Harvath dropped to the ground as the bullet snapped over his head. The rabbit was armed. Where the hell was he?
Peering through the scope, he could see a break in the trees up ahead. And there, making his way toward the logging road, gun in hand, was the white-hot outline of his target.
Raising his pistol, Harvath took up the slack in the trigger and fired three rounds.
The rabbit went down.
For several seconds, Harvath watched for movement. Seeing none, he cautiously closed the distance.
Approaching the body, he saw a lot of blood. One of his bullets had caught the man in the neck.
After kicking the man’s gun aside, he felt for a pulse. Nothing. Removing the rabbit’s rucksack, he opened the top and looked inside.
It contained envelopes of currency, driver’s licenses, and several cell phones. By the looks of it, the man had tried to sanitize the cabin. Leaving the cash, Harvath pocketed the phones. And after quickly photographing the IDs, pocketed those as well.
Patting down the rabbit, Harvath snatched the man’s phone, photographed his personal ID, and examined his pocket litter. He took pictures of everything.
Wanting to transmit it all back to the U.S. as quickly as possible, he headed for the logging road. There, he’d find a break in the trees and would be able to get a signal.
When he arrived at the road, he pulled out his satellite phone, powered it up, and connected it to his cell phone. Using an encrypted app created for the military called XGate BLACK, he compressed and reformatted his photos so that they would upload faster. The sooner they could dig in on the people who had been in that cabin, the better.
As the photos prepared to load, he drafted a quick situation report to be included in his email.
Norseman + 1, Eagles Oscar.
“Norseman” was Harvath’s call-sign, Jasinski was his “plus one,” and “Eagles Oscar” meant that they were both uninjured.
As he wasn’t in a position to be resupplied, he refrained from giving any updates on his current level of ammunition or the condition of his weapon. He simply went straight to the meat:
Ambush. Anti-personnel devices encountered 100 meters from target. At least 4 Norwegians KIA. Multiple injuries—some critical. Took automatic weapons fire from inside target—at least 3 shooters. Norwegians engaged with 40 mms. All Tangos KIA. Target destroyed. Solo Tango attempted escape. Tango engaged and KIA. Transmitting photos of materials recovered.
While the U.S. military had switched to the term MAM, short for military-age-male, as well as EKIA for enemy-killed-in-action, his organization still preferred Tango. It didn’t engage in a lot of navel-gazing.
With the photos ready to go and a strong signal from overhead, he reviewed the message and hit Send.
Moments later, his sat phone vibrated with a reply:
Message received. Full Stop. UPDATE: O.M. is worsening.
O.M. was code for Harvath’s boss and mentor, Reed Carlton—someone he was very close to and someone whose health had been deteriorating. The news was not good. He kept his reply short and to the point:
Understood. Will be back in touch soon.
Once the message had sent, he powered down his sat phone, disconnected his cell, and headed back toward the cabin.
Halfway there, he encountered Jasinski. Harvath had taken his helmet off, revealing his short, sandy colored hair.
“What happened?” she asked. “I heard shots.”
It took him a moment to respond. He was still thinking about Carlton, trying to put pieces together several steps ahead. “One of them ran,” he finally said.
“Is he still alive?”
Harvath shook his head.
“Damn it. I tried to hail you over the radio. Why didn’t you answer?”
He pointed to the earpiece hanging over his shoulder.
“You could have waited,” she declared. “And by the way, who authorized you to carry a weapon?”
He wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation. “Not now,” he replied.
His response only made her angrier. This was her investigation, not his, yet for some unknown reason she’d been forced to accept him as a “consultant.” Something very strange was going on and she intended to get to the bottom of it. No matter what.
CHAPTER 4
* * *
RESTON, VIRGINIA
Lydia Ryan hadn’t wanted the enormous corner office, but Reed Carlton—the firm’s founder and namesake—had insisted. As The Carlton Group’s new director, it was only appropriate that she take it. Considering all of the job’s responsibilities, she was entitled to reap its benefits.
The view was amazing—even at night. The Carlton Group occupied the very top floor of a twenty-five-story glass office building, ten minutes from Dulles International.