Chapter 29
BANGKOK
Harvath was already moving. “How many?” he asked.
“Four,” Haney replied. “All males. Late twenties to forties. Wearing suits. No visible long guns.”
Suits? That was unusual. None of the men at Tommy Sombat’s had been wearing suits.
He and Morrell held on the stairwell’s fourth-floor landing. The building was quiet. Down in the lobby, the overnight lights cast a muted glow onto the street as the 4Runner’s doors opened in sequence. In position, Harvath watched all of it unfold via the feed on his phone.
As the men stepped out, they gave the surrounding rooftops only a quick scan and then adjusted their jackets as if arriving late for a meeting. There was a controlled urgency to their movements.
“One of them appears to be carrying some sort of medical bag,” Haney added.
“Good copy,” Harvath acknowledged.
Seconds later, Haney reported, “Okay, front two appear headed into the lobby. Back two are hanging back a couple of steps. Still no weapons visible.”
Not a hard entry, Harvath mused. Not an assault team—at least not overtly.
He felt his pulse settle into a familiar, controlled rhythm. Whoever these men were, they didn’t seem to be expecting trouble.
“Everyone stay frosty,” Harvath ordered. “Let them commit.”
Two floors below him the lobby door swung inward. One of the men tried the handle, found it unlocked, and pushed the door open. All four then stepped inside as if they belonged there.
Crossing the lobby, one pair headed for the elevator while the other headed for the stairs.
Harvath glanced at Morrell. The CIA man gave the slightest shake of his head. They were thinking the same thing. These guys were definitely not an assault team. Or, at the very least, not a very well-trained one. Elevators were a death trap. Whenever possible, you always took the stairs.
“They’re splitting,” Haney confirmed. “Two are taking the stairs and the other two are waiting for the elevator.”
All of it tracked. If they believed the man they were looking for was injured and had moved under his own power, speed mattered. So did splitting up. One pair to confirm the roof. The other pair to check the periodontist’s office.
This was one of the contingencies they had planned for. All of the assignments were clear. Haney and Staelin were responsible for the lobby. Ashby and Palmer would handle the third floor, including the periodontist’s office. Harvath and Morrell had the fourth floor and the roof.
The elevator indicator chime rose like a signal flare. “Go time,” Harvath said quietly over the radio. “Zero comms.”
Putting his phone away, he readied his weapon as he and Morrell took up their positions.
They were experienced enough operators to know that anything could happen.
The elevator and stairwell teams might both head to the roof together.
They might all go to the third floor and check out the medical office together.
If either of those scenarios rolled out, either Ashby and Palmer or Harvath and Morrell would be facing a two-on-four fight.
That would be a less-than-optimal situation as they needed to take at least one of the intruders alive.
The key was to get the drop on all of them before any of them knew what was happening.
Harvath’s money remained on the two teams’ number one goal being to get in, find their missing man, and get out as quickly as possible, which meant a rapid divide-and-conquer strategy.
They had no reason to expect any resistance. The cleaning lady had come and gone with zero issues. As far as the two teams now headed upstairs were concerned, this was a recovery operation. Nothing more. Nothing less.
The heavy fire door on the ground floor opened with a groan that echoed up the stairwell. Footsteps climbed quickly, punctuated by the occasional whisper of Mandarin. Leather soles slapped concrete, growing louder.
Harvath applied pressure to his trigger just as the first man came into view. It was at the turn between the third and fourth floors. The man’s colleague was only two steps behind. Neither of them was holding a weapon.
The first man came around the corner. He was breathing hard. His eyes were down—neither alert nor searching. Harvath waited until he had both men in his sights.
“Freeze,” he ordered. “Don’t move.”
Whether by instinct or training, the first man didn’t hesitate. He swept the right side of his jacket back and went for the pistol holstered at his hip. It was the last mistake he would ever make.
The two suppressed shots from Harvath’s Sbr clapped in the confined space—muffled, flat, and hopefully swallowed by the noise of the elevator machinery. Both rounds struck high, center mass.
The man’s expression flickered from confusion to shock as he fell backward and crashed into his partner. The second man never even got his pistol clear.
Leaping down the stairs, Harvath drove into him, smashing him against the wall. The man’s hand clawed for his weapon, but Harvath trapped his wrist and slammed his forearm across the man’s throat.
“Don’t,” he said quietly.
The captive froze.
Looking up, Harvath saw Morrell at the top of the stairs, weapon steady, covering the landing. That had been the plan.
If both elements had pushed to the fourth floor together, Morrell would have been able to exit the fire door and deal with whoever stepped out of the elevator. Harvath’s job had been the stair team. No matter how it broke, they would control the choke point.
Beneath him, the man he had pinned tried to twist free.
Harvath tightened his forearm against the man’s throat and drove him harder into the concrete, cutting off his air and his voice at the same time. “Not a sound,” he warned.
The oxygen being cut off to his brain, the man stopped struggling.
From somewhere, Harvath couldn’t tell exactly which floor, the elevator chimed. For a split second, everything hung in the balance. Then, over the radio, three squelch clicks.
Ashby. Third floor. Good. Harvath exhaled slowly but maintained pressure on his captive’s throat.
His eyes were beginning to bulge, and he clawed at Harvath’s sleeve.
“Easy,” Harvath murmured. “You breathe when I tell you to.”
Morrell broke from the fourth-floor landing and moved down the steps to Harvath. With his eyes glued to the stairwell below, he disarmed both the captive and his fallen accomplice. He removed their radios as well.
Morrell produced a pair of flex cuffs and secured the captive’s hands behind his back. The man sagged against the wall, coughing as air returned to his lungs.
Harvath conducted a rapid search. Jacket pockets first. Inside the breast pocket, he found a wallet.
He flipped it open and saw a red-and-gold crest. People’s Republic of China. Embassy of the PRC—Bangkok.
Harvath’s eyes narrowed.
He checked the dead man next. Same crest. Same credentials. These weren’t intelligence officers from some clandestine unit. They were diplomatic security.
Morrell unwound a long piece of duct tape from one of his magazines and wrapped it around the man’s head, gagging him.
“Chinese Embassy?” he asked, looking at the credentials.
Harvath nodded. “Not at all who I thought they’d send.”
“Smart, though. They’ve got functional immunity and, if they need to, can liaise with local law enforcement.”
“Perfect errand boys. I should have seen this coming.”
Morrell was about to tell him there was no way of knowing who the Chinese would send, when three additional squelch clicks came over the radio. Palmer.
“Go down to three and back the team up,” said the CIA man. “I’ll keep an eye on this guy and hold the stairs.”
Flashing him the thumbs-up, Harvath turned and crept down to the third floor. He knew Ashby and Palmer could hold their own, but having another friendly gun in the fight was always a good idea.
Cracking the stairwell door, he peered into the hallway and quietly radioed Ashby and Palmer to let them know where he was and that he was headed to them. Each operative squelch clicked back.
Stepping into the hall, he hugged the wall and made his way forward. Up ahead, he watched as the other two Chinese Embassy security men were about to enter the periodontist’s office.
One of the men was carrying the medical bag. The other had his suit jacket open and his hand near his holstered weapon.
Pushing open the door with his foot, man number two called out in Mandarin. When he didn’t get a response, he called out again. Nothing.
That made sense, but why was his hand hovering near his pistol? Had he heard the two suppressed shots from the stairwell as he was riding up in the elevator?
Harvath, however, immediately discounted that as a possibility. If the man had heard anything resembling gunfire, he would have radioed his colleagues. It had to be something else. Maybe the silence. Maybe the hour. Maybe he was just jumpy.
Whatever it was, the man was alert. Too alert. He stood at the threshold, sweeping the darkened reception area with his eyes.
As he had with the drone, Harvath once again found himself quietly urging his adversaries to take the bait.
Instead, the man used his opposite hand to slowly pull his walkie-talkie from his belt.
Harvath knew exactly where this was going and it wasn’t good. The man was going to attempt to hail his teammates and get nothing in response. That silence would be an answer in and of itself.
Over his own radio, Harvath ordered, “Take them. Now.”
“Don’t move!” he heard Palmer yell from inside the medical office.
“Hands!” Ashby yelled, flanking the two men. “Let me see your hands!”
Harvath was about to close the distance to the door, when a rapid thunder of gunfire erupted.
It was a mixture of suppressed and unsuppressed rounds. One or both of the Chinese had drawn his weapon and had gotten off several shots, as had Ashby and Palmer.
As quickly as the gunfire had started, it stopped.
Moments later, Harvath heard Ashby’s voice over his radio. “Targets neutralized,” she stated. “Office clear.”
“Friendly!” Harvath shouted, announcing himself as he approached the doorway.
Stepping inside the periodontist’s waiting room, he saw two dead Chinese. Ashby had kicked their pistols away from them. Palmer was going through their pockets.
Holding up the first man’s credentials, he said, “Chinese Embassy security.”
“Same as the guys in the stairwell,” Harvath replied. “Are you two okay? Anyone injured?”
“We’re fine,” said Ashby, “but it looks like you’re bleeding.”
Harvath looked down and sure enough, he was. It was from the wound he had incurred chasing the operative from Tommy Sombat’s across the rooftops. Wrestling with the man in the stairwell, he had opened it back up.
“Just my scratch from earlier,” he responded. “I’ll get Dr. Staelin to squeeze some more Krazy Glue on it. In the meantime, let’s grab our dead guy from the bathroom and get out of here.”
While Harvath and Palmer retrieved Mr. Phat, Ashby headed for the roof to grab their drone. Morrell was already headed down the stairs with their captive.
They all knew they needed to move quickly. If anyone had heard the gunfight, Thai authorities could already be on their way. There was also no telling if the Chinese Embassy security team had backup nearby, or if any of the shooting had been picked up over the radio.
“Elevator,” Harvath said.
Palmer nodded and grabbed the front end of the body bag. Harvath grabbed the rear. Together they carried it out of the office and down the hallway. When they reached the elevator, Harvath hit the call button.
It was still there and the doors opened immediately.
Maneuvering the body inside, they set it on the floor, and Harvath pressed the button for the lobby.
As the doors began to close, Haney’s voice cut back in over the radio. “We’ve got company. Two more vehicles just rolled up hot.”
Harvath jammed his hand between the doors and they bounced back open.
“Say again?” he replied.
“Black SUVs. Lights off. Six men. Weapons already visible.”
“Embassy?”
“I don’t think so,” Haney answered. “No suits. But very switched on. Definitely pros.”
Having pulled out his phone to check the feed, Harvath could see them now. They were pros. Their weapons up before their boots even hit the pavement. Half scanned windows and rooftops, while the other half swept for more proximate threats.
“What’s our plan?” Haney asked.
Harvath paused a beat, as a plan began to take shape in his mind.
Using his boot to keep the elevator doors open, he signaled to Palmer to help unzip the bag and take the body back out.
“Everyone out of the lobby. Stairwell. Now,” he ordered, pulling two of his grenades. “I’m sending something down.”