Blowback (28 page)

SWITZERLAND

W here are we going?” asked Jillian when Harvath got back in the car and pulled away from the curb in front of the hotel.

“Here, “He replied, and handed her the glossy brochure for Sion International Airport he had picked up in the lobby. “This caught my eye when we were on our way out this morning.”

As Jillian looked at it, Harvath added, “It’s a pretty impressive operation. Along with being a military airbase, they’ve poured a lot of money into it in the hopes that this region is going to be the next big thing. Besides having a runway long enough to accommodate the most sophisticated business jets, the airport has just about every service simple tourists like us could ask for.”

“I can see that,” replied Jillian. “Anything and everything when it comes to charters. Helicopters, gliders, hang gliders, parachute flights, sightseeing flights over the Alps. They don’t seem to have missed anything.”

“Nope. They even do glacier aviation, the desk clerk told me. It’s their specialty. If the glacier is big enough, they can actually land a plane on it.”

“So what’s the plan then?” asked Jillian as she set the brochure in the door pocket next to her.

“You and I are going to charter a plane and do a reconnaissance flight,” said Harvath. “We’ve already got pictures of what security is like at the base of the Aga Khan’s funicular. I want to see what things look like up top.”

“Then what?”

“Then we’ll try to figure out what to do next.”

Staring out the windshield at the mountains rising up on both sides of them, Jillian said, “A line like that doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence.”

Harvath forced a smile and replied, “I’ll try to come up with something a little bit better once I’ve gotten a look at Aiglemont. Right now, though, let’s focus on what we need to get done.”

Harvath and Alcott arrived at the Aéroport de Sion posing as climbers looking to charter a plane in order to conduct aerial surveys for a series of upcoming expeditions in the Bernese Alps. Even without reservations, they had no problem finding a willing charter company. Cold hard cash was an amazing problem solver. Not only did they luck out in finding a plane without a reservation, they also managed to land an extremely chatty pilot with an excellent command of English. The first thing he pointed out as they taxied out onto the runway was where the Aga Khan’s Cessna Citation X jet was parked. Had the police at the bottom of the funicular not been enough to confirm his presence, now they knew for sure that he was in residence. Hopefully, that meant Rayburn and Emir Tokay were at Aiglemont as well.

The pilot went on to explain that whenever the Aga Khan had one of his aid meetings or get-togethers with his bankers in Geneva, he had his own helicopter pick him up at Aiglemont and bring him back. He never drove.

With his detailed atlas of Switzerland on his lap, Harvath was able to guide the pilot over and around the peaks the would-be climbers were interested in tackling. Each pass was designed to bring them as close as possible to the Aga Khan’s mountaintop retreat, which their pilot was pleased to point out and discuss.

When Jillian told the pilot she hadn’t been able to capture the structure as well as she would have liked with her video camera, the pilot was more than happy to oblige with another, lower pass. Not only did they get an even better view, but they also got the additional bonus of seeing how the Aga Khan’s security team reacted to low-flying aircraft. It was exactly as Harvath had feared. The heavily armed men poured out of the building like angry bees from a hive. Though he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, he even thought he saw one of the men armed with a shoulder-fired missile. The Aga Khan’s security team didn’t leave anything to chance.

After the pair had gathered all the pictures and videos they needed, Harvath had the pilot do a pass over Le Râleur and return to the Aéroport de Sion. The extent of what they had collected wouldn’t be evident until they were able to review it back in the hotel, but from what Harvath had seen already, he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be good. The Aga Khan’s retreat was impregnable.

Back at the hotel, Harvath began printing out all of the digital stills from both their surveillance on the ground in Le Râleur and their reconnaissance flight over Château Aiglemont. As he did, he was still haunted by the feeling that there was something familiar about it, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

After removing the art from one of the walls, they pinned up the pictures with thumbtacks. In addition to what looked like the original monastery buildings, Aiglemont had a glass solarium, which probably covered a pool of some sort, a structure housing the mechanical system for the funicular, a narrow concrete or stone patio in front, and a sickly piece of green which turned out to be a small, oblong patch of Alpine meadow that ran along the side of the main buildings and ended in an abrupt drop-off to the valley floor thousands of feet below.

“What do you think?” said Jillian as she stood back and admired their handiwork.

The first thing that came to Harvath’s mind was, I think we’re screwed, but he kept that thought to himself for the time being. “Let’s watch the video, “He replied.

They attached the camcorder to the TV and played the footage several times over, with Harvath stopping it in different places so he could note the reaction of the Aga Khan’s security forces. When he had seen enough, he said, “Those are definitely Rayburn’s men.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because they are doing exactly what the Secret Service would do in that kind of situation, right down to that man with the shoulder-fired missile. Château Aiglemont might as well be the White House as far as we’re concerned. In fact, it’s better than the White House because it’s protected by mountains on three sides and the only approach is via that funicular.”

“So are you saying it can’t be done?” asked Jillian as she watched Harvath walk over to the minibar and remove a beer.

Harvath looked at the freeze frame on the television and then up at the pictures tacked to the wall. “I don’t know, “He replied as he pried off the cap and took a long swallow. “I don’t know.”

Jillian didn’t like what she was hearing. “There’s got to be some way. What if we could get inside the funicular car in the village? That would work, wouldn’t it? It’s a two-car system. They’re counter-balanced. For the one at the top to come down, the one at the bottom has to go up, right?”

“True,” responded Harvath, “but how would we get them to send the other car down?”

“I would imagine that they would need to resupply at some point, wouldn’t they?”

“At some point, yes, but who knows how well provisioned they already are up there?”

“The waitress at the café today said that sometimes when the security personnel are not working, they come down to the village. What if we did it then?”

Harvath took another sip of his beer and thought about it. “We’d still have to get around the police guarding the car at the bottom.”

“We could come up with some sort of diversion,” replied Jillian. “One of us could distract them.”

“And if we got halfway up and they discovered we had managed to sneak onto the funicular, what do you think would happen then?”

“There would be quite a welcoming party when we got to the top.”

“Exactly,” said Harvath, taking another long swallow. “We’d be sitting ducks. Besides, if I know Rayburn, those funicular cars are wired with cameras, as well as intrusion monitors. Even if we got past the Swiss police, the security personnel at Aiglemont would know the minute we opened the door on that car, or the rooftop hatch, “He added, seeing the look on Jillian’s face. “I told you, Rayburn was one of the best the Secret Service ever had. I know better than to underestimate a man like that. We need to come up with something a lot better.”

“Supposing he is actually there, could we somehow lure him into the village and then force him to take us back up to the top with him?”

A quiet ping echoed in Harvath’s mind as if his mental radar had bounced back off something he had been searching for. “I like the idea of using him to get us inside, “He said, “but it’s still too dangerous. With a man like the Aga Khan, money is no object, especially when it comes to security. His people will be the absolute best. They know that the funicular is the only way to get to Aiglemont, and they will have anticipated every possible covert and forced use of it to gain access to the Château. For all we know there’s even two sets of passwords to get the operator up top to start it moving-one for everything’s okay and another for start her up, but I’m bringing company so have the men ready and waiting when we get there. We’d never know. If we do this, it can’t involve the funicular.”

Jillian was growing frustrated. Harvath was the professional, and he wasn’t offering any suggestions of his own. All he was doing was sitting there, drinking his beer, and shooting down every plan she came up with. Jillian decided to give it one final try. “What about a glacier plane? That meadow looked long enough to land one on. Or what about a helicopter?”

“Too noisy,” said Harvath, without even considering it.

“You know what then?” replied Jillian, tired of trying to help when all of her ideas were being shot right down. “You figure it out. I’m not going to sit here and be made to feel like an idiot for my suggestions.”

“The only reason you haven’t heard me suggest anything, “He replied, “is because I don’t always spit out the first thing that comes to my mind.”

“At least we’re clear on how much you value my input,” said Jillian, her annoyance building to serious anger. “You know what, Scot? I have no idea how you handle problem solving in your line of work. I’m not an intelligence operative. I don’t know anything about the military. I’m a scientist. All I know is that as a scientist, I try to rule out the simplest possible answers first and then proceed to the more difficult ones from there. And when working with colleagues on problems, we scientists do spit out what first comes to mind. It’s a rather radical process called brainstorming.”

Whether it was the insult that shook it loose or not, once again Harvath felt that ping in the back of his mind. It was that feeling of familiarity about Aiglemont. “The simplest possible answer, “He repeated to her. “You’re right.”

Suddenly, Harvath had his answer. He knew why Aiglemont and its security felt so familiar to him, and he also knew how he was going to get inside. But all of it was going to ride on cashing in on one very big favor.

DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY

OFFICE OF INTERNATIONAL INVESTIGATIVE ASSISTANCE

WASHINGTON, DC

Brian Turner. You’re absolutely sure?” asked CIA director James Vaile as he sat in Gary Lawlor’s office, admiring an oil painting of George Patton.

“I know what I saw,” replied the head of the OIIA. “He and Senator Carmichael were both in that hotel together.”

Vaile took another sip of his coffee before responding. “This is pretty serious stuff-for everyone involved.”

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it here, away from Langley.”

“You know, we normally like to handle our own problems in-house,” said Vaile.

“Except your problem has become the president’s problem.”

That was true, and it was also something the CIA director didn’t have an immediate answer for. “What do you suggest we do?”

“As far as the CIA as a whole?” responded Lawlor. “Nothing. But I do want you to make it harder for him to get hold of his information. Let’s see how good he really is.”

“It could compromise us in a lot of ongoing operations.”

“No, it won’t. At this point they’re baiting for only one type of fish. I don’t want there to be any indication that we’re on to them. In the meantime”-he paused as he reached into his desk and withdrew a small envelope containing a CD-ROM-“I’d like you to plant this information for me.”

“What is it?”

“Open it up when you get back to your office and you’ll see. Let’s just say that I think it will prove irresistible. Make sure you bury it deep enough that it appears authentic, but not so deep that he’ll never find it.”

“Consider it done,” said Vaile as Lawlor’s assistant walked into the room and handed him a message.

Right away, the CIA director could tell something was seriously wrong. “What is it?”

Lawlor looked at his watch and replied, “In three hours, the president is going to convene a National Security Council meeting in the situation room. We just got word that our mystery illness has officially made its debut in the United States.”

“Jesus,” said Vaile as he set down his cup. “Where and how many infected?”

“The trail starts with a Muslim food importer by the name of Kaseem Najjar in Hamtramck, Michigan, and extends to several UPS workers throughout their processing and delivery system beginning in Michigan and ending in Manhattan. The FBI, as well as teams from the CDC and USAMRIID, are already en route.”

“Do we know if it was intentionally released? Are there any more victims?”

“Apparently, that’s all they know. Hopefully, we’ll have more information by the briefing this afternoon.”

“We’d better have more than just information. You saw how fast that thing moved through that village in Iraq,” replied Vaile, already racing through worst-case scenarios in his mind. “If we don’t get a handle on this, the death count is going to be astronomical. It’ll make the plague look like an outbreak of strep throat-” Vaile was interrupted by a text message that came over his secure pager.

This time it was Lawlor’s turn to read his friend’s visage and inquire as to what was going on.

Looking up from his pager, the director of the CIA said, “The president’s chief of staff is looking for me.”

“Chuck Anderson? Why?”

“They’re concerned that a major offensive with the illness could already be under way and that it’s only a matter of hours before they start seeing casualties inside the Beltway. He wants to talk about moving the president out of DC.”

“If a major offensive is under way, this thing could turn up anywhere. Where do they want to move him?”

Vaile set down his pager. “They want to greenlight the doomsday scenario.”

“Operation Ark?”

The DCI nodded his head. “ Anderson is going to recommend that the president, the cabinet, Congress, and everyone else on the continuity of government shortlist be evacuated to the underground facility at Mount Weather.”

Lawlor was quite familiar with the emergency command and control continuity of government center built more than a mile beneath the surface of an antenna-studded mountain in northwest Virginia near the West Virginia border. It was a top-secret, self-sufficient subterranean city designed during the Cold War to withstand multiple direct hits from the biggest and baddest nuclear weapons America’s most serious enemy, the Soviet Union, might ever unleash. Whenever the media reported the president or members of the government being evacuated in times of crisis to a “secure and undisclosed” location, nine out of ten times it was Mount Weather. “That’s what Anderson ’s paid for,” replied Lawlor, “to plan for the worst.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Vaile. “He’s planning for the worst, all right. The president has already initiated the Campfire Protocol. We’ve got bombers and fighter jets being outfitted with nukes as we speak. “Pausing for a moment to consider what America was on the verge of becoming, he slowly added, “I pity any location in this country that shows signs of this illness taking hold.”