It was a man. He was dark-skinned and dressed like many of the men he had seen in Aubervilliers. On the surface, there was nothing to suggest anything out of the ordinary. There was something about him, though, that radiated police. He could sense it, even though the man was so far up ahead of him.
Younes must have sensed it as well, because at one point he turned around and looked back. Shortly thereafter, the dark-skinned man turned the corner and broke off. A block later, he was replaced by another cop. The chemist was definitely under surveillance.
That complicated things. Enormously.
The Tajik had to assume that in addition to following the young man, the French authorities were also listening in on his calls and reading his emails. They might have even bugged his apartment.
The big question was why? What had Younes done to draw such attention? Abdel claimed that he was clean, that he had not been involved with plotting any sort of jihadism. Was he correct?
Tursunov wondered if the answer might lie with the second cop on the surveillance team. He was lighter-skinned, with longer hair and a goatee. He could have passed for an Arab, but there was something else about him—something that gave Tursunov pause.
Making a right at the next corner, he broke off his pursuit and doubled back toward the Metro. He would wait until it was dark and come back then.
CHAPTER 35
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* * *
LIBYA
The cluster of sand-colored, one-story buildings was just off the road. They were abandoned and in an advanced state of disrepair. In multiple places, the three-foot-high stone wall surrounding the property had crumbled.
Harvath, Barton, Staelin, and Morrison hopped out of the truck to quickly clear the structures. Once they were confident no one was there, they helped Gage climb out and directed Haney around back.
A thatched roof over a long covered patio had partially collapsed. Moving some of the refuse beneath it, they were able to make enough room to park the technical. Then they rapidly piled up garbage around it.
It wasn’t the perfect camouflage job, but considering the circumstances, it would have to do.
Of the three buildings, the one to the north was the most secure. It had the thickest walls and an interior access to the roof.
After hustling the weapons and ammunition in from the truck, Harvath grabbed a length of tattered blue tarp from the pile of junk and climbed up to the roof.
It was flat and surrounded by a low parapet. In several places, pieces were missing. Whether that was by design or through neglect, the holes provided good spots for him to observe the road without being seen.
Crawling over to one, he raised a small pair of binoculars and peered out. There were no signs of any approaching vehicles.
Over his shoulder, the sun had cleared the horizon and was beginning its slow crawl into the morning sky.
Activating his satellite phone, he extended its antenna and waited impatiently for it to acquire a signal. Once it did, he sent a text back to Langley with his exact GPS coordinates.
Next, he punctured the blue plastic tarp with his knife and cut it in half lengthwise. Then, using pieces of concrete block to hold it down, he fashioned a large blue plus sign in the center of the roof.
Between that and the GPS coordinates, the drone should be able to pinpoint their location.
They had risked a tremendous amount in snatching the smuggler. If he didn’t help them connect any dots regarding the drowned chemistry student and the impending attacks, Harvath was going to put a bullet right between his eyes.
Hearing something behind him, he turned to see Haney with the remaining rocket and RPG launcher. “Everything good downstairs?” he asked.
The Marine nodded as he set the gear down and joined him. “Gage is stable. Staelin tried to give him something for the pain, but Gage told him to fuck off. Says he can’t fight if he’s high.”
Harvath smiled.
“Halim is also stable,” Haney continued, “but in a lot of pain. Gage told him to fuck off too.”
Harvath smiled again. “What about Barton and Morrison?”
“I’ve got Barton on the roof of the south building. Morrison is inside the one in the middle. In addition to their own weapons, they each took an AK and extra ammo.”
No matter what needed doing, Haney was always on top of it. He was about to thank him when his satellite phone vibrated. It was a text from Langley.
“What’s up?” Haney asked.
“Remember the Glocks the militia members were carrying at the electronics shop?”
The Marine nodded.
“I emailed the serial numbers to the Agency. DOD finally tracked the paperwork down. They were stolen from Camp 27.”
“The Special Forces training base outside Tripoli?”
“Yup,” said Harvath. “The one that got looted.”
“Uncle Sam doesn’t like when you steal from him.”
“No, he doesn’t. In fact, he gets very—”
Harvath was suddenly quiet. Picking the binoculars back up, he looked out through the hole in the parapet again. A multivehicle convoy was headed their way from Zelten. Keying up his radio, he notified the team.
Before he could tell Haney to head back downstairs, the Marine was already on his way.
Raising Strike Force Two’s drone team on the USS George H. W. Bush, he updated them and asked, “What’s the ETA on that Reaper?”
“There’s been some complication with the handoff.”
“We need that drone ASAP,” Harvath replied.
“We’re working on it. Stand by.”
He wanted to tell them to hurry the hell up. Instead, he confirmed the transmission and told his team, “Weapons hot, but nobody shoots. Only if we absolutely have to.”
They all hoped that the militia would just pass right by, but that wasn’t the kind of day they’d been having.
The prior drone team had counted fifteen vehicles vectoring in on them. If there were four men in each, that could mean up to sixty fighters. Maybe more.
As the column got closer, Harvath counted ten vehicles. Half of them were technicals.
Of those, two were mounted with the massive antiaircraft guns he’d been warned about.
It looked like the convoy from Abu Kammash had linked up with the convoy pursuing them out of the south.
Keep going, Harvath said to himself, nodding his head down the road. Nothing to see here.
As the convoy rolled closer to their location, every muscle in his body tensed and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He was like a coiled snake, ready to strike.
Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to relax. Slowly, he got his heart rate under control. The SEAL mantra, Slow is smooth and smooth is fast, popped up from somewhere deep in his mind. Be calm. Don’t rush, he reminded himself as he began to depress the trigger of his M4.
Near the entrance of the derelict compound, the convoy slowed. Fighters in the lead vehicle seemed to be trying to decide whether it was worth their time to check it out.
He could see the antiaircraft guns clearly now. If they were turned on the compound, they’d chew through it like a fat man going through a box of Thin Mints.