Retracing his steps, he came back, briefed the others, and then had them follow him forward.

At the grate, Harvath and Gallagher provided cover as Marjan and Pamir unclipped the Streamlights from their belts and went to work.

First they lubricated the hinges and then Pamir worked the locks. He got the first one off without difficulty, but the second was a problem. The crates in the mechanical room were jammed right up against it. No matter how hard he tried to jostle the lock, he couldn’t manipulate it to an angle where he could insert his picks and get it open.

When Harvath moved closer to see what was taking so long, Pamir showed him. Night vision goggles were not very good for up-close work, so he flipped his up and took a look. The crates in the mechanical room were wedged so tightly against the lock no one could get at it.

Flipping up his goggles, Gallagher came over to examine the situation. After Harvath gave the crate another firm push, Gallagher held his hand up and offered to help. The only problem was that they had no idea how solidly the crates were stacked. With Harvath and Gallagher both pushing, they might succeed in creating enough space for Pamir to work in, but they might also tip the stack over and sink the entire operation.

Harvath shook his head at Gallagher and pantomimed his concern over the crates. Gallagher pulled his goggles back down, stepped back, and watched as Harvath came up with another idea.

He had packed very lightly for his trip to Afghanistan, but one of the things he had brought with him was his favorite fixed-blade knife. It had been produced by Benchmade to commemorate Marc Lee, the first Navy SEAL killed in the Iraq war. If the Terminator carried a knife, this would be it. It was one of the most radical designs Harvath had ever seen and it could take any punishment thrown at it.

As Harvath had done with knives throughout his career, he had demonstrated his sense of humor by placing a short piece of tape on the sheath with the words Plan B. It always gave people a good laugh.

He removed the knife now, and guiding Marjan to where he wanted him to hold the Streamlight, he went to work.

He slid the blade between two slats of wood on the crate blocking the inside padlock and began to pry them away. He rocked the knife back and forth, until the slat started to splinter and then finally came free with a sharp crack.

Inside the tunnel, the noise sounded as loud as thunder. The team froze in place for several minutes as they waited to see if it had drawn any attention to their presence.

When Harvath was confident that it was safe to proceed, he pried off two more boards and peered inside the crate, which was packed with loose belts of 7.62 ammunition.

He worked quickly, pulling out belt after belt and stacking them neatly on the floor. As soon as he’d made a big enough dent, he stood back and let Pamir tackle the other lock.

Once it was off, Pamir motioned for Harvath to help him. Together, they slowly pulled back on the cast iron. The minute it began to groan, they stopped. Marjan appeared with the oil and nodded for them to continue as he applied extra doses to the hinges.

The groan abated and Harvath and Pamir opened it the rest of the way. Now, the only thing standing between them and the mechanical room were the crates.

Flipping his goggles back down, Harvath stood guard as the other men carefully began removing the crates and stacking them in the tunnel.

It took over twenty minutes before they had cleared enough space to crawl inside.

When it was ready, Harvath hoisted his shotgun and reminded Marjan and Pamir one last time of their number-one rule of engagement. The Afghan Special Forces soldiers were not their enemy. None of them were to be killed.

CHAPTER 30

Harvath and Gallagher entered the mechanical room first. It was nearly identical to the one back at the hospital. Once they had it cleared, Gallagher signaled for the Afghans to join them.

As Gallagher helped them crawl across the crates and made sure they didn’t make any noise, Harvath tracked down the electrical panel.

Power outages were a daily fact of life in Afghanistan, but Harvath doubted the Special Forces soldiers were equipped with NODs. Plunging them into darkness would give his plan a major advantage.

Marjan was positioned at the electrical panel while Harvath, Gallagher, and Pamir assembled near the door of the mechanical room. Harvath flipped up his goggles and Gallagher followed suit. He allowed his eyes to get accustomed to the green light radiating from Pamir’s Streamlight and then signaled for it to be turned off. Harvath then cracked the mechanical room door and peered into the hallway.

As Harvath’s eyes adjusted still further, he saw that straight across from their position, exactly as Marjan had said it would be, there was a heavy metal door that led to the stairwell to the officers’ barracks. That meant that just around the corner, and outside his line of sight, was the interrogation facility.

Harvath listened for sounds of a sentry or anyone in the stairwell. There was nothing.

He nodded to Gallagher, who opened his pack and removed a lock and a length of chain.

Counting down from three on his fingers, Harvath then eased the door the rest of the way open and slipped silently across the hallway.

With his weapon up and at the ready, he entered the stairwell and checked to make sure it was completely empty. When he exited, Gallagher was waiting for him. Quietly, they closed the door and chained it shut.

Harvath did a quick peek around the corner. Pulling his head back, he gave the all clear and then signaled Pamir, who turned and flashed his Streamlight to Marjan inside the mechanical room to begin the count-down.

With the clock ticking down, Harvath took one more look around the corner and then he and Gallagher got moving.

They crept down the hallway and stopped just before the door to the interrogation facility. Voices spilled out from inside, which was the good news. The facility was being used. The bad news was that it sounded like much more than two guards.

Taking a deep breath, Harvath adjusted his weapon and waited. Behind him, Gallagher did the same.

It was only sixty seconds, but sitting there, exposed in the hall, it felt like an eternity. All of Harvath’s senses were on fire. His entire body was coiled, ready to spring. As he let the air out of his lungs, Marjan threw the switch and the entire basement level went dark.

Flipping down his NODs, Harvath applied pressure to the trigger of his shotgun and spun into the room.

It was about thirty feet long by fifteen feet wide, and along the opposite wall were three cell doors, two of which were open.

Four Afghan Special Forces soldiers sat on rugs in the middle of the room chatting as if nothing had happened. None of them had even bothered to turn on a flashlight, so certain were they that their auxiliary generator would kick in at any moment. Their weapons sat on the floor next to or in front of them, while two more soldiers were sound asleep in the open cells on either side of Mustafa Khan. Harvath fired his first round before even fully entering the room.

The TASER XREP, which stood for Extended Range Electro-Muscular Projectile, was a self-contained, fully functional TASER circuit pay-load housed inside a twelve-gauge shotgun shell that could take down targets at up to a hundred yards and had recently been issued to the Afghan National Army and the Afghan National Police in order to deal with riots and civil insurrection.

As the XREPs were totally self-contained, they had the benefit of allowing the shooter to engage a separate target with each pull of the trigger. But with no wires leading back to the shotgun, the suspect could only be given one hit from the projectile’s battery. Once the effect wore off, no further electricity could be introduced unless the subject was reengaged with another round. This meant the shooter had to act fast.