Path of the Assassin (37 page)

They had waited almost an hour when Harvath finally said, “Okay, now I really want to know what’s going on in there.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Kinda, sorta.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Believe me. You’re going to love it. We’re going to put your acting skills to the test.”

“I can’t wait.”

Harvath explained the plan as they walked. When they reached a nearby doorway, Harvath stepped inside while Meg covered the remaining couple of feet to the shop alone. She knocked on the door politely at first, and when no one answered, her knocking grew in insistency. There was no way anyone inside the small shop could have ignored it. The plan was to get one of the men to come and unlock the door. Meg had prepared a song and dance about how she was a decorator with a client who swore she had seen the perfect fabric in their shop. She would implore the man to allow her inside to make her purchase because she was returning to the States that night. As soon as Meg got one foot in the door, Harvath would spring from his hiding spot and force his way inside. The Middle Easterners might be innocent, but with the shop having received three phone calls from Adara and all of the additional suspicious activity of the past hour, Harvath doubted it.

Meg knocked her knuckles raw with no luck. No one even peeked out from within the shop to see what was going on. She walked back to Harvath and filled him in.

“Time for plans B and E,” he said as he stepped out of the doorway, removed the Browning from the holster at the small of his back, and walked toward the shop front.

“What’s B and E?”

“‘
What’s B and E?’
So much for being the daughter of a Chicago cop. Breaking and entering. What else?” said Harvath as he took one last look up and down the street and then drew back the butt of the Browning.

“Wait!” said Meg.

“What is it?”

“What if there’s an alarm system?”

“First of all, I can tell from looking in the windows right here that there are no sensors anywhere in there, and secondly, we saw three people get locked in. You don’t turn on an alarm system when you’re locking people inside. Now stand back.”

Harvath swung the butt of the pistol and shattered a large pane of glass on the front door. He waited to see if anyone would come running from the back of the shop, but no one did. He reached inside, unlocked the dead bolt, and opened the door.

The shop smelled old and musty. Harvath and Meg made their way to the back and found a doorway to a small office covered by an old tapestry. The musty smell was replaced by the heavy odor of cigarette smoke, but there was no sign of another living soul. Boxes and bolts of fabric lined one wall of the office, while file cabinets and a large armoire took up another. A square table stacked with catalogs and surrounded by folding chairs sat in the middle of the room.

The natural light reaching this far back into the shop was quite dim. Harvath was about to flick on a nearby light switch when he saw a box of flashlights sitting on the very last file cabinet.

“That’s interesting,” he said as he grabbed a flashlight and flicked it on. “I never would have guessed the interior design crowd to be a big market for flashlights.”

“Rome does have its power outages.”

“Well, either these people are extremely prepared, or the flashlights serve another purpose. My guess is they serve another purpose. What do you say we find out?”

“I’ve come this far. There’s no way you’re getting rid of me now,” said Meg as she picked up a flashlight and helped Harvath search the room.

It didn’t take long for them to discover a loose panel in the back of the armoire. When Harvath put pressure on it and tried to slide it to the left, it moved. A chill rush of damp air swept up from the passage on the other side. He shined his light into the darkness and discovered a series of worn stone steps that looked as if they had been carved thousands of years ago. Warning Meg to be careful of the lip of the armoire, he climbed through the opening and down the steps.

There was the faint sound of water dripping somewhere in the distance, but other than that, the passage was completely still. The cool, dark space was a welcome relief from the heat they had endured outside all day.

One by one, they took the old stone steps slowly and quietly. When they reached the bottom, the passageway gave onto a low, rough tunnel that seemed to slope down toward the center of the earth itself. Harvath kept the flashlight pointed toward the ground with his thumb on the switch, poised to turn it off at a moment’s notice if he had to. His other hand was wrapped tightly around the Browning. Meg Cassidy followed right behind, with one hand holding on to the back of Harvath’s shirt to help guide her steps in the darkness.

By the time the slope leveled out, Harvath figured they had walked at least half a mile. He turned off his flashlight when he could see light coming from up ahead. They covered the last fifteen yards and emerged within an enormous cavern. Rows and rows of wide alcoves were carved one upon another all the way to the ceiling. It was obvious to Harvath and Meg that this was a giant mausoleum, once part of the ancient catacomb system of Rome. Its present-day occupation was exponentially more sinister.

The room had been set up as a mini armory and supply depot. Ammunition, C4, and grenades, were stacked side by side with several assault rifles, pistols, and submachine guns. In addition there was a neat pile of antitank weapons, and surface-to-air missiles. Someone was planning one serious party.

There were boxes of food, bottled water, medical supplies, clothing, blankets, and even copies of the Koran, which made Harvath suspect that the place had also been set up to act as some sort of a safe house.

They picked their way further back into the cavern, where they found a large table covered with neat stacks of paper. As Meg examined the papers, Harvath saw something that stopped his heart cold.

Stacked against one wall of the mausoleum were about a dozen small canisters. Harvath didn’t need to open them to know what they contained. In fact, opening them would have been a deadly mistake. He could tell from the emblems on the outside that they contained radioactive material. Totaling that with all of the plastique and various other high-grade explosives housed within the large depot, Harvath didn’t even want to think about the potential devastation Adara Nidal could cause.

Meg was still looking at the papers when Harvath ran over with a very worried expression on his face and said, “We’re getting out of here now.”

“What’s going on?” asked Meg.

“I’ve got to get to a phone and call Washington.”

“Give me a few more seconds on these. There are FedEx and UPS airbills here made out to addresses in different cities across the United States. They appear to be for ten- and fifteen-pound boxes, but what would they be shipping to the U.S.?”

Harvath didn’t have a chance to respond. He heard a sound and spun, just in time to see the three men in business suits enter from a tunnel at the back of the cavern and point their Italian-made Spectre M-4 submachine guns right at them. Harvath didn’t waste any time. He knocked Meg to the ground and fired off two shots from the Browning. He saw one of the men go down, but couldn’t tell where he had hit him.

The man’s colleagues opened up with a storm of automatic-weapon fire, splintering the long wooden table to pieces and sending papers flying everywhere.

Harvath and Meg dove behind a nearby crate.

“There’s only two of them now, so it’s not even a fair—” Harvath was saying until he heard something roll toward them across the smooth stone floor. “Grenade!” he yelled as he covered Meg, and rolled as fast as he could with her away from where they had been hiding.

The man who had pitched the flash bang had miscalculated the slope of the floor. The small canister came to a stop and actually began rolling backward before it detonated. The concussion was still strong enough to set everyone’s ears ringing.

Harvath grabbed Meg, who was busy stuffing the paperwork she had found into her shirt, and helped her up into a crouch. Mouthing the words and counting to three with his fingers, they ran out from behind a series of pallets and dodged a hail of bullets as they charged to the other side of the mausoleum.

Water everywhere and not a drop to drink,
thought Harvath as he tried a crate of ammunition only to find it was nailed shut. “My kingdom for a crowbar,” he muttered to himself. Then it hit him. He did have one. After handing Meg the Browning and a fresh clip, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife. He depressed the button, and the blade swung up and locked into place. Harvath slid the knife under the lid of the wooden crates and, with two hands, began working it up and down until the lid was loose enough to get his fingers under.

Meg exchanged fire several times with the men, who were maneuvering in closer for the kill.

“Whatever you’re working on,” said Meg as she ejected the Browning’s spent magazine and replaced it with the fresh one, “I suggest you hurry it up, because they’re going to be on top of us any minute.”

“I’ve almost got it,” said Harvath as he grabbed a can of 5.56 ammunition as fast he could. He ripped it open and rammed three speed-loader clips of ten rounds into the magazine of each of the two Steyr AUG assault rifles he had pulled from where they leaned against the wall. The magazines in place, he handed one of the Steyrs to Meg and took back the Browning.

“Ready?” he asked.

“And then some.”

“Short bursts. Just like we trained.”

“Let’s do it.”

Harvath left Meg where she was and crept back behind several boxes. The idea was for him to move far enough away to trap their attackers in a deadly alley of crossfire from both sides. Harvath heard the firing of the nine-millimeter Spectres and ran across the aisle to another set of boxes, before making his way back down toward Meg.

When the men were almost on top of her, she opened fired with her Steyr as Harvath popped up and started shooting in rapid, controlled bursts from the other side. Until this point, the Middle Easterners had pursued their quarry thinking they only had one handgun between them. The machine gun fire, coming from both directions, completely altered the equation, and the two men retreated toward the tunnel at the far end of the cavern.

Harvath chased them with every round he had loaded in his Steyr and when Meg caught up with him, he took hers and fired until there was nothing left. He had no idea if they would regroup or not, but he reloaded before he and Meg proceeded down the tunnel.

They had gone only twenty feet when they came upon the body of the first man Harvath had shot. With a hit to his chest and one to his forehead, he lay on the ground with the submachine gun still clasped in his dead hand. Harvath fished through his pockets, but only came up with several hundred Euros. Whoever he was, he was professional enough not to be caught with any ID. Harvath shouldered his Steyr and picked up the dead man’s Spectre. He checked the fifty-round magazine and saw that it hadn’t even been fired.

Meg covered Harvath as he ran down the tunnel to see what had happened to their two remaining attackers.

At the end of the passageway was an old freight elevator, which was on its way down. When the large wooden door was rolled open, the first man to step out was Hashim Nidal.

Harvath didn’t wait to be noticed. He turned and ran back into the tunnel, where Meg was waiting.

“It’s Hashim Nidal. Don’t let him out of your sights,” said Harvath as he ran past her.

“What if he moves?” asked Meg.

“Then shoot him,” he said over his shoulder as he ran back into the mausoleum.

Harvath kept running until he got to the group of Stinger missile cases he had seen earlier. He grabbed one and pulled it off the stack. When he opened it, it was empty, so he cast it aside and reached for the next one. This one was much heavier. He opened the case and pulled out the launcher. Just adjacent to it was a pyramid of machined aluminum tubes. He grabbed a tube, emptied the missile, and loaded the launcher. Next, he primed and readied the system. There would be no need to acquire a target as he had done in the Libyan desert.

Harvath ran back to where Meg was staring down the optical sight of her Steyr at the elevator emptying its load of terrorists. Harvath could clearly make them out from where he had lowered himself to one knee. Their two attackers were cautiously making their way toward the tunnel with several other men, including the man who had been driving the Mercedes that afternoon.

Harvath forwent his usual safety check before firing the Stinger. He depressed the launch switch, the missile uncaged and flew straight toward the first target it could acquire.

The minute the missile was loosed, Harvath dropped the launcher, grabbed Meg Cassidy’s hand, and the two ran like hell for the mausoleum.

Harvath’s first instinct was to make for the embassy as soon as they were free of the underground system of tunnels, but he knew it would take too long. He needed to get to a phone and brief Gary Lawlor on everything they had learned.

After coming back up the passageway and through the armoire of the fabric shop, Harvath decided they would just walk straight out the front door. When they hit the street, they immediately set out for the nearby piazza, which they hoped would be crowded with tourists. It had seemed like a good choice. No one was in the shop, nobody suspicious was on the street, and when they got to the square, it was relatively busy.

It had been easy. Too easy.

Suddenly, two rather large looking Middle Eastern men appeared from one of the small side streets. One of them stuck a hand beneath his sport coat, but Harvath was faster, drawing the Browning and pointing it directly at the man’s forehead.

People began screaming, and instantly, it became a mad rush as everyone ran for cover. Scot and Meg pushed their way into the swelling mob, which knocked over café tables and chairs as it surged forward. As soon as they found an open space, Harvath and Meg took off for the far side of the piazza.

They ran as fast as they could, constantly looking over their shoulders for several blocks. When they finally slowed down to catch their breath, police and security checkpoints seemed to be everywhere. Harvath didn’t understand why until he realized that they were nearing Rome’s Palace of Justice. He quietly hoped the heavy police presence would dissuade the two men from pursuing them any further.

Harvath steered Meg into the first hotel he saw, and they slowly walked through the flower-filled lobby, with its brocaded sofas and European antiques, toward the pay phones. As he punched in the numbers, said his name, and then added “unsecure line” for the call, Meg began going through the papers she had taken from the mausoleum. In addition to the airbills, she had also found a map of Rome and its outskirts. The Roman hill town of Frascati had been highlighted in red pen with concentric circles that radiated outward. There was also a long blue line, which began in Rome and ended in Frascati’s main square. In the upper-left-hand corner were the letters
CDR,
followed by a short series of numbers.

Meg picked up only snippets of Harvath’s half of the conversation. He was speaking as quietly as possible so no one passing the pay phones would hear him.

“High-grade explosives…assault rifles…RPGs…and radioactive material…already sent via FedEx and UPS to operatives in the United States…. Hold a second.”

It took Meg a moment to realize Harvath was talking to her.

“…map. Meg? Hello? Are you listening to me?” whispered Harvath.

“What? I didn’t know you were talking to me.”

“I am. What’s that map?” he said as he took it from her hands and stared at it.

“I took it with the rest of the papers.”

Harvath turned back to the pay phone and said, “I’m positive about the attack. Yes, the peace summit in Frascati. I have the map right here. They’ve circled ground zero, with concentric rings based on the success of the device…. Make it fast. I don’t think we have much time.”

While Lawlor had Harvath on hold, Meg whispered, “Where did they get all that stuff?”

Harvath looked around before replying. “Iraq. Iran. North Korea. For all we know it could have come out of Russia.”

“That’s terrifying. How can it just be out there floating around?”

“Unfortunately almost anything is available if you can afford it.”

“Do you think Adara plans to use a radiological bomb at the peace summit?”

“It sure looks like it. Even if she just uses a small percentage of what she has in that arsenal, the result will be devastating. I don’t think she and her people know how powerful the attack will be. That’s why your map has all those circles on it. It’s got to be either a blast radius or a fallout radius.”

Meg was about to say something else when Lawlor came back on the line and Harvath’s attention was drawn once again to his call with Washington. The next words she heard from Harvath, coupled with the stress in his voice, chilled her to the bone.

“This
is
a legitimate threat…. They have no choice but to postpone…. It’s not giving in to terrorism…. If they don’t believe us, tell them to look in those catacombs themselves.”