“And what about you?” asked Meg Cassidy, her eyes riveted on Harvath.

“Me? I’ve got a bone to pick with someone whose parents should have practiced better birth control. Now, everybody on the floor.”

After a moment of studying the mix of sheer determination and icy calm written across his face, Meg followed suit with the rest of the people around her, setting her weapon on a nearby seat and getting down on the floor.

Harvath made his way out of first class and back through business class to the stairs that led to the upper deck. When takedowns came, hijackers traditionally fled to what they believed was the safest place on the plane-the cockpit. Though cockpits on all planes had been significantly fortified after September 11, there wouldn’t be enough fortification in this plane’s cockpit to prevent Scot Harvath from getting in and getting what he wanted. He swore to himself that the only way Hashim Nidal and any of his remaining men were going to be leaving this plane was feetfirst.

As Scot climbed the stairs, he noticed that the walls were charred and pitted. Small pieces of shrapnel littered the carpeting. It appeared as if a fragmentation grenade had gone off in the stairwell. That must have been one of the explosions he had heard after breaching the rear of the aircraft. It seemed too dangerous a weapon for the Alpha Team to have used in a hostage situation. Then Harvath was reminded of what the CIA team’s top priority in this mission was. Still, a frag grenade was excessive, even by Morrell’s standards.

Before reaching the top landing, Harvath pulled a flash bang from his vest and hurled it over the railing into the upper-deck lounge. He averted his eyes, waited for the detonation, and then sprinted up the remaining stairs and stormed onto the upper deck. Right at the top of the stairs, he almost tripped over the dead body of another Middle Easterner. He figured it was a hijacker and guessed that this had something to do with how the passengers in first class had gotten their weapons.

He cleared the lavatories, the galley, and then searched behind every seat, as well as the bar. He found the bodies of two more Middle Easterners as well as a large Caucasian man who appeared from his clothes to be American. Harvath pegged him as a sky marshal or one of the mayor’s bodyguards. His build and style of dress screamed law enforcement, and knowing how good the sky marshals were at blending in with other passengers, Harvath figured the man had been one of Mayor Fellinger’s police bodyguards.

Throughout his search, Harvath kept one eye on the cockpit door, ready for it to spring open at any minute.

When he got to the thick outer flight-deck door, he could see up high where the half-inch, fifty-caliber rounds from Bullet Bob’s sniper rifle had penetrated clean through the cockpit and had probably kept flying through the upper deck area. The question now was how to breach the door? He could blow it with a ribbon charge, but if there were flight crew on the other side, they might end up seriously injured. That was a risk Harvath would have to take. Injured was better than dead any day of the week. He reached into the demo sack and was about to remove the explosive when he heard a noise and the cockpit door began to open.

Scot leapt back, his MP5 raised and ready. The first thing to appear was a hand covered in blood, gripping the outer edge of the doorframe. Harvath could just make out an aviator chronograph watch strapped to the man’s wrist. In an instant, the full form of a man in a flight crew uniform was visible as he stumbled out of the cockpit and fell to the floor. He was badly injured. Scot checked his pulse. It was weak, but steady. He hated to leave the man, but he needed to sweep the cockpit. It only took a moment. Both the captain and the first officer were dead.

There was the faint thumping of boots from the stairwell in the lounge and Harvath spun to see a Delta Force team cresting the landing and fanning out across the upper deck. A disjointed chorus of “Clear…clear…clear…” rang throughout the upper deck as the Delta team swept for any hidden hijackers.

Harvath stepped forward, identified himself to the team leader, and said, “I’ve got a man injured here.”

The team medic raced over and produced a small bag and began tending to the flight crew’s injured navigator.

Once Harvath felt sure the man was in good hands, he approached the team leader. “Did we get Nidal?”

“I’ve got no idea. It looks like a fucking shooting gallery down there. We’ve got several Alpha Team members down, a badly injured flight attendant, one passenger with multiple gunshot wounds, and about three hundred plus other passengers jumping out of any exit they can find. They’re all running around the tarmac in the dark. At this point, there’s no telling where your guy is.”

Harvath’s blood ran cold.

23

Harvath was just about to ask why the lights hadn’t been turned back on yet, when all of the airport lighting came to life. There’s that Egyptian efficiency, he thought to himself. A moment later external power was attached to the aircraft and the interior lights came back on as well. The upper deck looked exactly like a war zone.

When Harvath made his way down to the vestibule outside the lower-level workout facility, Morrell was already on-scene triaging his men.

“How are they doing, Rick?” asked Harvath.

“One of the guys lost a couple of fingers, but for the most part just superficial injuries to exposed arms and legs. The vests and those Kevlar helmets saved them.”

“What happened?”

“Apparently, when Alpha Team breached from down below, there was a short firefight through the stairwell, and then the hijackers dropped a concussion grenade followed by a fucking frag.”

“Jesus. I thought that’s what it was,” said Harvath.

“These guys were very well trained. They only went for chest or head shots and didn’t waste a second between ejecting spent clips and inserting fresh ammunition into their weapons. They knew how to handle themselves in a firefight.”

“Did we get them all? What about Nidal?”

“Too hard to tell at this point. They were dressed just like civilians from what we can tell. Delta’s still evacuating passengers.”

“Have you secured the perimeter?”

“Of course we have. We’ll isolate all of the passengers to make sure none of the hijackers are trying to mix in with them. We’ll go through them one by one. God, this thing turned into a goat fuck,” said Morrell.

“It could have been a lot worse. Next time, let’s leave the Egyptians at home.”

Morrell didn’t like I told you so’ s, no matter how veiled they were, and let Harvath know it. “You know what? If I have anything to say about it, there won’t be a next time. That crap you pulled up on the Jetway was totally unacceptable.”

“What are you talking about?” said Harvath, growing angry with Morrell as well.

“I’m talking about you assaulting one of my men, commandeering his demo sack, and making a jump for this aircraft. All against my orders.”

Scot lowered his voice, but gave it to Morrell with both barrels. “Against your orders, my ass. You couldn’t fucking think straight up there. The Egyptians jumped the gun and it threw your whole plan out of whack. Face it. For all the training you and the rest of your SAS monkeys think you have, hostage-rescue situations require a more delicate touch than you’re capable of. Had we waited for you to come up with another plan, who knows how many of the passengers would be dead right now. Be glad this turned out as well as it did.”

“What I’ll be glad about is confirming that we have taken out Hashim Nidal. I just pray that we got him, so that our little special working relationship here can be over.”

“I can’t wait to get rid of you either.”