A few years ago, American Special Forces soldiers had set up a secret training camp on an old military base in this part of Libya. It was called Camp 27 because it was at the 27 kilometer marker on the road from Tripoli to Tunis.
Its goal was to help train up a team of one hundred high-speed Libyan counterterrorism fighters. The United States had provided them with Glock pistols, M4 rifles, and other essential equipment, including night vision goggles.
Several months later, when no U.S. personnel were present, two local militias and a jihadist group sympathetic to Al Qaeda overran the camp. None of the American-supplied gear was ever seen again.
Harvath was willing to bet that the night vision the militia was using, as well as the three Glocks he had taken off the dead militia members at the electronics shop in Al Jmail, were from Camp 27.
Not that any of that information was of any help to him. Right now, they had to shake those vehicles that were barreling down on them.
Speaking with the drone team leader, Harvath said, “Can you turn the sparkle back on and lead them in a different direction?”
“Roger that. But are you sure you want us to leave you blind?”
“If you can get those guys off our ass, it’ll be a fair tradeoff.”
“Copy that,” the drone team leader replied. “Adjusting course.” Moments later, he added, “Sparkle in five, four, three, two, one. Sparkle engaged.”
Without the powerful IR laser helping to guide them, trying to make it all the way back via the desert would take hours. They were going to have to risk a shortcut.
Harvath studied his map. They were just outside the town of Zelten. If they could get to the other side, they could pick up the coastal road and be home free.
“Let’s pull over here,” he said to Staelin. Behind them, Haney also pulled to the side of the road.
The dome lights had been deactivated, but nevertheless Harvath double-checked before opening his door.
It felt good to get out of the car and stretch his legs. Morrison and Barton hopped out too, but stayed near the rear of the SUV to keep an eye on their two Libyan prisoners.
When Harvath walked back to the technical, Haney was standing next to it taking a piss. Gage was busy packing a new wad of chaw into his mouth.
“When we get back to the house,” the Green Beret said, “I’m ordering in pizza and a six-pack.”
“Fuck that,” Haney replied. “We’re getting Chinese. And then we’re going to the Holiday Inn up the street. I hear they’ve got an awesome cover band. Bomb Jovi.”
Harvath couldn’t help but laugh. Next to the action, one of the biggest things he missed when he was back home was the sense of humor so many operators had.
“Here’s where I’m at,” he said. “Using the IR from the drone is no longer an option. But without it, going the back roads under NVGs will take us all night.
“Even so, we can flip our headlights back on and press our luck through the desert. Maybe some farmer sees us and calls it in to the bad guys, maybe he doesn’t. Or we can cut through this town up ahead, roll for the coast, and be drinking mai tais in under an hour. Thoughts?”
“Frankly,” said Gage. “I think mai tais are elitist. But I like the idea of being home in under an hour. I say cut through town.”
Harvath looked at Haney. While he respected everyone on the team, his was the opinion he valued the most.
“A lot more eyeballs and cell phones in town,” he said, rubbing the stubble along his jaw. “Much higher potential for being spotted, even at four in the morning.”
“True.”
“We don’t know what we’re riding into. There could be some leave behinds. Who knows if every militia member saddled up and rode out? All it takes is one guy in a window or on a rooftop, and we’re screwed.”
Harvath was about to respond when Staelin walked up.
“Bad news,” the Delta Force operative said.
“What is it?”
“We’re starting to run low on fuel. There isn’t enough to bounce all over hell and back.”
“But there’s an extra two—” Harvath began, then caught himself. They had used the extra cans of fuel to burn down the electronics shop. “Fuck.”
“Yup,” Staelin replied. “Exactly.”
“So we’ve got no choice.”
“Not unless you brought a siphon with you and want to suck the gas out of the technical.”
There was some surgical tubing in the med kit, but nowhere near enough. “We could cut the fuel line or puncture the tank. Put something underneath it to catch everything.”
“That sounds like fun,” Staelin replied, as he turned and walked away. “If you need me, I’ll be in the Land Cruiser.”
Harvath turned back to Haney and Gage. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s late,” said Gage. “And anyone with any sense in that town is asleep. We keffiyeh up, we roll hard and fast, and nobody’s the wiser.”
“Mike, what do you think?” asked Harvath. Even though he was the leader, it was important to get buy-in from the entire team.
“I think there’s no good answer. That’s what I think.”
“So is that a yes, or a no?”
Haney thought about it for a moment and then looked at him. “I don’t want to miss Bomb Jovi, so I guess it’s a yes.”
Harvath smiled and turned to follow Staelin back to the SUV. As he was walking away, Gage imitated a goat and sang, “You give love a baaaaaad name.”
Back at the Land Cruiser, he spoke with Barton and Morrison. They both agreed with the plan, especially in light of the fuel situation. Neither wanted to court trouble, but they couldn’t see a way around it either. All things considered, it seemed worth the risk.
Climbing back into the vehicle, Harvath double-checked his map and after a final check with the drone team that their ruse had worked and the sparkle was leading the militia vehicles away, he gave the order to get moving.
This was either going to be one of his best or one of his worst ideas ever. Only time would tell.
As Staelin got back onto the road and started rolling, Harvath looked at his watch. There wasn’t much darkness left.
Quietly, he said a little prayer. All he asked was that they be allowed to get back to the safe house without any problems.
But something had attached itself to his vehicle. A little something called Murphy.
CHAPTER 30
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Zelten was cut in half by the east–west road that ran to the border with Tunisia. The most densely populated neighborhoods were south of the road, and as luck would have it, that was the direction from which Harvath and his team were approaching. The road they needed to get to, which would take them to the coast, was on the north side of town.
The fastest and most direct route would have been to travel right through the center of Zelten. It would have also drawn the most attention. The dawn prayer, known as the Fajr, was only an hour away. There were going to be people making their way to local mosques.