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Harvath caught a glimpse of Sarhan’s car as it turned a block ahead of him and replied, “Tell them they don’t have a choice.”

CHAPTER 52

H
arvath’s assumption that Sarhan was headed for LAX was confirmed when the man’s circuitous route ended with his pulling into the parking structure adjacent to Terminal One.

“Can you tap into any of the garage cameras?” asked Harvath as he sped up.

“It’ll take a few minutes,” said Nicholas.

“Hurry up,” replied Harvath as he swerved around the car in front of him and pinned the accelerator. “I need to know where he is and what he’s doing. For all we know, he’s going to switch vehicles.”

“I’m going as fast as I can.”

Instead of entering the parking structure on the upper-deck departures level like Sarhan, Harvath chose one of the arrival-level entrances. Snatching his ticket from the dispenser, he pulled in and began scanning for the blue Nissan.

“Where is he, Nicholas?”

“Stand by. Still waiting for access to the camera system.”

Human nature being what it was, most people wanted to park close to the terminal and have less distance to walk. Harvath easily found a parking space near the garage exit and parked there. If Sarhan was planning on driving out of the terminal, he’d have to drive right by Harvath’s vehicle.

No sooner had that thought entered Harvath’s mind than he realized that if Sarhan did have a backup vehicle, it didn’t necessarily have to be in this parking structure. He could easily walk out, hop on the shuttle, and head to the long-term lot, where he could have another car waiting. It seemed a bit far-fetched to Harvath, but anything was possible.

“We’ve got garage video,” Nicholas said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Do you see his car?”

“Negative. He may have already parked.”

“Are you scanning the parked cars or just the ones that are moving?” asked Harvath.

“Both, but there are only so many cameras. You can’t get a perfect view of every single vehicle.”

“Have DHS make sure Sarhan’s picture gets to all of the parking lot attendants at the airport. If anyone sees him, make sure they call it in. Tell them not to do anything else, but call it in.”

“Got it,” said Nicholas, whose voice trailed off for a moment as something caught his eye. “I’ve also got a blue Nissan Sentra.”

“Where?”

“Second floor.”

Harvath was already out of his car and heading for the nearest stairwell as Nicholas gave him the precise location of the car.

“Is the license plate a match?” he asked as he opened the stairwell door.

“I can’t see it. I can’t even get a partial.”

“Is he in the car or has he already gotten out?”

Nicholas took a moment and then replied. “Unless he’s taking a nap, the car appears to be empty.”

“Find him. Check all the other cameras. Roll back the footage. Do whatever you have to do.”

“We’re working on accessing the recorded footage now.”

“And make sure nobody moves in on Sarhan or any of his people unless I say so,” said Harvath.

“That may be a problem.”

Harvath was about to open the door to the second level. “What do you mean, that may be a problem?”

“DHS told Carlton that they appreciate the tip, but that this is their jurisdiction and we don’t have any authority.”

“Damn it,” he replied. “They’re going to mess this whole thing up. Do they know I’m the person in the field?”

“No. Carlton didn’t want to reveal that.”

Harvath didn’t know that it would make any difference. It had been over two years since he’d worked for DHS and there was a completely new secretary in place now. He wouldn’t care that some former DHS employee was tracking a team of would-be terrorists. If his people could pinch them before anything happened, he’d rack up truckloads of brownie points with the press, the public, and especially the White House. Harvath should have seen that coming. In the wake of so many successful attacks on U.S. soil, DHS needed a win. Though he wanted to believe they’d do the right thing, too often it was the political thing, the thing that would play well for public relations, that was chosen.

“Did they tell you where they were on the shift change?”

“Negative,” said Nicholas.

“Damn it,” Harvath repeated as he got ready to open the door. “Tell the Old Man that he needs to find a way to work this out. Somebody, somewhere, owes him a favor. If DHS jumps the gun, they could blow this entire operation.”

“I’m sure he’s doing everything he can.”

Harvath opened the door and stepped onto the second level. “Where are the other vehicles?” he said quietly.

“The first one is about two blocks away.”

“Okay, let’s keep chatter to a minimum until—”

“Got him,” interrupted Nicholas.

“Sarhan? Where?”

“He got out of his vehicle, all right, but he didn’t walk toward any of the exits. He walked to the northeast corner of the structure.”

“Did he get in another car?” asked Harvath.

“Negative.”

“Do you have him on any of the cameras?”

“Negative,” replied Nicholas. “Not at present.”

“Roger that,” said Harvath as he approached the parking stall with the blue Nissan. Checking the plate, he relayed the numbers back to Nicholas.

“That’s it.”

Harvath slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew what looked like a threaded screw. It was a tool a spook buddy of his had designed and had given away to his friends in the community as a Christmas present. Foreign intelligence agents overseas had long been known to drive nails or screws into the tires of Americans they suspected of conducting espionage. Harvath’s buddy had seen it happen on more than one occasion and had decided to take the tactic to the next level. Employing a pal who was a machinist, he had him fabricate a screw with a hollow shaft and a small opening at the top and the bottom. In essence, it was an inch-long spike that relieved a tire of its air very quickly.

He eyeballed the interior of the vehicle, scanning for any sign of what Sarhan might be up to. “Did he have any bags with him?” he asked.

“Negative,” Nicholas replied. “Just what looked like a zippered case for a small laptop or an iPad maybe.”

“Keep looking for him.”

Choosing the tire he wanted, Harvath leaned over, jabbed in the screw, and kept walking.

If Sarhan hadn’t come to catch a flight or to switch vehicles, there was only one other reason, based on what Harvath had seen, for the man to be here. LAX had to be the target.

Four two-man teams had left Sarhan’s house and, via intricate SDRs, had taken great pains to make sure they weren’t being followed. Despite leaving before Sarhan, he had beaten them to the airport. Any doubt about what was about to happen was fading from Harvath’s mind.

Sarhan was the cell controller. He had picked the parking garage at Terminal One as an overwatch position. From the northeast corner of the garage, he could watch as all four teams drove past.

The fact that the men were traveling in pairs also made sense now. It was an insurance policy. Each was there to keep the other committed to the operation. With a two-man team, cowardice could be minimized, if not completely eradicated. If one of the men chickened out, the other would take care of the situation. It was a growing trend in terrorist operations.

Sarhan was there to make sure everything went off as planned. Very likely, he had been instructed to film as much of the carnage as possible so that it could be fed to Al Jazeera, which, in turn, would joyfully broadcast it to the Muslim world. Harvath, though, was determined that none of that was going to happen.

Holding his keys in his hand, he moved past the rows of cars pretending he was looking for his.

“The first of the vehicles just entered the airport,” said Nicholas.

“Understood,” Harvath replied as he kept walking.

“Did you notice anything off about any of the vehicles?”

“Negative. Why?”

“One of the guys in the TOC thinks that the cab that just pulled in is riding too low.”

Harvath had been so preoccupied with Sarhan and the men coming out of his house that he hadn’t paid nearly enough attention to the vehicles. “Nobody got out,” he said into his earbud’s microphone.

“Excuse me?” replied Nicholas.

“The van driver. The taxicab drivers. Even the driver of the Town Car. None of them got out when they picked the men up at Sarhan’s.”

“So?”

“So it doesn’t make sense,” said Harvath. “Why didn’t they get out and help with the bags?”

“Maybe they were told not to.”

“Why?”

Nicholas thought a moment. “Because they don’t want anyone else handling the bags?”

“Bingo.”

“I just got another IM from the guy in TOC. He really doesn’t like that first vehicle. He says it reminds him of VBIEDs he saw in Iraq.”

Harvath had seen his share of vehicle-borne improvised explosive devices as well. “Watch where it goes, and tell him to look at the other vehicles. I want to know if he thinks the same thing.”

“What are you thinking?” Nicholas asked.

“I’m thinking those guys with the bags go in, explosions happen, and when survivors rush out of the terminals, if those four vehicles are VBIEDs, the survivors get taken out in a secondary attack that’s even worse than the first.”

“What should we tell DHS?”

It was the right question, but not the one Harvath wanted to have to answer. If they told DHS that they now believed they had four teams of suicide bombers being dropped off by vehicles loaded with explosives, it was game over. They wouldn’t wait to see what happened. They’d shut the entire airport down. If Harvath was right, DHS would succeed in saving countless lives. If he was wrong, Sarhan and his men, who could very well be controllers of other cells scattered across the country, would know they had been blown and all those potential leads would evaporate.

The FBI would get involved, but even if they used CIA interrogators, they’d never be able to lean on Sarhan and his men hard enough to get any actionable intelligence out of them. And once the FBI was involved, they’d see to it that the men were afforded every single protection under the law. Nobody would be putting bags over their heads and transporting them to Iceland or one of the other black sites. Caught on American soil, they’d be handled under criminal court rules and proceedings—that is, if the FBI could come up with enough to even hold them.

It wasn’t that Harvath didn’t respect the Bureau, he did. It was just better that they didn’t get mixed up in this. It was also better, at least at this moment, that DHS not be given any encouragement to pull the trigger prematurely. “Don’t tell them anything,” he said.

“And if those are VBIEDs?” asked Nicholas.

Harvath could now make out the silhouette of someone standing in the northeast corner. Ducking into a row of parked cars, he crouched and adjusted the side mirror of the vehicle he was leaning against. “Contact,” he said quietly into his microphone.

CHAPTER 53

“W
hat’s he doing?” asked Nicholas.

Watching in a sideview mirror through multiple layers of autoglass, Harvath had a pretty lousy view. “He’s leaning against the concrete half-wall with a laptop open.”

“What’s he doing on the laptop?”

“I think it’s a ruse. He’s trying to look busy while he watches his teams arrive at the airport.”

“Now what?” asked Nicholas.

Harvath knew that the only way anyone was going to get any answers out of Tariq Sarhan, especially quick ones, was if he was asking the questions. The problem was, how the hell would he interrogate him in the middle of a parking garage?

Two vehicles away from Sarhan was a brand-new, white Cadillac Escalade. Harvath described it, gave Nicholas the license number, and said, “How long?”

“Give me three minutes,” he replied.

Harvath looked at his watch. “You’ve got two. Make it happen.”

Ninety seconds later, Nicholas said, “The OnStar folks are very sorry to hear you’ve lost your keys, Mr. Chaffee. Let me know when you want it opened.”

“Stand by,” said Harvath, as he stepped out from the row of parked cars. Holding the key fob for the vehicle he’d parked downstairs, he proceeded forward.