Chapter 51
D espite the thrum of the box fan, the sound of Harvath’s weight atop the warped floorboard was like an air horn going off.
Hale shot straight up in bed, with his eyes blinking and his head swinging back and forth as he tried to pinpoint the threat.
His element of surprise obliterated, Harvath did the only thing he could do. Aiming the Taser at center mass on Hale, he pressed the trigger and fired.
The nitrogen-propelled probes sizzled across the bedroom and embedded themselves right in the security chief’s chest.
The metal barbs went straight through his sweatshirt and dug into his flesh, then pulses of electricity began racing down the attached copper wires, intent on inducing neuromuscular incapacitation.
Hale let out a howl and stiffened up, but then he did something Harvath had only heard about before. Reaching down, he grabbed hold of the insulated wires and ripped the probes out.
Harvath didn’t hesitate. Pressing his trigger, he deployed a new set of probes and let the man ride the lightning again.
There was another howl from Hale, but this time as he stiffened, he rolled toward his right side.
It took Harvath a moment to realize that the movement wasn’t caused by the Taser. Hale was going for his nightstand. Which could only mean one thing. He had a gun.
Lighting him up with the strobe from his flashlight, Harvath tried to disorient him as he rapidly closed the distance between them.
And, knowing that clothing could sometimes disrupt the efficacy of a Taser, he also changed his point of aim, trying to hit Hale somewhere in the neck, or the side of the face.
Pressing the trigger, he let a third pair of probes fly, but only one found its mark, just below the man’s left ear. The other probe kept going, hitting the wall behind the nightstand.
There wasn’t time for Harvath to take aim and fire again. Hale had already opened the drawer and had his hand inside the nightstand.
Launching himself forward, Harvath delivered a blistering kick to the front of the drawer, breaking the man’s forearm.
Hale roared in pain.
Pulling his arm back, he brought the entire drawer with it, which he swung at Harvath.
As the drawer flew at Harvath’s face and he put up his hands to parry it away, Hale spun out of bed. Planting his right foot on the floor, he used his left leg to kick Harvath in his exposed rib cage. The force of the blow sent Harvath into the wall next to the bed.
Before Harvath could regain his balance, Hale delivered an incredibly painful peroneal strike to his right leg and took him to the ground.
In an instant, Hale was on top of him and had him in a crushing pin.
He was not only half a foot taller, but also weighed a good seventy pounds more and was using that weight to make it difficult for Harvath to breathe and keep him locked in place so he could rain down punches with his uninjured left hand.
Isolating the man’s injured arm, Harvath applied as much pressure as he could, causing Hale intense pain as he pulled it in close, trapping it to his side.
He then blocked the man’s right foot with his own to keep him off-balance, and then, locking his hands behind the giant’s back, he lifted his hips as high as possible in a bridge, leaned to the man’s right, and rolled over.
Instantly, the fight had changed. Now Harvath was on top, and the first thing he did was deliver a blistering headbutt, shattering the man’s nose and sending a spray of blood everywhere.
He followed it with two more, further bludgeoning the man’s cinder block of a head before freeing up his left hand and fumbling for something in his left cargo pocket.
As he did, he felt Hale’s good arm move, as if reaching for something off to the side. Instantly, Harvath knew what it had to be— the gun .
Delivering a forearm choke, he applied downward pressure across Hale’s throat as he used his right hand to try to wrestle the pistol away from him. Even after all the punishment he had dished out, the man was insanely strong.
Leaning even further into the choke, Harvath tried to finish off his oxygen supply. Despite having a broken right arm, Hale used it to push back, forcing Harvath to ease off. It was a contest of wills.
The only way Harvath could end this was to slip his other hand behind Hale’s head and make it a full choke. But if he did that, it would leave the man’s gun-grasping hand free, which was an absolute nonstarter.
Abandoning the choke, Harvath added his left hand to the fight for the gun.
But as he did, it changed his weight distribution, allowing Hale to bridge his hips and begin attempting to throw Harvath off.
Again and again, Harvath slammed the giant’s meaty left hand against the floor, trying to get him to release the pistol. Finally, it worked.
With a sweep of his hand, Harvath sent the weapon scudding across the bedroom floor and went to reestablish the choke, but Hale was already scrambling to get out from under him.
Using his right hand, Harvath pummeled the man with blows to his jaw and the left side of his head, including his ear.
As he did, he used his other hand to locate the hypodermic needle in his outer left cargo pocket.
Once his fingers closed around it, he pulled it out, flicked off the hinged safety cap, and drove the needle through Hale’s sweatpants into his thigh.
Depressing the plunger, he gave him the full injection of ketamine and stayed on top of him for several minutes until the man went limp.
Harvath knew he didn’t have much time. The effects of the drug could wear off in as little as five minutes. Considering how big Hale was, he worried the man might metabolize it even faster. He needed to get moving.
Standing up, he gave McGee a SITREP as he folded Hale’s blanket in half and rolled the monster onto it.
After gathering up his tactical light, Taser, and the hypodermic needle, he grabbed the top two corners of the blanket and dragged Hale out of the apartment.
Getting the man down the stairs was a pain in the ass, but Harvath managed. The real challenge was getting him up and into the cargo area of the nearest vehicle in the garage, which was the Range Rover.
Try as he might, however, Harvath couldn’t do it. Lifting that much dead weight up that high was a two-man job at least. He was wasting precious time.
Laying Hale back on the blanket, Harvath dragged the man to the other side of the garage.
Like an automotive version of Goldilocks, he walked past the also impossibly high Land Rover, past the 911 with its tiny front trunk or “frunk” as it was known, until he arrived at the Mercedes, which was just right.
With his muscles burning from hefting Hale into the trunk, he zip-tied the man’s feet and hands, put a piece of duct tape over his mouth, rolled a down over his head, and shut the lid.
Grabbing the fob from where it was hanging, he climbed behind the wheel and let McGee know he was ready to move.
“Roger that,” McGee replied over the radio. “I’m in place.”
They were at the final and, quite possibly, the most difficult phase of the plan.
Opening the armrest, Harvath found the vehicle’s lone remote.
It was capable of opening and closing the garage door, but that was it.
There wasn’t a clicker for the front gate.
That had to be activated by security personnel in a guard shack at the end of the driveway.
Separate from the rest of the estate’s security system, it wasn’t something that Nicholas had control over. McGee’s timing was going to need to be absolutely perfect.
Firing up the almost 800-horsepower V-8, he hit the button, raised the garage door, and pulled slowly into the motor court. Ahead of him the driveway loomed, dark and oppressive.
Trying to make as little noise as possible, he rolled forward, driving past the main house, the guesthouse, and then the security building where Nicholas had placed the Goblins. Nothing stirred and no one came out to flag him down. So far, so good.
As he neared the end of the driveway, he could see the guard booth and the silhouette of the lone security agent inside, illuminated by his monitor.
Harvath flashed his hi-beams, as he hoped members of the Willis family had done on countless occasions when leaving the property at night, signaling to the guard to begin retracting the gate so that he could drive right out and wouldn’t have to slow down when he got there.
The guard turned to look out the window behind him, but the gate remained closed, blocking Harvath’s path to the main road beyond.
“Come on…” he muttered under his breath, as he gripped the leather steering wheel tighter.
The guard turned back around, but instead of pushing the button, the armed man got up out of his chair and exited the booth.
Harvath could feel his heart rate increasing and forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths.
Radioing McGee, he said, “That’s it. He’s not opening the gate.”
“Five seconds,” the ex–CIA director replied.
His voice was calm, a stark contrast to the anxiety that was building in the center of Harvath’s chest. Of course that was easy for McGee; he was on the right side of the heavy gate and not facing down an armed security agent.
Suddenly there was an eruption of flashing lights—strobes of bright blue and red that cut through the darkness and cast shadows across the wrought iron of the gate.
“Now!” McGee ordered over the radio.
Harvath slammed his foot down on the accelerator and the Mercedes lurched forward. The strobe light suspended beneath Nicholas’s drone mimicked the rhythm of a police cruiser’s lightbar, fooling the gate’s strobe-light sensor into believing it was an emergency vehicle and opening wide.
The gate began to retract as the guard radioed his colleagues, wondering what was going on. But by then it was too late.
The gap in the gate was wide enough and the exit was clear.
“Hit it!” McGee insisted. “Go!”
Scot punched the accelerator and the big sedan rocketed through. Behind him there was no sudden burst of gunfire. The guard had no idea who was in the vehicle and would not have risked killing a member of the Willis family.
The car’s headlights sliced through the darkness and the tires squealed as they bit into the pavement of the main road. In less than three and a half seconds, Harvath was already doing sixty miles an hour.
But even with the gate falling farther behind him, he knew better than to think they were in the clear. He wasn’t safe yet. Not by a long shot.