They ended up spending half of the day in the SIOC. With Alexandra’s knowledge of Helmut Draegar, Russian Intelligence, and the events that had transpired, she was suddenly deemed an asset too valuable to let go. As Harvath watched, she fielded question after question and gave her opinion to the agents taking down sleepers on everything from interrogation tactics to potential hiding spots for Russian nukes. Soon, no one made a move without consulting her first. Though the shift in operational control unsettled some of the FBI’s higher-ups, one look at what Alexandra was doing was enough to convince them that the trust their agents were putting in her was well founded. Her advice was solid.
The good news was that the pickup teams had gotten to the sleepers before Draegar did. The bad news was that they were proving extremely resolute. Across the country, once captured, they gave up little to no information whatsoever.
Finally, Harvath had seen enough. His country needed him. If Alexandra Ivanova wanted to continue to play oracle at Delphi, that was fine with him, but he needed to check out their other leads. Standing around doing nothing was more than he could stand.
It took Harvath another hour to track down the FBI’s director, but once he did, the man pledged to him any support he needed.
The first thing Harvath needed was a helicopter that could get in and out of tight spaces-one that could land on a building without a helipad or in the middle of a narrow DC side street, and the HRT Bell 412 sitting on the roof of FBI Headquarters just didn’t fit the bill. What’s more, HRT’s other birds were already in use. It only took one call to Andrews Air Force Base to track down an MH-6 Little Bird and a Nightstalker pilot from the Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment who was ready to see some action.
Harvath also needed a support team he could trust, and Rick Morrell and Company, still in the building on reserve, were more than happy to help him out. A quartermaster and armorer from Quantico were sent up to see to all the team’s needs. The team was outfitted in black, fire-retardant Nomex fatigues, HellStorm tactical assault gloves, and First Choice body armor. Included with the cache laid out by the armorer, were several newly arrived futuristic.40-caliber Beretta CX4 Storm carbines, as well as Model 96 Beretta Vertec pistols, also in.40 caliber. There was something about being able to interchange their magazines that Harvath found very comforting.
A Picatinny rail system allowed him to outfit the CX4 Storm with an under-mounted laser sight and an above-mounted Leupold scope. He shoved as much extra ammunition as he could get his hands on into his empty pockets and after grabbing a pair of night vision goggles, headed up to the roof with the rest of the team.
When they were all on board, the improved MH-6 Little Bird with its new six-bladed rotor and upgraded, silenced engine lifted off and headed northwest to upper Georgetown and the antique shop.
The pilot found a relatively empty parking lot where he could set the Little Bird down and as soon as the skids were within two feet of the ground the team was out and running. The State of the Union address was less than eight hours away.
They were met at the shop by an FBI forensics detail, who respectfully stood back as both Harvath and Alexandra searched for anything out of the ordinary. When they had questions about phone records, the contents of the computer hard drive in the shop’s office, or who the antique dealer’s predominantly high-end customers had been, one of the forensic agents would pick up one of the detail’s many clipboards, sift through the pages and once she had found it, deliver the information as quickly and succinctly as possible. The message had come down loud and clear: Harvath and Alexandra were in a hurry and there was no time to waste.
The antique shop was a bust, as was David Patrick’s nearby apartment. Their last stop was an upscale high-rise called the Park Connecticut where the antiques dealer had lived right up until he had been murdered. It was located in a DC area known as Northwest and occupied a prime piece of real estate just above Dupont Circle along Rock Creek Park. The Nightstalker pilot landed the Little Bird on the Park Connecticut’s rooftop terrace and the team took the fire stairs down to the ninth floor.
Another forensics detail met Harvath and his colleagues at the door and led them through the grand foyer, past the gourmet kitchen with its granite countertops, and into the spacious living room, which had been crammed full of beautiful hand-carved antique hardwood furniture. Framed thank-you notes from diplomats, boutique hotels, private collections, and individual customers recognizing the dealer’s prowess and eye for rare pieces lined one entire wall. Though this FBI detail was confident that they would find something to tie the killer to the crime scene, they had no idea what the bigger picture was. They knew who had killed the antiques dealer. It was Draegar. What they didn’t know was where Draegar was now and what he was planning to do next. That was the type of clue they needed to find.
The apartment included a gas fireplace and French doors that opened out onto the balcony. In addition to its lavish master bedroom, there was also a den and two marble bathrooms. Harvath and Alexandra quickly began picking the place apart piece by piece. They went through closets, drawers, and bookcases while they fired off questions at the forensics agents to try and get a better picture of the antiques dealer.
They studied the blood stained tub where the man’s body had been found, shot twice in the face. Looking at his Kobold, Harvath noticed it was closing in on five o’clock p.m.-right around the approximate time yesterday that the forensics people claimed the antiques dealer had been killed.
After completely tossing the bathroom, Harvath headed back into the living room and asked one of the forensics agents, “We’ve got a copy of the building’s surveillance tape from yesterday, right?”
“Of course we do,” the man answered, rummaging through an evidence box and pulling it out for Harvath to see. “We already went through it and there’s nobody on there that matches Helmut Draegar’s description.”
“How far back did you go?”
“Hours, just on the off chance that he had snuck in here early and had laid in wait for the victim.”
Harvath fired up the antique dealer’s television and VCR. The tape showed pictures from four different cameras placed throughout the building, including the front and back doors, as well as the garage.
“I’m telling you,” said the forensics agent, “we went back and forth over that tape and there was no sign of your man on it at all. If there was, we would have caught it.”
“Not if he didn’t want you to,” replied Harvath as he began shuttling the tape forward.
“You just passed at least five guys on there,” said Avigliano, wondering how Harvath could make sense of any of the images at this speed.
But somehow, Morrell knew what Harvath was doing and stated, “You’re not looking for guys, are you?”
“Not looking forguys? What are you talking about?” asked DeWolfe.
“It would be just like Draegar,” said Alexandra. “Perfect tradecraft. He’d befriend somebody, probably another tenant, and then use them.”
Finally, Harvath found what he was looking for and paused the tape. Yesterday afternoon at 4:07 p.m. a couple entered the building through the garage. The man’s face was totally obscured from view by the woman who appeared to be helping him carry several packages.
“Jesus,” said DeWolfe, “Do you think that’s him?”
Harvath advanced the video frame by frame. Draegar was a pro. With the woman shielding him and his face turned away from the camera, there was absolutely no record of him ever having been in the building. “I know it’s him.”
“So he was here, in the building. We know that much,” offered Morrell. “That’s good.”
“We also now know something else,” offered Harvath, as his eyes remained locked on the TV screen.
“What’s that?” asked Carlson.
Picking up his CX4 Storm as he headed for the door, Harvath stated, “Where he’s hiding.”