“That sounds like fun,” Staelin replied, as he turned and walked away. “If you need me, I’ll be in the Land Cruiser.”
Harvath turned back to Haney and Gage. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s late,” said Gage. “And anyone with any sense in that town is asleep. We keffiyeh up, we roll hard and fast, and nobody’s the wiser.”
“Mike, what do you think?” asked Harvath. Even though he was the leader, it was important to get buy-in from the entire team.
“I think there’s no good answer. That’s what I think.”
“So is that a yes, or a no?”
Haney thought about it for a moment and then looked at him. “I don’t want to miss Bomb Jovi, so I guess it’s a yes.”
Harvath smiled and turned to follow Staelin back to the SUV. As he was walking away, Gage imitated a goat and sang, “You give love a baaaaaad name.”
Back at the Land Cruiser, he spoke with Barton and Morrison. They both agreed with the plan, especially in light of the fuel situation. Neither wanted to court trouble, but they couldn’t see a way around it either. All things considered, it seemed worth the risk.
Climbing back into the vehicle, Harvath double-checked his map and after a final check with the drone team that their ruse had worked and the sparkle was leading the militia vehicles away, he gave the order to get moving.
This was either going to be one of his best or one of his worst ideas ever. Only time would tell.
As Staelin got back onto the road and started rolling, Harvath looked at his watch. There wasn’t much darkness left.
Quietly, he said a little prayer. All he asked was that they be allowed to get back to the safe house without any problems.
But something had attached itself to his vehicle. A little something called Murphy.
CHAPTER 30
Zelten was cut in half by the east — west road that ran to the border with Tunisia. The most densely populated neighborhoods were south of the road, and as luck would have it, that was the direction from which Harvath and his team were approaching. The road they needed to get to, which would take them to the coast, was on the north side of town.
The fastest and most direct route would have been to travel right through the center of Zelten. It would have also drawn the most attention. The dawn prayer, known as the Fajr, was only an hour away. There were going to be people making their way to local mosques.
Harvath decided to trade a little expediency for some added safety. They would loop around the west side of town to avoid as much as possible.
The road system, though, was medieval. Narrow, dusty streets sometimes ran for only a couple of blocks before looping back on themselves or dead-ending. It reminded Harvath of the maze of streets on the Greek island of Mykonos designed to disorient pirates. It was going to be a nightmare getting through.
They took their NVGs off and turned their headlights on. With their keffiyehs helping to disguise them, they moved quickly around the southern edge of the town.
If Zelten was a watch face, they were at about the eight-o’clock position when Haney radioed that they had someone on their tail.
“Everyone stay cool,” said Harvath as he instructed Staelin to make the next right turn. “Let’s see if this is for real.”
The Land Cruiser made the turn, followed by the technical. It was one of the neighborhoods Harvath had wanted to avoid.
The houses, pockmarked and scarred from fighting during the revolution, were packed tightly together. Some were in better shape than others.
Parked cars lined the street. Electric lines were strung from one building to the next. There was no movement. It was quiet. Very quiet.
“He’s still behind us,” said Haney.
“Roger that,” Harvath replied. Turning to Staelin, he said, “Take the next right.”
The Delta Force operative obeyed and they headed down another crowded block of homes.
“How are we looking now, Haney?” Harvath asked, as he tried to get a good view with his side mirror.
“Not good. Still on my six.”
Pointing out the windshield, Harvath told Staelin, “Take this next turn up ahead,” and repeated the same to Haney over the radio.
“Roger that,” they both replied.
As soon as they had made the turn, Harvath said, “Now floor it.”
The big SUV’s engine roared as it rocketed down the street — this one paved and complete with intermittent streetlights. Looking in his side mirror, he was finally able to see the vehicle tailing Haney. It was another technical.
Either this guy had just gotten lucky or somewhere someone had spotted them and had called it in. It didn’t make a difference now. They needed to lose him.
“Three o’clock,” Barton exclaimed from the backseat.
Harvath swiveled his head to the right. Paralleling them one road over was an additional technical. Fuck. “Make sure they don’t box us in,” he told Staelin.
The Delta Force operative nodded. “What do you want to do?”
He wanted to get the hell out of there, but with two tails and more likely inbound, that was impossible. He had to come up with an alternative plan, fast.
Keying up his radio, he announced to Staelin and Haney, “Left turn up ahead. Then the second right.”
When the men acknowledged the directions, Harvath turned to Barton. “Hand me that Russian grenade launcher.”
Once he did, Harvath double-checked to make sure it was loaded and then told everyone what he was going to do.
Suddenly, there was the crack of gunfire from behind. The militia was shooting at them.
“Contact rear! Contact rear!” Gage shouted over the radio, as he turned in his seat and began firing through the shattered rear window of their pickup.
“Don’t slow down,” Harvath ordered his team. “Left, then second right.”
Arriving at the left turn, everyone braced as Staelin pulled the wheel hard. The tires screamed as the heavy SUV spun around the corner.
“Push it! Push it!” Harvath urged, and Staelin gave the Land Cruiser even more gas.
They had to be doing at least eighty. Next to them building facades whipped by. Then, an intersection. Had a car been passing through at the same time, it would have been a coffin-measuring festival.
There was a blur of more buildings and finally the next road.
“Right turn. Right turn,” he announced.
Staelin applied the brakes, but only enough so as not to lose control in the turn. As soon as he was through it, he slammed the gas. Up ahead was their target — an Islamic cemetery.
“Get ready to jump,” said Staelin.
Making sure his gear was secure, Harvath cracked open his door and then nodded.
When they reached it, Staelin slammed on the brakes and yelled, “Go! Go!”
Harvath hadn’t even hit the ground before the Delta Force operative had once again put the pedal to the floor.
Jumping from a moving vehicle, even one that had just slammed on its brakes, was an invitation for a serious injury. It became an engraved invitation when you did it in the dark. As he hit the ground, Harvath rolled, and kept on rolling, until all his momentum was dissipated.
In Islam, the deceased are buried in a shroud and placed on their right side without a coffin, facing the Kaaba in Mecca. A small grave marker is used — usually less than twelve inches high.
Getting to his feet, he ran for the only cover available, a small row of date palms.
But Harvath hadn’t come to the cemetery to hide — at least not totally. He had come to take out the two technicals that were following his team.
By the time he reached the trees, Haney had already raced by. Now came the gray pickup that was chasing him, with its heavy machine gun mounted in the back. A militia member with an AK-47 was leaning out the front passenger window, firing.