Jordan squinted at her.
“And,” she added, “I want an official finding, signed by the Director, on his letterhead, authorizing me to do what you’re asking.”
He shook his head. “No way. He’ll never go for it.”
“Those are my terms. You either meet them, or I walk.”
For several moments, he pretended to think about her demands. Finally, he said, “I think I can probably get McGee to agree to that. But for triple your fee, it’s going to need to include another surveillance package.”
“That depends. Who’s the target?”
“Ryan’s new boss,” said Jordan. “Reed Carlton.”
CHAPTER 29
Completely blacked out, Harvath’s two-vehicle convoy pounded through the desert, using their night vision goggles to guide them.
Night vision goggles, though, depended on ambient light — something they had too little of.
Usually on an operation like this, the vehicles would have been outfitted with infrared headlights or some other sort of IR. But this wasn’t a normal operation, and Harvath had known that even under the best of conditions, the dirt roads were going to be tough to follow. Fortunately, he had come up with a solution.
Keying up his radio, he had asked the drone team to “sparkle” the roads for him.
Onboard the Reaper was a powerful infrared laser that acted like a giant laser pointer. It not only helped illuminate their route, but it also helped direct them where they needed to go.
Light on the infrared spectrum was invisible to the naked eye and could only be seen with night vision. It was a very useful tool, which gave them an exceptional advantage.
The advantage, however, was short-lived.
Harvath’s plan had been to stay on the desert roads until just south of the tiny fishing village of Abu Kammash, not far from the Tunisian border. There, provided no one was on their tail, they could cut back south along the coast and pick up the road that would take them back to the safe house.
That plan was scrapped when the drone team alerted Harvath that his convoy had vehicles converging on it from multiple directions.
How the hell was that possible? “Off sparkle,” he ordered.
“Roger that. Off sparkle,” the drone team leader replied.
The effect was like someone turning off a streetlight. Their visibility instantly dropped. Staelin, who was piloting their Land Cruiser, had no choice but to slow down.
They went from doing more than sixty miles an hour, to less than twenty. Harvath, who was riding shotgun, leaned forward to get a better view through the windshield, but it was no use.
Behind them, Haney slowed the technical. Compared to how fast they had been going, they were now moving at a snail’s pace.
“What are the hostile vehicles doing now?” Harvath asked over the radio.
“Same thing you are,” the voice replied.
Harvath had been afraid of that. It looked as if they had night vision as well. It was the weak spot in his plan. And while he couldn’t know for sure how the Libya Liberation Front had gotten their hands on such highly restricted technology, he had a pretty good idea.
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.”