Use of Force

CHAPTER 24

Gage was the team’s designated marksman. And though Harvath had submitted a detailed equipment list ahead of time, not everything he had asked for was available.

In particular, Gage had requested a SOCOM MK-13 sniper rifle in .300 WinMag. He wanted a powerful weapon with a solid round that would take care of business in any situation.

But when they arrived, there was no sniper rifle with their gear. Either someone hadn’t gotten the message, or they just weren’t able to get their hands on one. Gage would have to make do with what he had.

Just before the team reached the fence at the back of the warehouse, he peeled off. He did a quick sweep for scorpions and any other potential surprises, then lowered himself to the ground and settled in behind his rifle.

With their overwatch in position, Harvath radioed the drone team for a SITREP.

“Negative movement at the compound. Negative movement at the warehouse,” came the response.

“Good copy. Roger that.” Harvath replied, as he then signaled for the rest of the team to approach the fence.

Along with the gear the CIA had provided, there had been a small breacher’s kit. It should have included bolt cutters, or at the very least a pair of Channellock cutting pliers. Instead, all they had was a Leatherman tool.

Harvath took one look at the gauge of the fence and waved Morrison forward. Handing him the Leatherman, he motioned for him to get to work.

The fence was fabricated from heavy, galvanized steel. With such a small tool, it took a ton of force to cut through the links. It was a bear of a job. At least once, Harvath could have sworn he caught Morrison mouthing the words Fuck you at him. He smiled and continued to scan the area for threats.

There were no guards and no foot patrols. In all likelihood, Halim either didn’t have the manpower, or didn’t think it necessary to post an around-the-clock watch. Big mistake.

When Morrison had opened a hole large enough for them to slide through, he handed the Leatherman back. Harvath offered him a fist bump, knowing the young Marine’s hands had to be killing him. Instead of responding in kind, Morrison gave him the finger. Off to his right, Haney suppressed a laugh.

On Harvath’s command, one by one they climbed through and took up positions at the rear of the building.

The large roll-up door was locked with a heavy padlock. Even if he’d had a pair of bolt cutters, he wouldn’t have bothered. There was no telling exactly who was on the other side, or how much noise it would have made.

Instead, their objective was a pedestrian door on the north side of the structure.

With confirmation from the Reaper that the coast was clear, Harvath snuck a peek around the corner of the building and then led his team forward.

At the pedestrian door, he gave the command for everyone to stop, and then he tried the knob. He had lost count of how many times he had been in some of the world’s shittiest, most dangerous places and doors had been left completely unlocked. That wasn’t the case here.

Letting his rifle hang against his chest, he removed a set of picks from the breacher’s kit and went to work on the lock. Twenty seconds later, he had it open. Pulling back the door, he stood aside to let the team pour in.

The first thing they noticed was the smell. Even the large, industrial fans spinning above the doors couldn’t circulate it out. It smelled like despair.

The odors of vomit and urine mixed with sweat and blood. More than one hundred people slept on the rough concrete floor. Some had blankets. Most did not. A trench drain ran down the center.

Toward the other end of the structure, several people were coughing. The coughs were deep, wet. Harvath and his team could only imagine the illnesses being suffered, shared, and incubated here.

Closing the door, he glanced down at the lock. It was keyed from this side as well. If there were ever a fire, the building would be a deathtrap for those caught inside.

The team moved quietly through the open space, sweeping their weapons from side to side. Considering how unpalatable the conditions were, they weren’t surprised not to find any guards.

The people sleeping on the floor had paid enormous sums of money to escape their home countries and be smuggled into Europe. They had traveled thousands of miles from places like Gambia, Nigeria, Senegal, and Sudan. Others had come from places like Iraq and Syria.

Some were sick. Many were malnourished. And even with the horrors that had been visited upon some of their fellow refugees, none of them were going to run. They had come too far to turn back now.

In the back corner of the building was the office. As the team cautiously approached, Harvath noticed a young woman leaning against the wall. She was gaunt, her skin sallow. A piece of fabric lay draped over her shoulder. Beneath it, an impossibly small baby breastfed.

She stared up at Harvath, her eyes unblinking, almost lifeless. He didn’t know how well she could see him in the dark, but she seemed to know he was there. He raised his finger to his lips and instructed her not to make any sound.

Unwrapping an energy bar he had brought with him, he placed it in her hand. Nearby, was a half-empty bottle of water. He moved it closer so that she could reach it without disturbing the baby.

He wished he could do more, but already Haney was signaling that the office door was locked and that they needed him to come open it.

Harvath left the mother and baby to rejoin his team.

The office door was solid — even more solid than the one they had entered the warehouse by. It reminded Harvath of the security door at the electronics shop. Removing his picks, he got to work.

This lock was tougher to defeat, but not impossible. As soon as he had beaten it, he nodded at Haney, who signaled the team and then counted backward from three with his fingers.

On the Marine’s mark, Harvath eased the door open and Haney button-hooked inside, followed by Morrison and Staelin. Harvath and Barton brought up the rear.

It was a small room, stacked with supplies. There was a metal desk with two chairs atop a faded Persian rug. Tattered binders were jammed haphazardly into a cheap, wooden bookcase. A ten-gallon bucket stood in one corner like an umbrella stand, but instead of containing umbrellas, it contained prayer rugs.

Along the far wall were several tall filing cabinets. Taped to the wall above them was a nautical chart of the Mediterranean. In it, several small pins had been stuck.

Harvath examined the map as Morrison and Barton moved the desk and chairs in order to pull back the rug. Nothing said smuggler like a trapdoor.

The team’s hopes were dashed, though, when all they found underneath was the same battered linoleum tile that covered the rest of the office.

Taking his eyes from the map, Harvath looked down at the floor beneath his boots. The tiles here, as best he could tell through the gray-green of his night vision goggles, looked less worn than the rest of the others.

Crouching, he ran his fingertips across the top of them. At first, he didn’t feel anything. Then on his second pass, as he moved his fingers more slowly, he felt it.

There were two extremely fine grooves. Waving Haney over, he showed him what he had found.

It took them five minutes to discover the release mechanism. Once they did, there was a click, and the center filing cabinet popped out a quarter of an inch.

It was on wheels, and by grabbing hold of the top, they were able to pull it into the room and reveal a small passageway behind.

Radioing Gage, Harvath stated that they had found what they were looking for and to meet him at the warehouse door.

He wanted his full team there for what they were about to do.