Swapping the mags, he tried to come up with a plan. The FSK members, though, were already ahead of him.
Unlike the PST—which was Norway’s version of the FBI—the FSK were Norwegian military and kitted out like soldiers. That kit included M320 H&K grenade launchers mounted beneath several of the team’s rifles. Someone had made a decision to end this thing, now.
Maneuvering into place, an operative drew fire while two of his teammates stepped into the open and each launched a 40-millimeter high-explosive round at the cabin.
Only one of the grenades needed to find its mark. In this case, both did, sailing through their respective windows and exploding in a hail of shrapnel inside.
Moments later, a fire started, and thick, black smoke began pouring out of the windows.
Harvath didn’t waste any time. Stuffing the pockets of his parka with extra magazines, he grabbed a thermal scope from the severely injured PST agent and took off for the cabin.
Behind him, he could hear the Norwegians yelling for him to wait—to not go in until backup arrived. That wasn’t going to happen. There was no telling what evidence had already been destroyed. If there was anything left, he wanted to get to it before it was gone.
He used the trees for concealment and moved at an angle. Drawing parallel with the front door, he raised his weapon and crossed the icy ground toward it.
Pulling off his glove, he put his hand against the door. It was already way too hot to the touch.
Slinging his rifle, he flipped his night-vision goggles up, removed his other glove, and drew his Sig. With the cabin on fire, his night vision was of no use. The thermal scope, though, was a different story.
After he powered it up, he took a step back, readied his weapon, and kicked in the door.
Fueled by the introduction of fresh oxygen, tongues of flames came racing toward him, but he had already moved out of the way. Bullets or fire, he knew there was nothing good waiting on the other side of the door.
When no one engaged him, he risked a glimpse inside using the thermal scope, which allowed him to see through the smoke. There were bodies scattered everywhere. None of them was moving.
He figured most of them were dead, killed by the grenades. Dead or alive, they were all about to be consumed by the fire.
Harvath wanted to get inside, but going through the front door was out of the question. The fire was too hot. He decided to try the side.
Crouching, he took a quick look around the corner. If someone was there, waiting to take a shot, they’d be focused higher up.
There wasn’t anyone there. But there was an open window with smoke billowing out of it. Raising the thermal scope to his eye, he looked at the ground and could see the heat signature of a set of footprints leading away from the cabin.
Carefully, below the window line, he moved toward the open window and risked another glance inside. The structure was almost entirely engulfed in flames. There was no way he’d be able to find anything inside, much less escape without getting very badly burned. No matter how much he wanted to recover evidence, it wasn’t worth it. Instead, he took off in pursuit of the footprints.
CHAPTER 3
* * *
This side of the ravine was just as treacherous as the side Harvath, Jasinski, and the Norwegians had come down earlier. From what he could tell, the rabbit he was chasing didn’t have that much of a head start. The footprints were still glowing warm in his scope.
Based on the size of the print and length of stride, he guessed it was a man, about his size: five-foot-ten or maybe a little taller. He was hauling ass, but he wasn’t very graceful. The thermal scope indicated multiple locations where the subject had lost his footing and had fallen to the ground. But where was he going?
Harvath had done his homework. He knew the area, had memorized maps and satellite imagery. There was an old logging road that cut through the forest about three klicks from the cabin. There was also an abandoned rail line just beyond it. He figured it was more likely this guy had a car stashed somewhere. He had to be headed toward the road.
It was a bitch using the scope to track him, but it was the only way to spot the man’s heat signature. Stopping to flip his night-vision goggles up slowed Harvath down. He did what he could to quicken his pace and close the gap, but the faster he moved, the greater the chance he’d slip and come down hard. Cracking his knee, an elbow, or his skull wasn’t something he was interested in.
That said, he wasn’t interested in losing the rabbit either. He’d been tracking this group for months. Portugal, Spain, Greece. They’d always been three steps ahead. Until tonight.
Now, he was ahead of them. He’d arrived before they could carry out another similar attack. Momentum hadn’t necessarily shifted fully in his favor, but it had looked over its shoulder and glanced in his direction.
That was good enough. Considering the stakes, Harvath would take anything he could get.
Checking the scope again, he tracked the footprints until they disappeared around the next bend. The rabbit obviously knew the forest, eschewing established trails for making his own way through the trees.
That was fine by Harvath. He had hunted worse than rabbits over his career. Ice be damned, he doubled his pace.
Minutes later, he caught sight of his quarry. Jeans, hiking boots, hooded jacket. Over his shoulder was a backpack.
Transitioning to his rifle, Harvath attempted to capture the rabbit in his sights, but before he could press the trigger, the man disappeared.
Fuck.
He swept the weapon from left to right. There was nothing. He was gone. Letting the rifle hang, Harvath transitioned back to his pistol to leave one hand free for the thermal scope.
Pushing deeper into the trees, he continued to follow the heat signature of the footprints. The ground was still slick, but it was less ice and more snow. Fifty meters later, there was a shot.
Harvath dropped to the ground as the bullet snapped over his head. The rabbit was armed. Where the hell was he?
Peering through the scope, he could see a break in the trees up ahead. And there, making his way toward the logging road, gun in hand, was the white-hot outline of his target.
Raising his pistol, Harvath took up the slack in the trigger and fired three rounds.
The rabbit went down.
For several seconds, Harvath watched for movement. Seeing none, he cautiously closed the distance.
Approaching the body, he saw a lot of blood. One of his bullets had caught the man in the neck.
After kicking the man’s gun aside, he felt for a pulse. Nothing. Removing the rabbit’s rucksack, he opened the top and looked inside.
It contained envelopes of currency, driver’s licenses, and several cell phones. By the looks of it, the man had tried to sanitize the cabin. Leaving the cash, Harvath pocketed the phones. And after quickly photographing the IDs, pocketed those as well.
Patting down the rabbit, Harvath snatched the man’s phone, photographed his personal ID, and examined his pocket litter. He took pictures of everything.
Wanting to transmit it all back to the U.S. as quickly as possible, he headed for the logging road. There, he’d find a break in the trees and would be able to get a signal.
When he arrived at the road, he pulled out his satellite phone, powered it up, and connected it to his cell phone. Using an encrypted app created for the military called XGate BLACK, he compressed and reformatted his photos so that they would upload faster. The sooner they could dig in on the people who had been in that cabin, the better.