, but the intelligence gathered thus far has not been helpful. An offer to board maintenance crews to service the plane, restock it with food and water, and unclog any problem toilets was flatly denied. We had hoped that some of the CAG members could pose as maintenance crew and gather intelligence while planting listening devices and our own miniature cameras, but the hijackers repeated their threat to start killing passengers if anyone came near the plane.

“As a show of good faith, the Egyptians have freed up two million dollars, part of Abu Nidal’s frozen assets, and per the hijackers’ instructions, are pulling the money together in cash. They hope it might gain the release of some of the women and children, but I doubt it. The hijackers say that they’re not releasing any passengers until their demands have been met in full.”

“Did they set a deadline?” asked Harvath.

“Noon.”

“If they don’t get their money and assets by noon?”

“I think that’s obvious, Harvath. They’re going to start blowing the passengers away one by one until their demands are met. They’ve killed three people already. I don’t think there’s any doubt in anyone’s mind as to whether or not they’re serious. The mayor and United’s CEO are the big-ticket items, so they’re safe for the time being, although it’s possible the hijackers might sacrifice one of them, just to make a point.”

“Blow away a ten-million-dollar hostage? That’s a pretty expensive sacrifice.”

“You never know with these people. This is a very sticky situation — especially for the Egyptians.”

“How is the good-faith money supposed to be delivered?”

“The hijackers want the full two million in twenties and hundreds placed in clear plastic bags and driven out to the plane in an open-air airport service cart driven by a lone woman.”

“A woman?”

“Yeah. I guess the hijackers figure a girl is less threatening.”

“Then what?”

“Then the hijackers will select a couple of passengers to lower a net of some sort, the money will be placed into it, and that’s that.”

“Any chance we can get a listening device or anything like that into the money?”

“If we were using suitcases or briefcases, maybe, but there’s no chance of smuggling anything inside clear plastic bags.”

“What’s the situation at the airport?”

“The CAG guys say it’s an absolute circus. It’s jammed with media people. Every move President Mubarak makes is being analyzed from a thousand different angles.”

“Which means he’s going to be pretty jumpy, and so will his 777 guys. What’s the plan?” asked Harvath.

“The plan,” said Morrell, “is that when we land we’ll be met by one of the CAG guys and updated as we chopper to the rendezvous with the rest of the team at the new airport. There, we’ll do a quick collective briefing, and when everything is in order, we take down that plane.”

Morrell was winging it, and Harvath knew that in a situation like this, the man didn’t have much of a choice, but his short-term priorities were not in the right order. Nobody, especially Harvath, wanted another crazed group of terrorists on the loose, but there were civilians on that plane and any plan that fell short of providing for their safe extraction was not a plan worth pursuing — at least not yet.

Harvath’s feelings of unease only deepened when Morrell projected a picture of the airport’s layout on the bulkhead and said, as he indicated where the aircraft was parked, “If all else fails, we have been authorized to destroy the plane.”