three-round burst through the rear window, showering the backseat with broken glass. He then yelled his command in Arabic again.
Slowly, Yaqub sat up and raised his hands.
Keeping his weapon trained at the man’s head, Harvath approached the rear passenger door. He nodded at Sloane, who slung her MP7 and transitioned to her Glock. Removing her flashlight, she sent a blinding beam of light into Yaqub’s eyes, illuminating the entire backseat.
“Gun!” she shouted. “On his lap!”
Chase repeated in Arabic for Yaqub to keep his hands up. “Raweenee edeek. Raweenee edeek!”
Slinging his MP7, Harvath said, “If he moves, kill him.”
Both operatives nodded.
In Yaqub’s lap Harvath saw a 9mm Beretta pistol. Keeping his eyes on Yaqub and his hands, Harvath reached through the shattered driver’s window, unlocked and then slowly opened the rear passenger door. Yaqub never moved.
Fixing him with his gaze, Harvath reached in and retrieved the weapon. Making sure it was on safe, he tucked it into his waistband at the small of his back and ordered in Arabic, “Get out of the car. Do it now!”
Slowly, Yaqub complied.
He was big and ugly. While Harvath stood five-foot-ten, Yaqub was at least two inches taller. It looked like the doctor had delivered him with ice tongs. His face was a roadmap of pockmarks and scars.
Harvath spun him around, bent him over the trunk, and patted him down. He found the Arab’s cell phone and tossed it to Chase. Police klaxons could be heard in the distance.
Removing a pair of FlexiCuffs, some duct tape, and a black hood from his pocket, he told Sloane and Chase, “Secure everything. We’re out of here in forty-five seconds.”
After securing Yaqub’s wrists behind his back, he stood him up and turned him around. “Do you know who I am?” he asked in Arabic.
The terrorist studied him for a moment and then responded in English. “A dead man.”
Harvath smiled. “Wrong,” he said, before whipping his head forward. There was a crack of cartilage and a spray of blood as he shattered the man’s crooked beak of a nose.
The Saudi’s knees went weak as a wave of agony swept through his body.
Harvath held on and steadied him. As he did, he leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “I’m the Angel of Death, and I’m taking you back to hell where you belong.”
CHAPTER 5
----
----
T he USS Florida was an Ohio-class ballistic missile submarine just off the Pakistani coast. Fitted behind its sail structure, piggyback style, was a pressurized garage called a dry deck shelter, or DDS for short. It was capable of launching not only SEAL Delivery Vehicles, but also the SEALs’ fast, highly maneuverable inflatable Zodiac boats known as combat rubber raiding craft, or CRRCs. These boats could be launched or recovered regardless of whether the Florida was on or beneath the surface.
Harvath would have loved to have brought Ahmad Yaqub aboard the Florida via a subsurface recovery. It would have scared the hell out of him and made him even more pliant to interrogation. Trying to get him to calmly breathe oxygen from a SCUBA tank while dragging him underwater, though, was a disaster waiting to happen. Instead, Harvath had another plan.
A SEAL team from the Florida had rendezvoused with Harvath and his prisoner near Karachi’s Clifton Beach. After hog-tying Yaqub and placing him facedown in the CRRC, Harvath hopped in with the SEALs and headed out into the open ocean. Chase and Sloane would link up with the rest of the team who had hit the ISI safe house, review any materials they had found, and prepare a report to be transmitted back to the States. After that, a private plane would return them to the United States.
Powered by its fifty-five-horsepower outboard motor, the black, fifteen-and-a-half-foot-long CRRC skipped over the top of the water,but landed hard off a couple of particularly large waves. Each time it did, Harvath heard Yaqub grunt as the terrorist took the brunt of the
Slowly, Yaqub sat up and raised his hands.
Keeping his weapon trained at the man’s head, Harvath approached the rear passenger door. He nodded at Sloane, who slung her MP7 and transitioned to her Glock. Removing her flashlight, she sent a blinding beam of light into Yaqub’s eyes, illuminating the entire backseat.
“Gun!” she shouted. “On his lap!”
Chase repeated in Arabic for Yaqub to keep his hands up. “Raweenee edeek. Raweenee edeek!”
Slinging his MP7, Harvath said, “If he moves, kill him.”
Both operatives nodded.
In Yaqub’s lap Harvath saw a 9mm Beretta pistol. Keeping his eyes on Yaqub and his hands, Harvath reached through the shattered driver’s window, unlocked and then slowly opened the rear passenger door. Yaqub never moved.
Fixing him with his gaze, Harvath reached in and retrieved the weapon. Making sure it was on safe, he tucked it into his waistband at the small of his back and ordered in Arabic, “Get out of the car. Do it now!”
Slowly, Yaqub complied.
He was big and ugly. While Harvath stood five-foot-ten, Yaqub was at least two inches taller. It looked like the doctor had delivered him with ice tongs. His face was a roadmap of pockmarks and scars.
Harvath spun him around, bent him over the trunk, and patted him down. He found the Arab’s cell phone and tossed it to Chase. Police klaxons could be heard in the distance.
Removing a pair of FlexiCuffs, some duct tape, and a black hood from his pocket, he told Sloane and Chase, “Secure everything. We’re out of here in forty-five seconds.”
After securing Yaqub’s wrists behind his back, he stood him up and turned him around. “Do you know who I am?” he asked in Arabic.
The terrorist studied him for a moment and then responded in English. “A dead man.”
Harvath smiled. “Wrong,” he said, before whipping his head forward. There was a crack of cartilage and a spray of blood as he shattered the man’s crooked beak of a nose.
The Saudi’s knees went weak as a wave of agony swept through his body.
Harvath held on and steadied him. As he did, he leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “I’m the Angel of Death, and I’m taking you back to hell where you belong.”
CHAPTER 5
----
----
T he USS Florida was an Ohio-class ballistic missile submarine just off the Pakistani coast. Fitted behind its sail structure, piggyback style, was a pressurized garage called a dry deck shelter, or DDS for short. It was capable of launching not only SEAL Delivery Vehicles, but also the SEALs’ fast, highly maneuverable inflatable Zodiac boats known as combat rubber raiding craft, or CRRCs. These boats could be launched or recovered regardless of whether the Florida was on or beneath the surface.
Harvath would have loved to have brought Ahmad Yaqub aboard the Florida via a subsurface recovery. It would have scared the hell out of him and made him even more pliant to interrogation. Trying to get him to calmly breathe oxygen from a SCUBA tank while dragging him underwater, though, was a disaster waiting to happen. Instead, Harvath had another plan.
A SEAL team from the Florida had rendezvoused with Harvath and his prisoner near Karachi’s Clifton Beach. After hog-tying Yaqub and placing him facedown in the CRRC, Harvath hopped in with the SEALs and headed out into the open ocean. Chase and Sloane would link up with the rest of the team who had hit the ISI safe house, review any materials they had found, and prepare a report to be transmitted back to the States. After that, a private plane would return them to the United States.
Powered by its fifty-five-horsepower outboard motor, the black, fifteen-and-a-half-foot-long CRRC skipped over the top of the water,but landed hard off a couple of particularly large waves. Each time it did, Harvath heard Yaqub grunt as the terrorist took the brunt of the
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