Takedown

Even though he was all the way down in Bethesda, Maryland, McCauliff laughed so loud, it sounded like he was standing on the street right next to them. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather collect unemployment.”

“For Christ’s sake, Kevin, this is serious. Have you seen what’s happened up here?”

“Of course I have. It’s all over the place. Worse than 9/11, they’re saying.”

“And it could get worse still if you don’t help.”

“Scot, you’re going to have to tell me what I’m doing this for.”

“For me, Kevin.”

“We’re close friends and all, but that’s not good enough.”

“I’ll take your sister to dinner again, okay? How about that?” said Harvath. He knew the analyst’s sister had a thing for him. After the last time McCauliff had helped him out on a hush-hush case, that had been the payment he’d asked for in return.

“We weren’t in the middle of a national crisis that time. We’re not supposed to be diverting any resources right now. If I get caught, I’m going to need a cover story.”

“And I don’t have one for you,” said Harvath. “You’re going to have to come up with one on your own. Please, Kevin. We think the people behind the attacks today may have something else planned. I need you to do this for me so we can stop them.”

“And the reason you’re not doing it out of your department?”

“Is because nobody in my department can do this stuff as well as you.”

McCauliff remained silent so long, Harvath felt he had no choice but to let the other shoe drop, “And because this morning, before the bridges and tunnels blew, I was involved in a covert operation with what I thought was the Manhattan Joint Terrorism Task Force. It turns out they were actually DIA agents posing as JTTF. Whatever they’re up to, word somehow leaked. Terrorist chatter intercepted today shows that they already know all about the op.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. We’re all on the same side. Why wouldn’t these guys work with you and tell you they were DIA?”

“That’s what I hope to find out, but none of it matters unless I can figure out what the terrorists are planning to do next. Are you going to help me or not?”

McCauliff thought about it for a moment and then said, “A lot’s going to depend on the cell phone data. If it’s transmitted in a clear format, we can grab it. If it’s over a secure channel like SSL, I’m going to need some time to work on decoding it.”

“We may not have time.”

“You said these phones were on Nextel network?”

“Correct.”

“I know a guy over there who might let me peek behind the curtain. I’ll work that angle as well as the GPS tracking company’s servers. I’ll call you back in a half hour.”

Harvath gave McCauliff some additional information from the phone he had “forgotten” to put back in the NYPD evidence bag and then hung up.

“What do we do now?” asked Herrington.

“McCauliff’s the best guy on something like this. If anybody can turn this to our advantage, it’s him.”

“And then what? If we pick up a trail on the terrorists, there are still only two of us.”

“To tell you the truth, I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet,” said Harvath.

“I have,” replied Bob. “Let’s get back to the VA and see if we can’t improve our odds.”

Twenty-Five

With their two litter bearers, Tim Fiore and Marcy Delacorte pounded down the bridge as fast as their feet would carry them.

When they reached the end of the bridge, three ambulances were already pulling away-packed with injured.

Tim yelled to an NYPD officer about twenty feet ahead, “Stop that ambulance!” but the officer knew there wasn’t room in any of them for even one more person.

“There’s more ambulances on the way,” he shouted back.

“We can’t wait,” replied Marcy as she flashed her credentials. “ U.S. Secret Service. We have a priority injury here.”

“The ambulances are gone, ma’am. There’s nothing I can do.”

Fiore tilted his head in the direction of the officer’s squad car, and Delacorte knew exactly what he was thinking.

“We need your patrol car.”

“I can’t do that,” said the officer.

“And I’m not asking,” replied Marcy as she raised her weapon.

The cop put up both his hands. “Okay, okay. It’s yours.”

“Let’s get her into the car,” Tim said to the two men who were helping them.

They rushed to the patrol car, and as the officer watched them place Amanda on the backseat, he asked, “Is that-?”

Fiore nodded his head. “Where’s the nearest hospital?”

“Beth Israel,” replied the cop. “Fifteenth and First. The NYU hospital downtown is going to be overloaded.”

“You can’t drive,” stated Marcy as she got in the back with Amanda. “You don’t know your way around.”

Tim looked around and then spotted something on the dash of a car idling in the gridlock not far from where they were. Running toward it, Fiore removed his credentials and held them up when he reached in the window and grabbed the device. “U.S. Secret Service” was all he said.