Harvath thanked him and stepped back from the curb as the MI5 man pulled away. Opening the townhome’s wrought-iron gate, he walked up the stairs to the front door. He punched the code Reed had given him into the keypad and stepped inside.

There was a cavernous silence. It was immediate, as if a television had just been shut off, but the echoes of a program still lingered in the air.

Harvath was suddenly aware that he wasn’t alone. He set the case down and stepped into the living room.

For a moment, he thought that he had entered the wrong house. Then he saw the weapons, one of which had been picked up and was now pointing right at his chest.

CHAPTER 43

The woman pointing the MP5 at Harvath turned to one of her colleagues and commented, “I thought somebody said this guy was hot.”

The other five women in the room laughed.

“He’s a lot better than that guy we had to work with in Dubai,” replied another. “Remember him? What was his name?”

“Aswad.”

Most of the women groaned.

The woman holding the MP5 looked Harvath up and down. “He’s definitely better looking than ass wad, but is he into goats? That’s the question.”

The women laughed again.

“There are a lot of things I’m okay walking in on a man doing,” the woman continued, “but the goat thing isn’t one of them.”

“I’m sorry,” said Harvath through the laughter. “I must be in the wrong place. I’m looking for the Emily Dickinson reading?”

“He’s also a smartass,” said the woman as she lowered her MP5. “Just my type.”

So this was what an Athena Team looked like, Harvath thought to himself. He had heard the stories about Delta haunting high-end women’s sporting events, recruiting the best female athletes to turn into operators, but he had never worked with any of them.

They were considered just as lethal as their male counterparts and often posed as wives in husband/wife teams with male Delta operators, especially in countries or situations where sending in two or more men would raise too much suspicion. The ruse worked particularly well when posing as missionaries or NGO workers.

The women were also deployed as they were now, in all-female teams, normally composed of four to six members.

Harvath had every confidence in their abilities. He also liked the fact that they’d be harder for the bad guys to key in on.

In their mid twenties to early thirties, the women were all extremely fit. They were also very attractive and represented a cross section of backgrounds.

Harvath was trying to figure out who was in charge when one of the women stepped forward and introduced herself, “I’m Gretchen Casey.”

She had brown hair pulled back and a slight southern drawl. It sounded as if she might have been from Texas.

“Nice to meet you,” Harvath said as he walked over and shook her hand.

After explaining that their sixth teammate had been injured in training in Wales and had been forced to remain behind, Casey went around the room and introduced the rest of the team. “So from left to right, we have Julie Ericsson, Megan Rhodes, Alex Cooper, and on MP5, Nikki Rodriguez.”

Ericsson had jet black hair and looked like a Brazilian volleyball player. Rhodes was the tallest of the bunch, had blue eyes, and was the only blonde. Cooper had fine Ethiopian features with a light-brown complexion and brown eyes. Rodriguez was the shortest of the group, but despite her tough exterior was easily the best-looking, with dark hair and even darker eyes.

“Nice to meet you all.”

“We’re not going to have any goat trouble with you, are we?” asked Rodriguez with a smile.

“Give the guy a break, Nik,” said Rhodes as she stood up and offered her hand to Harvath. “It’s bad enough he has to be surrounded by women who can shoot better than he can.”

“All right already,” said Casey. “He may just be a Navy man, but I think he gets it.” She gestured to the women and then looked at Harvath. “Tough ladies, get it?”

“Got it.”

“Good.”

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“What do you have in mind?”

“We need to recon Piccadilly, but we can’t all walk through en masse.”

“True.”

“I want to do it in teams; separated out over the next few hours. You and I will get a bite to eat and then when it’s our turn we’ll go in. When everyone’s done, we’ll meet back here to debrief. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Harvath replied. Smiling at the Athena Team as he headed for the hallway, he added, “There’s one more thing.”

“What is it?” asked Casey.

“Make sure I get the bedroom with the lock on it.”

The women snorted and rolled their eyes.

“Got your lock right here,” said Cooper, as she flipped Harvath the finger.

Ericsson made a lewd gesture while Rhodes blew him a kiss, and Rodriguez started stripping the MP5.

Harvath and Casey went over details as they ate at a small Thai restaurant off Regent Street. When they were finished, they walked to Piccadilly Circus to begin gathering intelligence. The area was packed with Britons and tourists alike. People took pictures of the blazing neon signs and of each other standing in front of the Shaftesbury memorial fountain.

Most of them appeared not to have a care in the world. Undoubtedly they were aware of the attacks in Paris and Rome, but if they were concerned, they didn’t show it. Those who were out and about were all smiles and laughter.

Harvath reflected on what his friend Colonel Dave Grossman liked to say, “Sheep only have two speeds-graze and stampede.” As a sheepdog, Harvath wanted to guarantee that nothing would happen to them. The sheer size of the traffic circle, or circus as it was known in Roman times, made him question whether they were doing the right thing. Even if they flooded the area with operatives, there was no way they could check every face; follow every suspicious person. It was an overwhelming task.

Casey had brought along a digital video camera. She used it to blend in with the other tourists and film as much of the area as possible. As she did, Harvath tried to put himself in the mind-set of the bombers.

Rome had been a single bombing, but Paris had been a quantum leap forward with multiple bombings in multiple locations. Each event was created to have maximum impact, but also to be different from the last. From a tour bus bombing to multiple bombings in one city, to simultaneous bombings in two cities, the terrorists wanted to keep shaking people up. They wanted to keep citizens and law enforcement off balance while continuing to create spectacular attacks.

Taking in everything as they walked, he asked himself how he would pull this off if he was them. Would he detonate in the Tube station and then have a secondary device waiting for all of the survivors who then flooded out on the street? How about placing a lone device or suicide bomber near the fountain with secondary bombers on every street leading away from the circus?

He tried to think of everything. He studied the fixed railings all along the sidewalks that funneled pedestrian traffic and only allowed crossing at recognized crosswalks. He studied what buildings people might run into for safety. He watched how traffic moved into, around, and out of the circle. He forced himself to examine every detail and by the time they left, he was exhausted.

Back at the Belgravia house, he and Casey compared notes. They discussed where the most efficient kill zones would be. They explored what a single bomb would do versus multiple bombs. Based on the devices used in Paris, they queried each other on where similar devices in London might be placed. Then they discussed the topic Harvath was most concerned with. What if it wasn’t bombs in backpacks or suicide vests they were planning to detonate?