With that, Harvath ended his transmission and began moving.
Mike Haney was a smart guy. The CIA had snapped him up two years ago. Before joining its secretive paramilitary detachment known as the Special Operations Group, he’d been a Force Recon Marine. Harvath knew he could count on him.
The extraction team was made up of four additional, highly experienced former military personnel: Navy SEAL Tim Barton; Delta Force operative Tyler Staelin; Green Beret Jack Gage; and Matt Morrison, who, like Haney, had also been a Force Recon Marine.
While Haney ran everything from the large tour bus they were using as their base of operations, the extraction team was a couple of blocks over in a heavily modified, six-person golf cart.
Though Black Rock City was designed for pedestrians and bicycles, they’d been able to get the cart in by providing documentation “certifying” one of the team members as disabled.
Beneath one row of seats was a storage area just large enough to hide Rahim and smuggle him out. Under another was the hidden compartment they had used to smuggle in their weapons.
Using spray paint, Christmas lights, and pool noodles purchased on the way in, they had “decorated” the cart. It looked like shit, but none of them cared. As long as it did its job, that was all that mattered.
Rahim couldn’t have gotten far. Unscrewing the suppressor, Harvath returned his weapon beneath his coat and moved from tent to tent.
Near an art installation of public telephones advertising “Talk to God,” he gave a description of Rahim’s costume and asked if anyone had seen his “friend.”
A woman wearing a motorcycle helmet and not much else said she had, and pointed down a road to the left. Harvath thanked her and took off.
Clouds of dust were still blowing through Black Rock City, but visibility was getting better. Harvath relayed his position to Haney and told him to have the extraction team members start closing in. As soon as he relayed his instructions, though, he saw a robed figure up ahead with a chrome faceplate.
Quickening his pace, Harvath tried to close the distance between them. The man weaved through one camp after another, slipping between parked vehicles, tents, and stacks of supplies. He was careful not to get caught in any open spaces. Someone had taught him good tradecraft.
“Where’s my drone, Haney?” Harvath demanded as he leapt over a pallet of bottled water and kept moving.
“Inbound. Thirty seconds.”
“This guy’s gonna be gone in thirty seconds. Hurry up.”
“Got him,” another voice said over Harvath’s earpiece. He recognized the voice. It was Staelin, the Delta operative who was teamed with Barton the SEAL.
“Where are you?”
Staelin gave his position.
“You’re still two blocks away,” Harvath replied. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”
“Bullshit. I’m looking right at him. Brown monk’s robe, chrome faceplate.”
CHAPTER 3
* * *
* * *
“Stay on him,” Harvath ordered, not sure what the hell they were up against, or whom he was even following at this point. “But don’t let him see you.”
“Roger that,” Staelin replied.
“Haney—” Harvath began, but he was interrupted.
“Overhead now.”
He pulled a small infrared beacon from his coat pocket and clipped it to his lapel as he kept moving. “Got me?”
“Stand by,” Haney answered, as he used the drone’s infrared camera to search for Harvath’s strobe. Finally, he came back over the radio and said, “I’ve got you.”
“There’s a robed figure up ahead of me,” Harvath stated. “Same bearing. Moving like he’s late for a job interview. See him?”
Haney paused before replying, “Negative. I don’t see anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t see him. The drone’s not picking him up.”
Suddenly another voice broke in. It was Morrison, the other Marine who was moving with Gage, the Green Beret. “I have eyes on.”
“What’s your position?” Harvath asked.
When Morrison gave his location, Haney said, “You’re not even close to Harvath or Staelin. You guys are chasing three different targets.”
Shit, thought Harvath. How many of these guys are there? “Everybody, strobes on,” he ordered.
A chorus of “Roger that” flooded the radio as the men activated their infrared devices, visible only to the infrared camera aboard the drone. “Strobes on.”
Based on the wire clippings and the presence of the bomb maker, something bad was in the works. But was it in the works for tonight? Or were they just getting the lay of the land, perhaps waiting for two nights from now, when there’d be the biggest concentration of Burners in one spot? There was no telling. All he knew was that at least one of them was armed. And if one was armed, the others probably were too.
Getting back on the radio, Harvath instructed Haney to fix the other two figures on the map. In his mind, he tried to picture the layout of Black Rock City. Where the hell were they headed? And even more important, did Rahim have even more operatives out there?
The most pressing question, though, was What had he interrupted? Were the men in the process of planting a bomb? Had they already planted a bomb? Or did they have something totally different in mind?
When Haney’s voice came over his earpiece moments later, he didn’t have good news. “I can’t see them.”
“Is it the weather?” Harvath asked, though his gut told him that wasn’t the answer.
“Negative. Whatever they’re wearing, it’s masking their heat signature.”
Damn it. More tradecraft. These guys knew how to avoid infrared surveillance. Harvath’s worst fears were being confirmed.
“Based on their direction of travel,” he asked, “what do you think their target is?”
Haney studied the festival map on the console in front of him. “It could be anything.”
“Think like them.”
“I am thinking like them,” Haney replied. “But every one of these theme camps reeks of symbolism.”
Staelin’s voice interrupted the transition. “Our guy just doubled back and took a hard left. Headed west now.”
Moments later, Morrison stated, “Our target just took a shortcut through two camps. Now headed east.”
Up ahead of Harvath, the hooded figure he was following paused and looked around, as if checking his position, and then began moving north. They were all changing direction.
“Where are they headed, Mike?” Harvath asked as he continued after his target. “Come on. Figure it out.”
“I’m telling you,” Haney replied. “It could be anything.”
Just then, Morrison interjected, “I know where my target is headed. We need to take him now.”
“Slow down,” cautioned Harvath. “Where’s he going?”
“Kidsville. The family camp.”
The urgency of the situation instantly took on new meaning. They had to act.
Passing through another camp, Harvath saw a roll of duct tape. Grabbing it from the tent pole where it hung, he picked up his pace and kept going.