Path of the Assassin

CHAPTER 43

Harvath kept a very close eye on Meg for the next two hours as they inhaled aviators’ breathing oxygen. This was the preferred oxygen for jump operations, as other forms, such as medical oxygen, contained too much moisture and could freeze up in the regulator, the hoses, or the mask during the jump and make it impossible to breathe.

He watched for any potential signs of hypoxia caused by the decrease in ambient pressure as they ascended. At thirty thousand feet, the air pressure was close to being only one fourth of that at sea level. The other factor Harvath was concerned with was psychological. Even though they were going to be locked together for the jump, Meg was still incredibly frightened. Harvath had seen otherwise self-confident operatives freak out and start to hyperventilate due to claustrophobia brought on by having their heads and faces covered with a helmet and oxygen mask. Scot kept speaking to Meg in soothing tones, encouraging her to relax.

The entire plane had been depressurized to acclimate the team for the jump. Over their fatigues, all of the members wore extreme-cold-weather jumpsuits. Though cumbersome, the superinsulated suits not only would keep the team members warm during their jump, but also had the added benefit of radar absorbency, which would allow them to glide across the sky without being detected by enemy radar.

At the two-minute warning, the team transferred from the jet’s oxygen console to the portable bottles strapped to their chests. They double- and triple-checked not only their weapons and equipment, but also each other one last time for any of the telltale signs of hypoxia: slowed reactions, euphoria, cyanosis — a bluish tint to the skin on lips or under fingernails — overconfidence, or lack of life in the eyes.

The cabin lights were switched over to jump lighting, and the jet was filled with an eerie red glow, punctuated by stabs of neon green at the ankles of each team member. Chem-lights had been taped to boots so team members could locate each other in the dark and avoid potentially deadly collisions.

Icy, subzero air blew across the open doorway as the Operation Phantom team lined up. Rick Morrell determined the order and had placed Harvath and Meg smack in the middle. As soon as Morrell gave the signal to jump, the line of bodies in front of them lurched forward, but Meg’s legs refused to move. She willed herself to follow, but it was no use. Either her brain was refusing to give the command, or her body was refusing to obey it. Whatever the case, it was imperative for the team to stay together and that could only happen by jumping at precise intervals. Harvath wrapped his arms around Meg, lifted her clear off her feet and made for the open door.

At the last minute, Meg tried to reach out and grab something to prevent their leaving the plane, but it was no use. Harvath’s grasp was too strong.

The frigid air burned their faces as they accelerated toward their terminal velocity of one hundred twenty miles per hour. Harvath glanced at his altimeter and watched the luminescent dial sweep off their rapidly increasing descent. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay,” he repeated over the radio to Meg. Harvath figured the temperature was at least thirty-five degrees below zero. It took only seventeen seconds to descend to twenty-seven thousand feet, but to Meg Cassidy it felt like a lifetime.

When Harvath pulled his silver rip cord and deployed the ram-air, high-glide-ratio parachute, the expertly packed material shot straight and high into the air and then snapped into an enormous square double canopy overhead. Though Harvath had told her he was about to deploy the chute and she had been forewarned about the jolt, Meg had no idea the shock would be so intense. It was like riding in a falling elevator, which had just found the basement. She knew the intense stab of pain she felt was nothing compared to what Harvath must be feeling. He had borne the brunt of the shock and had told her in the plane that he would probably be sore for several days. It was always like that with HAHOs.

The deafening rush of air that they’d heard as they hurtled through the night sky was now gone. It was replaced by a silence unlike anything Meg Cassidy had ever experienced, and the view was absolutely incredible.

Harvath was appreciating it too. Between glances at his altimeter and the positions of his teammates, he took in the beautiful starlit vista over the sea of desert far below. It never ceased to amaze him how peaceful the world looked from this height, even when he knew he was inserting into hostile territory.

The team formed a vertical column in the sky, each parachutist seeming to rest on top of the next. The lowest man in the airborne totem pole acted as the navigator, using a compass, GPS device, and barely visible terrain features to guide them into the drop zone.

They floated for forty miles, and a little over a half hour. Despite their high-tech jumpsuits and insulated Gore-Tex gloves, each of them was numb to the bone with cold. As they descended, the air began to gradually get warmer. At twelve thousand feet, they removed their oxygen masks and were able to breathe normally. The navigator continued to correct their course based on changes in wind speed and direction, until finally the signal came across the encrypted radios that they were coming within range of their DZ.

Meg fought the reflex to stiffen her legs as the ground raced up to meet them. At the last moment, Harvath pulled down hard on the parachute toggles, dramatically slowing their descent. They touched down in the soft sand and immediately rolled to their left. Harvath pulled in the rest of the chute and unbuckled Meg from where she was attached to his harness. The rest of the team members were already burying their parachutes and Chem-lights in the sand.

“Now that wasn’t so bad,” whispered Harvath with a smile as he finished covering their chute with sand and checked Meg’s equipment.

“Not at all,” she replied. “I can’t decide which I liked more — my heart beating through my chest or my teeth nearly cracking from almost forty minutes in the freezing cold air.”

“You’ll warm up. Wait’ll we get walking. It’s actually pretty warm in the desert tonight. It just takes your body a while to heat back up.”

Harvath did one last check of his own gear and scanned the horizon with his night-vision goggles before he and Meg joined the rest of the team. It was already well past one in the morning local time. It would take them at least two hours, maybe three, to hike into the rocky hills above the oasis, where they would wait until tomorrow night. They could sleep during the daytime, but for now they needed the cover of darkness to hide their movements. Not a moment could be wasted. When the team was gathered together, Morrell gave the order to maintain complete radio silence and then signaled them to move out.

The deep desert sand, coupled with the heavy loads Morrell’s men were carrying, made for extremely slow going. Free of his tandem rig with Meg, Harvath had taken more than his share of weight off the packs of the other guys, but they still slogged along. It wasn’t until the team hit firmer terrain that the pace noticeably picked up. It didn’t matter that they were hiking at a steep grade up the hillside. Everyone was thankful just to be off the sand.

Morrell’s man on point gave the full-fist hand signal to stop, and the column came to an immediate halt. Team members took up defensive firing positions as Morrell and the point man explored a small cave behind a low overhang and several large boulders. A moment later Morrell reemerged and gave the command to set up camp. Two of the men unshouldered their packs and set out to reconnoiter the rest of the area. Morrell set up his encrypted Motorola portable satellite communications system, while one of the men positioned a field antenna on the rock overhang.

“Welcome to the Plaza,” said Harvath as he helped Meg into the cave. They found a relatively smooth area on the ground toward the west wall and unpacked only the gear they would need for the time being. Extra food, water, and equipment would be placed in a nearby hide site, in case they had to exit the cave in a hurry. The last thing they wanted to do was leave behind any clues that would tip off the Libyans or Hashim Nidal that they were in the area.

Meg unwrapped one of the three-thousand-calorie MREs and asked, “Can you eat this cold?”

“Cold or hot, it doesn’t matter,” replied Harvath as he laid out a poncho liner for each of them to sleep on.

“You have to boil it in the package if you want it hot, though, right?”

“Yeah, but toxic chemicals leach off the wrapping, so you have to toss the water out afterward. It’s a waste of good water and that’s something you never do in the desert.”

“But there’s an oasis just around the corner with plenty of water.”

“And probably plenty of people who would be more than happy to let Nidal know we’re here. Let’s just say Jack and Jill will not go down the hill and will not be fetching a pail of water. Your MRE is already unwrapped, so you eat it cold.”

Meg took a cautious bite and made a face right away. “God, this is terrible. How do you guys eat this stuff?”

“I’ve eaten much worse.”

“I can’t imagine worse than this.”

“There is, believe me. You don’t want to hear about it.”

“Well, with all of the advancements the military has made in weapons and technology, you’d think they could at least spend a little time in the food department.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like a true soldier, Cassidy,” responded Harvath. “Let’s check your weapons.”

Most of the men, except for the snipers, were carrying next-generation Heckler & Koch G11 caseless ammunition assault rifles. Though the G11 was an excellent weapon, Harvath and Meg carried H&K’s G36 modular weapon system, which, because of its collapsible stock, was effective both at longer ranges and in close-quarters battle. Harvath always liked to be prepared for anything.

He was explaining how to fieldstrip the weapon and the importance of keeping everything free of sand when Morrell came back inside the cave followed by one of his men.

“… and I think it just froze up,” said the man.

“Those devices are supposed to be rated to extreme cold,” said Morrell as Harvath and Meg stopped what they were doing to listen to the conversation.

“There are ones like that, but because we were deploying in a desert theater, we never thought we’d need anything arctic rated.”

“What’s up?” asked Harvath.

“Our Marty is nonoperational,” said the operative.

“Your what?”

“Marty McFly,” said Morrell. “That’s what we call our micromechanical flying insect. It’s a spin-off of a project the Navy code-named Robofly.”

“You mean those tiny drones with the miniature fuel cells that can literally be a fly on the wall to gather intel?” asked Harvath.

“The same,” answered Morrell. “We think the cold from the jump screwed ours up.”

“Why would you drag one of those along on a sniping mission?”

“Washington wants to know who the Saudi is. They thought if we could get the mini-drone in close enough, we could ID him.”

“Jesus, anything else we can do while we’re here?” asked Harvath. “Maybe we can pick a few villages and help vaccinate some kids on our way out.”

“I know. I know,” said Morrell.

“So do I,” responded Harvath. “The more elements you try and add to a mission, the greater the chances it’s going to turn into one big GoFu.”

“What’s a ‘GoFu’?” asked Meg.

“A Goat Fuck, ma’am,” said the operative who was trying to fix the mini-drone.

“Rick, there are already too many elements involved here, what with taking out Nidal and you being given the additional task of reconning the training camp. Be smart. Let’s not add anything more. Mark my words. Out here, anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and it will screw our day major,” said Harvath.

“Consider them marked,” replied Morrell as he turned back to help the operative with the drone.