As the Lynx banked again and raced up the Thames, Robert Ashford’s voice came over Harvath’s headset. “We’ve lost the signal.”

CHAPTER 50

CHICAGO

Just try to breathe,” said John Vaughan. “In and out. Nice and easy. You’re going to be okay. Just relax and breathe.”

“Jesus, it hurts,” said Levy. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“Focus on the sound of my voice, Josh. Listen to me. You’re going to be okay. We’re going to figure out a way to get out of here.”

“They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?”

“If they were going to kill us, they’d have done it already.”

“Either way,” added Davidson, “I’m a dead man. If they don’t kill me, my wife will. How many days have we been here?”

All three were bound and hoods had been placed over their heads. As a Marine, Vaughan was the only one who had been trained to withstand captivity and interrogation. He knew that most of it was a mental game, and that meant that he had to help Davidson and Levy get through this.

“We’ve only been here about twenty-four hours, give or take an hour or two.”

“That’s it,” said Davidson. “My marriage is definitely over. My wife is never going to believe I was taken hostage.”

Vaughan kept his attention on Levy. “Josh, I want you to describe to me how you’re feeling.”

Levy took a moment to form his assessment. “My shoulder hurts like hell, and I have a lot of pain in my chest. My back hurts and so does my neck.”

“Welcome to what it feels like to have been shot.”

“But I was shot in the shoulder, not in the chest.”

“Your torso absorbed a lot of blunt force trauma. You’re going to feel it everywhere.”

“I have tightness and trouble breathing.”

“That probably has more to do with anxiety than anything else.”

“He’s right, Josh,” said Davidson. “Try not to think about how long it has been since you last clipped your nails.”

“Up yours.”

As Levy and Davidson started laughing, Vaughan felt relieved. They needed to keep their spirits up.

Ever the wiseacre, Davidson said, “Hey, do you guys know what the only thing in the world shorter than a Muslim terrorist’s dick is? His to do list.”

There was another roll of quiet laughter, but the elevated mood didn’t last.

“What do you think they’re going to do with us?” Levy asked.

“We gave them everything,” replied Vaughan, “so I don’t know that there’s any other information they could squeeze out of us.”

“Which reminds me,” said Davidson. “I thought you big, tough Marines were supposed to be able to hold out indefinitely under interrogation.”

“No one can hold out indefinitely, Paul. That’s just in the movies.”

“But we told them everything,” said Levy. “What possible value could we still have for them? They know we came looking for Nasiri and that this wasn’t official police business.”

Vaughan had been thinking about that too. “We should take it as a good sign that we’re still here. As long as we’re alive, there’s a chance we’re going to get out of this. We’re all married, so let’s focus on our wives and children.”

“Way to ruin it for me,” said Davidson.

“Come on. Your wife can’t be that bad.”

“When we get out of here, you can stay at my house for a week with her and her two dogs, okay?”

Vaughan smiled beneath his hood. “Think about fishing then.”

“I have been. And I’ve been thinking about how I’m never going to take my cell phone on vacation again.”

“If it makes you feel better to blame me for all of this, go ahead.”

“When the turban fits.”

“By the way, who were you really fishing with when I called? I know you didn’t threaten to kill your priest.”

“You should hear the kind of stuff he threatens me with.”

Vaughan still didn’t believe him, but he laughed anyway.

“I’ve been thinking about my wife,” Levy interjected, his tone morose. “We had an argument yesterday. A bad one.”

“You’ve got to stay strong, Josh,” said Vaughan. “We’re going to make it.”

“What if we don’t?”

“We will.”

“How? Nobody knows where the hell we are. We don’t even know where we are.”

“I guarantee you that our wives are raising holy hell right now,” replied Vaughan. “The fact that Paul and I are cops means that CPD will be working extra hard to find us.”

“I didn’t tell my wife where we were going or who we were surveilling,” said Levy.

There was silence. Finally, Davidson admitted, “I didn’t give my wife specifics either.”

Beneath the darkness of his hood, Vaughan could feel the other men’s eyes shift toward him. He knew what they wanted to hear. He knew what they needed to hear and so he said, “Then I guess it’s a good thing I told my wife everything.”

The other two didn’t respond. They knew he was lying.

CHAPTER 51

LONDON

Talk to me, Bob,” said Harvath as the Lynx flew over Westminster Bridge and decreased its speed as the pilot awaited further instructions.

“We had a flurry of activity and then everything stopped,” Ashford replied. “Somebody pinged the cell members’ phones from different numbers and when they didn’t respond, whoever it was began trying to activate the detonators on the explosives. We had the caller traced to a one-block area.”

“How many buildings are we talking about?”

“The caller wasn’t in a building. He was outside, moving.”

“Was he in a vehicle or on foot?”

“We don’t know,” said the MI5 man.

“How about CCTV cameras? Were there any in the area?”

“Yes. Rita has already pulled the footage and we’re rolling it back to the time the calls were placed. The first filter is people visibly using phones. The next is headsets or earbuds. If someone is seen using more than one phone or changing SIM cards then obviously we…” the MI5 man’s voice trailed off.

“Can you repeat?” said Harvath. “I didn’t get that last part.”

Marx’s voice came back over the radio. “I think we have our man. Arab male, early forties. Approximately two meters tall and eighty kilos.”

Harvath did the conversion in his head-six feet and around 175 pounds.

“He has short black hair and a goatee,” Marx continued. “He is wearing a brown sport coat, a blue jumper, khaki trousers, and dark shoes.”

“What happened to Bob?”

“He seems to be having trouble with his radio,” said Marx.

“You’re sure this is our guy?”

“Positive. We have footage of him operating three different devices.”

“Where is he and which direction is he headed?”

“We ID’d him off of footage from several minutes ago,” said the woman from Scotland Yard. “We need to reacquire him. We’re sorting the live feeds now. Stand by.”

Harvath turned to the pilot. “Where can you set us down?”

“There’s a helipad at the London Hospital in Whitechapel,” he replied, pointing down at his map.

“Too far,” replied Harvath, who then hailed Ashford again. “Bob, I need to know which direction the subject was heading.”

“North, but as best we can tell, he doubled back,” replied Ashford, his radio working again. “We’re still trying to find him.”

“He’s running SDRs.”

“Let him. We don’t have anyone on him yet, so there’s nothing for him to pick up.”

“What if he gets on the Tube?” asked Harvath.

“We’ve got cameras in all the stations. Hold on a second.”

“Do you have him?”

“I think so. Stand by. Is it confirmed?” Harvath heard him say over his open mic. Moments later he came back and replied, “Yes, we’ve reacquired him. The sport coat is gone. He’s got the blue jumper on now along with a pair of wire-rim glasses. The khakis and shoes are the same.”