The Red Cell

by André Le Gallo

  “Probably a small boat,” Al replied. “I can get closer if you want.”

  As he remotely piloted the UAV in closer, the image grew to reveal a motorboat moving slowly to the south.

  “It certainly looks like a boat,” Kella said, “But shouldn’t we be able to see its running lights?”

  “I don’t see them either,” Al said.

  “That’s pretty unusual,” Steve added, “and pretty crazy. Let’s keep an eye on this guy, but go back to the bridge.”

  “The wind just shifted. It’s giving me a bad time. Lemme try a different altitude because right now the bird is going backwards.”

  “I’m going to turn the Jammer on,” Steve said. “That was a good idea to move all of the equipment into one SUV.”

  “It’s all set up, Steve. All you have to do is push the switch forward and a green light will go on.”

  “Done. If this thing does its job, all cellular communications within a two-mile radius are now jammed.”

  “And all of the Iranians’ favorite IED frequencies are null and void.”

  0530

  Two men wearing black leather from their necks to their boots and riding a Kawasaki stopped on the west sidewalk of the bridge. They dismounted about twenty feet past the suspension cable’s lowest point. One wore an Oakland Raiders cap while the other preferred the Oakland A’s. As if from long practice, they took off their backpacks, from which they extracted detonating fuses, Semtex, and explosive pencils. After they molded small amounts of Semtex around the base of six posts holding up the railing that protected pedestrians from the road traffic, they wedded fuses and pencils to each. While A’s rechecked their work, Raiders looped one end of a double Black Diamond rappelling rope to the waterside railing and threw the rest of its two-hundred-seventy-foot length down toward the water. He repeated the task four more times.

  Just as the motorcycle pair arrived on the bridge, the two men in the San Francisco caps went through the toll booth on the southern end, turned off Route 101 a few yards farther. They parked their Harley Davidson in back of the administrative building. Leaving the bike running, each took two small limpet mines from their backpacks and decorated two nearby motorcycles and two police cruisers outside each vehicle’s gas tank. The Giants fan then took an IED and wire from one of the saddlebags, ran the wire across the door of the building, and attached the IED to the building itself. As they were leaving, the Forty Niner on the back told the driver to stop. He got off the bike and placed another small limpet against the telephone box on the side of the building.

  0538

  Felix Gardiner felt pleased with his performance so far. He had already pedaled nearly to the middle of the bridge—where the pavement was no longer rising in front of him, and the suspension cable was at its lowest. At this rate, he might even get to work early. Luckily, he had encountered little traffic, because his luminous reflector would not have done him much good in the fog. The headlight he had reluctantly fixed to his handlebars—Tour de France riders used no headlights—likewise was of little help.

  Gardiner allowed himself the pleasure of looking back on the mile of grade he had conquered. When he turned back to look ahead, he was suddenly confronted with the sight of a pedestrian wearing an Oakland Raiders cap directly in front of him. It was too late to avert hitting the man. He did, and Gardiner fell off his bike, grateful for the law that required him to wear a helmet.

  The man with the Raiders regained his balance quickly, and Gardiner stood almost as quickly to pick up his bike. “You know, motorcycles are not allowed on this sidewalk. It is only for pedestrians and bicycles,” he said, outraged at the motorcycle leaning against the waterside railing. Encouraged by the Raider’s baffled expression, he added, “If you can’t obey the rules, you should not be on this bridge. Will you look at this?” He tried to realign his front wheel with the handlebars.

  The Raider drew a pistol and looked to his partner, and when the latter nodded, he shot the astonished Gardiner and pushed him to the side.

  0540

  The Harley Davidson riders heard the explosions, as they rode out of the administration building’s parking lot to get on the bicycle/ pedestrian path on the western side of the bridge.

  0540

  “The game is on, ladies and gentlemen,” Hunter said, picking up his HK417 from a desk under one of the CCTV screens.

  “Yeah, we should have known better than try to repair the equipment,” McCabe said to the bridge guard, who had been puzzling over the seven blank screens for the past ten minutes. “Call Steve and tell him what’s going on. We’re going out for a recon.”

  They hurried out of the room and down a corridor toward the door leading to the back parking lot. Hunter was about to push the door open when McCabe grabbed his arm. “Wait!” he almost shouted. “Not this way!”

  When they ran back and went out through a side window, the early morning sky was lit up on their right. Peering around the corner of the building toward the parking lot, they saw the two cruisers on fire. Their bikes were on their sides, flames shooting from the gas tanks.

  0545

  “Al,” Steve said, “Where the hell is your bird? There could be an army on the bridge now, and we wouldn’t know it.”

  “It was blown off course by the wind. I’m now at three thousand feet altitude, and we’ll get a picture of the bridge in a few seconds. There, I’m getting lower.”

  “Just a second,” Steve said. “I’m getting a call from the Dynamic Duo.” After a short discussion with McCabe, he reported, “They’ve had fireworks. All their transportation is knocked out. But the Quds guys didn’t attack the building itself. There’s no shooting, so we’re assuming that part of the attack party is on its way to the bridge.”

  “So the bridge security guard should call in the cavalry,” Kella said.

  “The landline has been knocked out,” Steve said. “I tried to give one of our transceivers to Spencer, in case we needed to communicate with JTTF, but he didn’t feel the need. The FBI thinks they got along without us before and they can get along without us now. Why do I sense turf rivalries rearing their ugly heads?”

  “Looks like we’re the only cavalry in this theatre of operations,” Al said.

  “Yeah, Hunter and McCabe are headed to the bridge, but they’re on foot. The bridge guard told them sometimes they patrol on bikes, so they’re looking for those bicycles.”

  “Okay, the bird is over the bridge,” Al said. “I don’t see much activity except for commuters.”

  “What about that over there?” Kella asked, pointing to the middle of the bridge on the west side.

  “That’s too small for a car. Maybe it’s a motorcycle.”

  “It’s stopped. Probably the guys we’re looking for.”

  “One or two guys on a motorcycle? Can’t do much damage to a couple of thousand tons of steel.”

  “What about that boat?” Kella asked. “It looks like the same one we saw before, and now it’s getting very close to the bridge.”

  “We have a communications problem,” Steve said. “JTTF has a Coast Guard rep, but only JTTF people can communicate with him. And we can’t communicate with the JTTF. Kella, get in touch with the bridge guard and tell him to raise the Coast Guard by whatever means he can.”

  “I doubt the general’s going to be on the bridge. Can we get a quick view of the overlook?”

  “We’re on our way,” Al said. “But the bird’s still bucking the wind.”

  0550

  Gardiner, bleeding and gasping from his chest wound, dragged himself against the railing into a sitting position. Frantically searching his mind for options, he recalled a war movie where John Wayne, as a Green Beret, found himself in a similar situation. Mimicking the memory, he removed his riding gloves and stuffed them under his shirt to try to control the bleeding and the air escaping from his lungs. He wondered why bridge security guards had not already appeared. He resolved to recall every detail of his encounter so he could write
a letter of complaint to the authorities; maybe to the mayor of San Francisco or, better yet, to the newspapers. Growing almost giddy from shock and loss of blood, he looked at his watch and began fretting he wouldn’t make it to work on time.

  Gardiner noticed the man who had shot him was still in view, about twenty yards away on the sidewalk. He was lighting a long match and placing it at the end of a cord. Then he hurried away. Now both of the men crouched down and covered their ears. The spark flashed along the cord and separated into six tongues of flame, each leading toward one of the metal posts holding up the fencing between the road and the sidewalk. Gardiner instinctively covered his face just as six simultaneous explosions almost blew out his eardrums, as they sliced through the fence and blew the posts out into the roadway.

  Gardiner regained his senses a couple of minutes later, in time to see two more men getting off another motorcycle on the sidewalk and leaning it against the pedestrian railing. “Dammit!” he said to himself. “Don’t these people know the law?”

  Ignoring him, they looked toward a truck approaching from the north in the slow lane. When it stopped, the men moved to the cargo doors, opened them, and pulled out a metal ramp, which they quickly laid down into the roadway, next to the sidewalk over the remnants of the destroyed fence.

  The men quickly inspected the placement, and one of them waved the truck to the right over the ramp and onto the sidewalk while another dialed a number on his cell phone. In apparent frustration, he tried to redial several times and, shaking his head, said several angry words to his partner, who also tried to call but gave up after a few more tries. Agitated, they spoke to each other loudly in a language Gardiner did not understand but sounded Middle Eastern before refocusing their attention on the truck.

  Gardiner could now see the truck was a UPS vehicle. While the bikers were busy with their phones, the truck had backed up about five feet, swung out into the next lane, and turned its wheels sharply to get on the ramp. But as the truck maneuvered slowly onto the sidewalk, almost running over Gardiner’s legs, two cars collided into each other in an attempt to avoid the truck. They skidded to a stop and a car crashed into them. Hearing the noise, Gardiner could see headlights suddenly pointing in different directions. All traffic stopped behind the accident and the only sound he heard was of idling engines.

  The UPS truck made its way to the exact middle of the span and edged next to the main bridge railing and the main suspension cable.

  0555

  Yosemani could see the stopped traffic on the bridge and concluded the truck was in the right position. He tried to call his team, but quickly understood the situation when his cell phone refused to give him a signal. The Americans must now be protecting the bridge with the same counter IED technology they used in Iraq and Afghanistan. But he had trained his commandos in the Tiburon hideout. He assumed they would exercise the alternative plan.

  He also assumed the worst: the signal to explode the truck remotely from his location would also be jammed. But now that the truck was in place, he would wait until he could see his men rappel down to Kazemi’s boat and try to trigger the explosion before driving to the exfiltration point.

  0600

  “Steve,” McCabe said on the transceiver, “we found bikes and we’re starting to cross the bridge, but traffic’s stopped on the roadway. What’s going on in front of us? How about putting your bird to work?”

  “Willco,” Steve replied.

  “Al,” Steve said, “Turn the bird back to the bridge.”

  “Okay, but we’re close enough to the overlook to see a vehicle’s parked there. But not long. The engine’s still warm.”

  “That’s all I need to know,” Kella said, picking up her weapon and opening the door.

  “Wait, wait,” Steve said, putting his hand on her arm. “We know where he is. He won’t get far. Our priority’s still the bridge. Let’s see what’s going on there. Then we’ll deal with the general.”

  0600

  Although Gardiner was still losing blood, he fought to stay attentive, determined to report everything he saw. He could see and hear people who had left their cars and were speaking in increasingly loud voices. Those were probably the drivers and passengers involved in the pileup. He could also see other people getting out of their cars from farther down the lanes, curious to know why they were being held up and why the traffic wasn’t moving.

  Those directly involved in the accident, he noticed, started moving in his direction. Two men, now walking quickly, called out to the five men around the truck. “Hey,” one of them shouted. “Which one of you is the driver? Did you see what you did? Where did you learn how to drive?”

  At that, Gardiner saw the man in the Raiders cap pull out his pistol and fire it several times in the air. Suddenly the commuters who had come out of their cars retreated, except for two men who tried to rally them while crouched behind the cars in the slow lane closest to the truck. Gardiner noticed others coming out of their vehicles then paying heed to shouts of “get down,” joined their fellow commuters behind the stopped cars.

  0605

  “McCabe,” Steve said on the transceiver, “There’s a truck on the ocean side, and it’s up on the sidewalk. We saw a lot of people get out of their vehicles and close in around the truck. Some scattered, probably because the Quds guys pulled out weapons, but it looks like more people are advancing. How close are you? Should we come down? If you don’t need us, we have another target up here.”

  “Roger that,” McCabe responded, breathing hard as they pedaled up the span. “We’re almost there. You take care of your business up there. We’ll handle the Quds guys.”

  0605

  “I’ve been trying to call 911 for five minutes now,” a man dressed in a three piece suit said loudly to those around him, “but my cell won’t work. Anybody having better luck?”

  “I hope UPS has deep pockets,” another man grumbled. “And why the hell are they armed and shooting at us?”

  0610

  As the commuters got closer, angrier and louder, the Raider ordered the driver and two of his men to rappel down to Kazemi’s boat, which he had spotted below them. He then gave an order to Oakland As, who quickly deployed a detonating cord, crimping it inside a four-inch copper tube, which he attached to the inside of the truck. He lit the three-minute fuse then went over the side. Gardiner watched the sparks move toward the truck with dread.

  0610

  “Holy hell! Did you guys see that?” a young man stepping out of a pickup truck said, as he and others, crouching between cars, approached the Raider who had backed up to the railing.

  Gardiner, weakening and practically hypnotized, watched the sparks consume the cord and advance under the truck.

  One of the men hiding behind the cars suddenly spurted ahead toward the Raider who shot him as he jumped over the truck ramp. The sound had not yet completely dissipated when it was replaced by a shout, “Now! Go, go, go, go!” At least a dozen men jumped out from behind the cars and charged. The Raider got one more shot off before he fell under the bodies of his attackers.

  At the same, Gardiner saw two men, semi-automatic rifles hanging from their shoulders, jump off their bicycles.

  Gardiner, seeing the Raider go down, started crawling toward the truck, one hand under his shirt to keep his driving glove over the wound. “Over there, over there!” he said in a weakened voice, pointing toward the live fuse advancing under the truck.

  48. Rodeo Beach

  Yosemani had seen three of his men rappel down the ropes, followed by another a moment later. He waited for the last man to get off the bridge, wondering why the delay. A moment later, he heard more shooting.

  Although aware he still had one man on the bridge, he ran to his Hummer, reached to the passenger seat to an open attaché case, uncovered a red button protected by a plastic safety cover, and pressed it. He knew the remote trigger probably wouldn’t function because of the jamming, but he had to give it one try. Nothing happened. He even
looked at the bridge through his binoculars for a second, still waiting for an explosion. “Dammit,” he said. Then he started the Hummer, backed out of the parking lot, and began the exfiltration phase.

  ***

  “We’ve taken care of the problem,” McCabe told Steve over the transceiver. “We’ve got the mother of all car bombs here. Hunter defused it, though you never can tell. These guys know all about booby traps and delayed explosions. We’re trying to get these commuters off the bridge, but we’re not traffic cops.”

  “Do what you can,” Steve said. “I’m not turning off the jammer until we’ve got the general and his remote triggering system. That’s what we’re doing now. Out.”

  “The Hummer’s on the move,” Al said.

  As Kella jumped out of the SUV, Steve held her back and handed her a Kevlar vest. “This time we’re going to get him. Don’t take stupid risks,” he said as he kissed her. “I’ll take the SUV.” Her long black curls swirling around the top of her vest, she mounted her bike. Steve got into the second SUV and followed her out of the parking lot. They turned left toward the overlook and stepped on the gas. In less than a mile, headlights came at them as if pursued by demons. They closed and passed each other within seconds. On her bike, Kella made a 180 and sped away, while Steve was still turning the SUV around.

  Kella lost the Hummer’s rear lights around a turn as she flashed by the Rodeo Beach sign they had seen the day they had driven to the Nike site. Another three quarters of a mile farther, with Steve’s headlights in her rearview mirror, she noticed another sign that brought her to a sliding halt. She turned her bike onto a dirt path going down toward the beach. Steve roared by in the SUV, staying on the road behind the Hummer.