by Brad Taylor
She nodded, and said, “Yes, they’re in the conference room.”
I looked at Knuckles, and he raised his weapon. I said, “Thank you. Please step back.” Alarmed, she did so, and we flowed into the small anteroom. The two men we’d seen on the camera looked up, and I pointed my pistol at them, quietly saying, “Get on the floor.”
They did so, and I said, “Jennifer, flex-tie their hands.” To the receptionist, I asked, “Where is the conference room?”
Her eyes wide, she pointed down a hallway, saying, “First door on the left. What’s this about?”
I said, “How many more North Koreans are in here?”
“Just three in the conference room. Everyone else went to the council chambers a few minutes ago.”
I flicked my head to Knuckles and we moved swiftly down the hallway, stopping at the first door. I tried the handle, then nodded at Knuckles. We burst in, seeing three black males and three Asians sitting opposite one another at a rectangular table, some type of construction blueprints in front of them. They all looked up in surprise at our entrance, then threw their hands in the air when they saw our weapons.
I said, “Everybody just remain calm.” I pointed to the Africans and said, “Step back from the table and face the wall.” They did so, and the Asians started to rise as well. I said, “No. Stay seated. Place your hands on the table to your front.”
They complied, and I got on the radio, “Koko, Koko, send in Amena, but you keep eyes on the men in the lobby.”
Amena arrived, nervously peeking around the corner. I pointed to the men at the table, and she shook her head. I said, “You positive?”
“Yes.”
Shit.
“Okay, okay. Knuckles, flex-tie these guys. I’m going to talk to the receptionist.”
He had the men lie on the floor and said, “I thought we weren’t going to take over a diplomatic post?”
“It’s a temporary thing. I’m working for the UN, and this is their building, so it’s not a takeover.”
He chuckled and went to work. I took Amena and jogged back out to the front. Sonya was sitting in a chair looking like she was going to throw up. The receptionist was calmer, but still nervous.
“Jennifer, get these other two guys in the conference room for Knuckles.”
She nodded, and ushered them to their feet. When they were gone, I turned to the receptionist and said, “I asked you about three visitors. Did you mean the Africans?”
“Yes. They’re from Cameroon. Did they do something wrong?”
I ignored the question. “What about three North Korean males that you haven’t seen before. Some that just showed up today?”
“Yes. They’re security for the head of the North Korean delegation. Why?”
“Where are they?”
“They went to the Council Chamber. To the Conference on Disarmament.”
I turned to Sonya. “What’s that? What’s going on?”
“The Conference on Disarmament is the primary chamber for discussions about the proliferation and reduction of weapons of mass destruction. It’s designed to get agreement on chemical weapons prohibitions, nuclear test ban treaties, that sort of thing. It’s held in the original League of Nations Council Chamber.”
“Does it deal with the North Korean nuclear program?”
“Oh, yes. That’s been the main topic for a while.”
I turned to the receptionist. “You have Wi-Fi in here?”
She told me they did, and gave me the password. Jennifer returned, and I pulled her aside, stepping away from the receptionist and Sonya. “Call Creed. See if he’s hacked the cameras here. Tell him we need the ones in the Council Chamber for the League of Nations.” I gave her the Wi-Fi password, and she went to work.
I went back to Sonya, my suspicions hardening. I said, “Can you check the schedule and tell me if North Korea is on the plate today?”
The receptionist said, “I can tell you that. The answer is no. They’re discussing the latest chemical use by the Assad regime, determining if they were responsible for breaking a UN resolution prohibiting chemical munitions.”
Assad? Why would they attack that?
My earlier suspicions now crushed, I started fishing. I said, “Is it the same body for all discussions?”
“Yes.”
“And they recommend sanctions against folks who break UN resolutions? Is that how this works?”
She said, “I don’t know the mechanics of it. I just know it involves counterproliferation for weapons of mass destruction.”
Sonya said, “That’s roughly how it works. New York does the sanctions. Geneva just determines if they’ve broken a resolution. It’s sort of like the police determining a crime, but the judge determining the punishment.”
To myself, I said, “So no police, no crime.”
“What’s that mean?”
74
Jennifer waved me over, and I ignored Sonya’s question. I jogged to her just as Knuckles came back. He said, “They’re hog-tied, but we need to leave someone to watch them, unless we’re exfiling now.”
I nodded and said, “We aren’t doing anything just yet. Jennifer, what do you have?”
She whispered, “Creed can get in, but his supervisor is preventing it because it’s the UN. Taskforce charter forbids hacking government institutions without express national command authority permission.”
Christ. “Give me the phone.” She did so, and I didn’t waste time with Creed. I said, “Get Kurt Hale, right now.”
He must have been close by, because he got on the line within a minute. I said, “Sir, I need those video feeds. This place is huge, and I can’t search it on foot.”
“I understand, Pike. I sent the request up the minute you asked, but I haven’t heard back yet. What’s your gut telling you? Can you neck it down at all?”
“I have necked it down. They’re going to release the Red Mercury inside the Conference on Disarmament. They’re arguing about Syria today.”
“Syria? Why would they do that?”
“Because it helps North Korea while hiding who did it. I think that’s why they gave it to the Syrian terrorists. They wanted the Syrians to execute their attack so we’d go crazy analyzing the WMD, then this second one happens during an Assad conference, and he gets blamed because of the fingerprints of the first strike. Meanwhile, North Korea reaps the benefits because it’s the same conference members holding its fate. It’ll short-circuit all counterproliferation work worldwide, maybe for years. I need those feeds. The Koreans have been gone for twenty minutes, and I don’t know how much longer we have.”
“Just lock down the conference. Evacuate the room.”
“Sir, I believe they’re in there right now with the weapon. Any attempt to evacuate that chamber is going to end in disaster. We need to do this surgically, and I need the feeds to identify them.”
“How is that going to help? You don’t know what they look like.”
“Amena does. I’m in here with her right now.”
I didn’t mention I was in the North Korean delegation’s office with a bunch of foreign citizens hog-tied in a conference room, to include those from Africa, but hey, that info wasn’t going to help the mission. Need to know, and all that. Amena being here was going to be bad enough.
He said, “You have the refugee inside the United Nations helping you? A child? Pike, I told you—”
I cut him off, “Sir, I don’t have time for this shit. I need the feeds. You asked for magic, and I’m providing it. But I need your help.”
He turned away from the phone and said something. He came back on and said, “We’re both going to be fried for this one.”
I said, “Only if we don’t stop the attack. Thanks, sir.”
I hung up and turned to Jennifer. “You getting the feed now?”
&nb
sp; “Yeah, but there are seven cameras. This room is huge.” I looked at it, and saw it was in fact gigantic. It looked like an opera house, with murals on the walls and ornate columns. The floor was full of member nations surrounding a large U-shaped table with about fifteen feet between the spines. Behind the table was a row of chairs for the supporting staff. Behind them was another section of chairs, and so on and so on, going all the way to the walls. I turned to Sonya and said, “I thought this was some sort of committee thing?”
She said, “No. Sixty-five nations participate officially, a lesser number as observers. That’s why it’s in the old Council Chamber. It’s big enough to accommodate everyone.”
“Point out the DPRK section.”
She came over and looked at the screen, saying, “How do you have access to this?”
My voice steel, I said, “Point it out. Now.”
She leaned over the screen, traced her hand, mumbling, “That’s the US. That’s Iran. That’s South Korea . . .” Then, “That’s them, right there.”
I shouted, “Amena. Come here.”
She scampered over, looking at me expectantly. Sonya said, “What is she doing?”
I said, “Is that guy at the table one of them?”
She looked and said, “No. But the guy behind him is. That’s the scar-faced one.”
I looked and saw a man sitting behind the table, in the row of chairs on the right side of the chamber. I said, “Good. Keep looking. See another one?”
She continued scanning and said, “No. I don’t see the others.”
Into Jennifer’s phone I said, “Creed, need another look.”
He started switching up the view to another camera and I said, “Sonya, how long is this meeting scheduled to last?”
“Two hours, but it started late.”
The screen cleared, and we saw no Asians. I said, “Again.” We got the next shot, same thing. “Again. Switch again.” He did so, and all I saw was a mass of people in chairs. I said, “This isn’t going to work. We have one target, which means the others are in there. We need to go find them on foot.”
Sonya said, “You can’t get in there. It’s a closed hearing, requiring special access.”
I said, “Let me worry about that. Where is it?”
She said, “It’s through the connecting bridge. It connects the new building with the old. You go—”
I shook my head at the instructions and said, “Show us.”
She said, “I can’t . . . I have to be somewhere else.”
“That wasn’t a question.” I turned to Jennifer and said, “You’ve got the lockdown here. I’ll call when you can exfil. Knuckles, Amena, on me. Let’s go.”
Sonya tried to protest, and I pushed her out the door, leaving the bewildered receptionist behind with Jennifer. I said, “Which way?” Sonya pointed to the right.
We started running, going down one floor and hitting a bridge of steel and glass. We sprinted across it, Sonya struggling to keep up, and reached the far side, the glass and steel giving way to marble and art deco from the 1920s. I slowed to a walk and said, “Where?”
“Take a hallway to the left at the end of this spine, down an elevator, and then in.”
Knuckles said, “We can’t go to the first floor. We can’t barge in with Amena. If they see her, they’re liable to hit the weapons right there.”
I turned to Sonya. “Can we stay on this floor? I saw a balcony on the video.”
She said, “Yes, but it’s only a few rows deep, and there’s no way down to the floor without doing what I said. You have to take the elevator.”
“Show us.”
We moved rapidly down the hallway, passing artwork on the right and giant windows on the left built for the original League of Nations, giving a perfect view of an expansive garden nobody was allowed into except UN delegation members.
Some show of peace.
We reached the end of the spine and took a left down another hallway. At the end, I could see a doorway with a guard out front. Walking to it, Sonya said, “I told you it was closed.”
I said, “Go. You can leave.”
“I can go back to work?”
“Uh . . . no. Go back to Jennifer. Wait there for our call.”
I had no way to make her do it, but I was pretty sure she would. She nodded and scurried away. I approached the security at the door, holding Amena’s hand, Knuckles behind us. I ignored the guard, walking forward as if I belonged. He held up his hand. I stopped, acting confused. I showed my badge and said, “I’m going to the briefing.”
He said, “It’s a closed conference.”
I said, “I know. It’s on the atrocities of the Assad regime in Syria. This girl was a witness. She is a survivor. She’s going to testify.”
He looked at me, then Knuckles. Knuckles held up his own badge. The guard turned his attention to Amena, and she said, “As-Salaam-Alaikum. Thank you for the opportunity here in Switzerland to show what has happened to my people.”
He smiled at her, and let us pass.
We opened the door, and I squeezed Amena’s hand, saying, “Good play, there.”
She grinned and said, “Thank you. I saw you failing.”
I chuckled, finding a balcony three rows deep ringing the chamber, the walls adorned with larger-than-life murals depicting the evil nature of man juxtaposed with its goodness. Wars and death and angels and life. Luckily, the balcony was deserted. I guess not too many gave a crap about the use of chemical munitions in Syria.
I went to the edge and saw I was wrong. The floor space was at maximum occupancy, the large U-shaped section of tables in the middle surrounded by leather theater seats extending back to the edge of the room. A man was in the center, a flat-screen TV beside him, presenting something. I looked at the North Korean delegation and saw that the man Amena had identified was still there. I pulled Amena to the edge and said, “Start looking. Work from the North Koreans out.”
She began searching and I heard the North Korean delegate at the table shout. The man conducting the briefing stopped talking and another man pounded a gavel. The North Korean wouldn’t shut up.
Amena tugged my arm and said, “I have one! By the back door.”
She pointed and I saw a man directly below the balcony near the first exit door to the west, standing and holding a briefcase. I leaned over and looked to the east, seeing another Asian at the other exit. I pointed and said, “What about him?”
Excitedly she said, “That’s the last one! That’s him!”
The North Korean delegate started banging his hand on the table. Knuckles said, “The man to the west just picked up his case.”
I looked to the east and saw that man doing the same. I said, “Amena, get out of here. Knuckles, you got the man to the west. I’ll take the east.”
He said, “Roger that. What about the man in the center?”
“One step at a time.” I saw Amena still standing there and said, “Go. Go back to Jennifer.”
She nodded, then grabbed my hand, saying, “Don’t do it. Let’s all leave. Let’s go. Every time I try to help, people die.”
I took a knee and said, “Sometimes people die for bad reasons. Sometimes for good. If we leave now, a lot of people will die, and I can prevent it. Now go.”
I saw a tear start to form, the fear returning to her face, and I said, “I’ll be back. Don’t worry about us. Just go.”
She nodded slowly, then turned around and ran.
75
Amena went to the door and took one look back, watching Knuckles jog to his target while Pike did the same. She felt it was the last time she would see them, and wanted desperately to stop them from what they were about to do.
She opened the door and began running, trying to escape the thoughts in her head. She barreled headlong into the guard outside. He snatched her
arm and said, “Hey, where are you going?”
She said, “I’m . . . I’m going to the bathroom. I really have to go.”
Suspicious, he said, “Where is the bathroom?”
When she hesitated, he said, “You don’t know, do you? What are you doing here? I thought it odd that a witness would be entering from the balcony section.”
She said, “We were going to wait there until it was time. It’s just where we were staying until I was called. A holding area.”
“Where are your escorts?”
Her brain now engaged, she began to spin a tale to calm him down. “They’re still inside. I was just going to the bathroom. I don’t know where it is, but I was sure I could find one. Can you take me there?”
He squinted his eyes, considering, and said, “I can’t leave my post, and you can’t run around out here unescorted. Go get one of your escorts. I’ll tell him.”
She started to respond when a scream came from the chamber. The guard whipped his head to the door just as someone else shouted. He locked his hand on her upper arm and marched her inside the balcony. She scanned left and right, and didn’t see either Knuckles or Pike. The guard said, “Where are your escorts?” And two gunshots split the air. Still holding her, he glanced over the balcony and she saw his eyes spring open.
He said, “Come with me,” and began dragging her out. He ran to the elevator, Amena struggling to keep up with his stride, his hand still clamped on her arm.
He pressed the button and said, “Tell me what is going on, right now. Who are they attempting to assassinate?”
She wailed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just a Syrian refugee.”
And the elevator doors opened.
* * *
—
I saw Knuckles above the man at the western exit. The North Korean delegate lead stood up, still shouting, and the scar-faced man fiddled at something beside his chair. For the first time, I realized he had a briefcase as well.
