Takedown

Once he emerged onto the sidewalk at Fifth Avenue he looked in every direction but couldn’t see the suspect. Then he noticed two black SUVs identical to the ones from the satellite imagery turn down 65th Street and head east. It had to be them.

With their flashing red and blue strobes, the blacked-out Tahoes looked one hundred percent authentic. It was incredibly brazen, but in a city where both residents and law enforcement were used to getting out of the way of such vehicles, the ploy made perfect sense.

After almost getting killed crossing Fifth Avenue, Harvath galloped up 64th Street and tried to close in on the SUVs. Had the street been wide open, there was no way Harvath could have ever caught them, but with the traffic impeding the SUVs’ getaway, he actually had half a chance of catching up.

As soon as there were only four car lengths separating him from the nearest Tahoe, Harvath drew his.40-caliber H amp;K USP Compact and tried to synchronize himself with the rhythm of the horse. They were on the sidewalk, and the last thing Harvath wanted was for one of his shots to go wide and for some innocent bystander to get caught in his line of fire.

Squeezing off at least three rounds, Harvath blew out the rear window and drilled two holes through the Tahoe’s rear tailgate doors. If he didn’t have the terrorists’ attention before, he definitely had it now. In fact, he had everyone’s attention. The drivers of the cars behind the Tahoe panicked at the gunshots and slammed on their brakes, causing a dangerous chain-reaction collision.

From the backseat of the SUV, two men in black balaclavas raised submachine guns and opened fire. Harvath pulled up on the horse’s reins and as he did so the animal caught a round to the neck. The beast slipped and once again lost its footing. This time, though, it didn’t recover. Harvath followed it headfirst, straight down into the pavement.

Forty-Nine

When Harvath came to, the first thing he saw was Bob Herrington. “So much for operating as a team.”

Harvath didn’t want to hear it and ignored his friend as he tried to move.

“Take it easy,” said Bob. “Don’t try to get up too fast. Are you okay? Anything broken?”

Harvath slowed down and tried moving his fingers. Next he moved his toes and then worked his way through the rest of his body. “I think I’m okay. What about the horse?”

Herrington looked over his shoulder, then back at Harvath, and shook his head. “Nope.”

“How about the cop by the Armory?” asked Harvath.

“Two rounds to the chest. Morgan had one of those QuickClot sponges in his bag and got it on him right away. Probably saved his life. I think he’s going to make it.”

Harvath pushed himself into a sitting position and leaned back against a parked car. He rubbed his brow along his shoulder to get some of the sweat out of his eyes and then saw that it wasn’t sweat, but blood.

“Don’t worry,” said Morgan, the team’s self-appointed medic, as he pulled some supplies out of his pack, including a tube of medical Krazy Glue known as Dermabond. “You’ve got one hell of a road rash on the left side of your face, but as long as we can get those cuts closed up, I don’t think it’s going to be too serious.”

“So much for me being the only pretty face in this group,” said Hastings.

Harvath’s smile quickly turned into a wince as Morgan swabbed his wounds with antiseptic.

“We heard the shots from the park,” said Cates. “Were you able to hit any of them?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about faces, or something distinct about the vehicle?” asked Herrington.

“At least four faces,” said Harvath, “all covered. And as for the vehicle, it’s a late-model black Tahoe which now bears the distinction of having lost its rear window while gaining a bullet hole in each of its rear tailgate doors.”

“That’s a start,” said Herrington, trying to remain upbeat and bolster his buddy’s spirits. “Not a very good one, but a start nonetheless.”

“So what you’re telling us is that you got an NYPD horse killed and yourself beat to shit for nothing?” asked Cates.

As Morgan began applying the Dermabond to close his wounds, Harvath surrendered to the inevitable. They had just blown their last and only lead. Holstering his weapon, which Hastings had found and now handed back to him, Harvath said, “Yeah, I guess it was all for nothing.”

Fifty

WASHINGTON, DC

Please tell me you’re calling because you’ve got something good to report,” said Gary Lawlor.

From his office at the Pentagon, Lieutenant Colonel Sean Olson replied, “I’ll let you judge for yourself how good this is.”

Lawlor grabbed a pen. After finding a clean sheet of paper on his desk he said, “Go ahead.”

“The men your agent identified in New York City are definitely active-duty marines. At least they were as of their last fitness reports.”

“Which was when?”

“Eighteen months ago.”

“Eighteen months ago?” replied Lawlor. “Don’t the Marines conduct fit reps every twelve?”

“Yeah,” said Olson, “but for some reason the paper trail on these marines stops exactly eighteen months ago.”