conclusive connecting Hanjour and Yaqub?” said Harvath.
“Not yet, but a week ago Emirati intelligence rolled up a Hawaladar in Dubai on a narcotics charge. He was having synthetic cannabis, also known as Spice, along with crystal meth, shipped to him from abroad. The UAE has a zero tolerance policy on drugs and he’s looking at anywhere from four years minimum to a max of fifteen in prison. The authorities haven’t rushed to get him a lawyer, but he’s been rushing to make a deal. He’s telling them anything they want to know. He’s already named all of his clients, legit or otherwise, including a Khuram Hanjour.”
“He listed Hanjour as a drug client?”
“No,” Ryan replied. “From what we understand, he ID’d Hanjour strictly as a Hawala client.”
“Do we know for sure if this is our Hanjour?”
“We’re talking to the Emiratis now.”
“Where is this Hawaladar being held?” Harvath asked. “Dubai?”
“We think so. We should have more information soon.”
“If his client is our guy and he’s in Dubai, how fast can you get eyes on him?”
“Our local people are working on it.”
“What about leverage? Is there anything we can use against him?”
Ryan flipped through some notes before replying. “The French and the Brits also have files on Hanjour. We’re going through those now, but there do seem to be two interesting items that could be useful.”
Once she explained to Harvath what they were, he told her what he needed and then asked, “How soon can you get me to Dubai?”
CHAPTER 12
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U NITED A RAB E MIRATES
F orty-five minutes later, Harvath was standing topside on the Florida along with a squad of SEALs and a hooded and bound Ahmad Yaqub.
It took over fifteen minutes to get everyone winched up to the U.S. Navy Seahawk helicopter hovering above the submarine. Once everyone was aboard, the helo banked and took off for the USS Abraham Lincoln.
The Nimitz-class aircraft carrier was the flagship of Carrier Strike Group Nine and home to the United States Navy’s Carrier Air Wing Two. In addition to its Growler, Hawkeye, and Greyhound fixed-wing aircraft, Air Wing Two boasted four strike fighter squadrons. Strike Fighter Squadron 2, aka the “Bounty Hunters,” flew the F/A-18F Super Hornet.
The almost $70 million aircraft had a range of more than twelve hundred nautical miles, a top speed of 1,190 miles per hour, and—best of all for Harvath—a second seat.
By the time the Seahawk touched down on the deck of the Abraham Lincoln and the SEALs unloaded their prisoner, Harvath’s flying taxi was already fueled, hot, and ready to take off.
In all of his time with the Navy, Harvath had never flown in a Super Hornet. He was given a rapid briefing, during which the ejection seat was explained and he was told not to touch it. After he changed into an anti-G flight suit and put his helmet on, he climbed into the aircraft and was strapped in.
The pilot made a joke about there not being a beverage service because of the short duration of the flight, then after communication with the air boss, the yellow-shirted catapult officer gave a series of signals and the pilot throttled his engines to military power. Twenty seconds later, the steam catapult fired, shooting the plane down the deck of the Abraham Lincoln and out over the Persian Gulf.
While a special request could have been made to allow the Super Hornet to land at Dubai International Airport, Harvath wanted to keep his arrival in the UAE quiet. The United States 380th Air Expeditionary Wing was already stationed at Al-Dhafra air base outside Abu Dhabi, and that’s where he was flown.
When the pilot landed at Al-Dhafra and slid the Super Hornet’s canopy back, the cockpit was instantly enveloped in desert heat. Waiting on the tarmac was one of Ryan’s people from Dubai, a sharp-as-nails case officer named Anne Reilly-Levy. She was an attractive blonde in her forties with a distinct Texas drawl. “Welcome to the
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