By the time Robert Ashford’s jet touched down at Dulles, Harvath was already at the Landmark Aviation FBO waiting for him. Customs and Immigration had been alerted to the MI5 operative’s arrival and processed him quickly and professionally right at the plane. Harvath met him on the tarmac.
“I don’t suppose they have any bottled water inside?” Ashford asked after the pair shook hands. “Bloody caterer forgot to load any beverages for the flight.”
Harvath wanted to rip the guy’s face off right there, but he kept his anger under control and tried to act as normal as possible, given the situation. “I think I may have some water in my truck,” he replied as he steered the man toward the parking area.
After a quick search inside his armrest, Harvath apologized and asked if Ashford could hold on for just a few minutes longer. The Brit nodded, Harvath put his car in gear, and they drove out of the airport.
“Reed would have come out to meet you himself,” Harvath said as he headed for the Dulles Toll Road, “but as you can imagine, things have been very chaotic back at the office.”
“Of course. In fact, you didn’t have to come all the way out to get me. I could have taken a cab,” replied Ashford.
Despite flecks of spittle at the corners, the Brit’s mouth was bone-dry. He was obviously dehydrated. And though he tried to hide it, Harvath could see that he was also on edge.
“It’s ten minutes each way,” said Harvath. “It’s not a big deal. We appreciate your dropping everything to come help us.”
“How’s your investigation going?”
“Not good,” he stated as he got onto the toll road.
“That’s what I was told. I hope that there’s some way we can help. The loss of life your country has suffered is nothing short of tragic.”
Harvath nodded and changed the subject. “We’ve got a room reserved for you at a hotel in Reston, but the boss was hoping you wouldn’t mind coming straight into the office. We want to get you up to speed and then someone can drive you back to the hotel. Would that be okay?”
“Of course,” he replied. Then, changing the subject back, he asked, “Any change in the status of Aazim Aleem’s nephew? What was his name again?”
“Mansoor Aleem? No change, but we’re all hopeful.”
“You picked him up where? Somewhere in Scandinavia, I’m assuming.”
“Sweden, actually,” replied Harvath.
“So you all were behind that bit of unpleasantness in Uppsala then. You know the Swedes think it was the French.”
“That’s what the boss wanted them to think.”
“He’s a very clever man, that Peaches,” said Ashford.
“He is indeed,” said Harvath.
“What was Mansoor Aleem getting up to in Uppsala, of all places?”
“From what we have been able to put together, after Aazim was killed in Yemen, a new commander in the network was promoted. His name is Mustafa Karami and he was based in Uppsala. Karami brought Mansoor to Sweden because he wanted to know more about someone they referred to as the Sheikh from Qatar. Ring any bells?”
Harvath tried to study the Brit’s face, but it was too dark in the SUV.
“I can’t say I’m familiar with any Sheikh from Qatar, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have something in our files. When I get near a computer, I can send a note back to my office and have them begin checking.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” said Ashford, who then asked, “So Mansoor Aleem is the young Arab that witnesses saw being taken out of that apartment building in Uppsala and driven away?”
“No. That was one of our guys we had managed to infiltrate their cell with.”
Harvath didn’t need to see the Brit’s face. The surprise was evident in his voice when the MI5 man said, “Really?”
“Yes,” relied Harvath. “He had infiltrated their Chicago cell, too. That made a big difference in lessening the effect of the attacks they attempted to pull off there. We’ve been able to learn a lot about the structure of the network.”
“Anything that we might find helpful back in the U.K.?”
“Tons.”
Ashford listened as Harvath laid out everything they knew about the Chinese, Site 243, and the unrestricted-warfare plan.
Harvath was still talking when they pulled into the underground parking structure beneath the Carlton Group’s offices. In the first flash of overhead fluorescent lighting, he was able to catch the look on the Brit’s face. It didn’t last long, but it lasted long enough. The man was dumbfounded. And it wasn’t by the audacious scope of the unrestricted warfare plan, it was by how much Reed Carlton and his group had been able to put together.
Harvath parked his Tahoe and he and Ashford climbed out. “Have you been to the office before?” he asked.
“No. I haven’t,” replied Asford. “This is my first time. He told me he had a devil of a time finding the right space. He said he made a lot of modifications and that I’d be quite surprised with what he had done to it.”
Harvath waved a key fob in front of a reader and opened the glass doors for the main elevator bank. He allowed the MI5 man to step in first and then followed. Reaching over, he pushed the button for the twenty-fourth floor.
“So, a key fob? That’s the extent of your security?” Ashford said with a chuckle. “What am I missing?”
Harvath forced a smile. “You know what they say. When it comes to security, it’s not necessarily what you see, but what you don’t see that counts.”
“Quite right,” the Brit agreed.
On the twenty-fourth floor, Harvath let his guest step into the hallway first and then exited the elevator car behind him. He led him to a large door with gray lettering that read Parsons, Charrington amp; O’Brien.
“Law firm?” the MI5 man asked.
“Accounting firm,” said Harvath as he withdrew a set of keys.
“I suppose it has a bit more panache than Universal Exports, now, doesn’t it?”
Opening the door, Harvath forced another smile and showed his guest in. When the door had closed behind them, he took a step away from Ashford and, gesturing at the small reception area, asked, “So, are you surprised?”
The MI5 man looked around at the empty waiting room, wondering if this was some sort of a joke.
“How about now?” asked Harvath as his fist came sailing forward and nailed the older man right in the stomach.