GHOST TRAIL

by Brian Tyree

  Weng passed through security posts at the Forensics Laboratory of the Fuzhou Central Police Department. Wondering why command chose him for this particular case over more qualified senior officers. Command already briefed Weng on the railway building fire. Telling him at best it was a terror attack on China’s cyber infrastructure, and at worst an attack on the sovereign state of China by a foreign country. Either way, it rose to the top level of investigation with all hands on deck at the forensics department. Dozens of scientists in lab coats intermingled with MSS agents, while local uniformed officers stuck to the sidelines. Weng felt the tension in the air in the form of daggers shot from eyes of officers and Fuzhou detectives pushed aside by the Chinese government—in favor of the small army of the MSS—called in to investigate the attack.

  “Officer Weng,” a voice startled, speaking in Mandarin, “We’ve been expecting you.” Weng turned to a man in a lab coat with a kind expression, approaching him with a hand extended. “Shao Xiang, MSS Fourth Bureau, Explosives Division. Follow me. Have you been to the site yet?”

  “No. I came here straight from the airport.”

  “Follow me.” They turned up a narrow hall as men in lab coats brushed by, nodding to Xiang as they passed.

  “As you can see,” Xiang explained, “it’s not as spacious as the lab at MSS.”

  They entered a laboratory with rows of metal tables. Half a dozen scientists bustled around the lab. Squinting through high-tech microscopes and running a battery of tests on particles collected from the site. Tucked back in the corner of the room was an ominous, steel instrument resembling a torpedo on its end with knobs and levers poking out the sides. “With the exception of this electron microscope from the Ming Dynasty,” Xiang joked, “you’ll find the facilities are quite advanced.” He led Weng to a white table-top microscope. “Here, I want to show you something.” A scientist stepped aside for Weng to look. Weng peered in to a see a blotchy Rorschach blob. He rotated the focus ring and an image took shape—angular crystalline cells in a rainbow of colors. “Now take a look at this,” Xiang said, replacing the slide in the microscope. Weng peered in. “Looks about the same, doesn’t it?” Xiang asked.

  “Looks identical to me.”

  “Here’s another.”

  Weng peered in at the splotch of dull green matter with a similar crystalline structure as the others. “What am I looking at?”

  “You know the fire was no accident?”

  Weng nodded.

  “The first slide is from the roof. The second slide is a sample of thermite. Are you familiar—”

  “—Yes. A common ingredient in incendiary devices.”

  “Exactly. The second and third slides are samples from different incendiary devices. Different bombs, if you will. When a country’s military designs incendiary devices, they don’t trade recipes with other countries. So, each country’s device will have its own signature of chemical compounds, which vary in subtle ways from devices of other countries. You following?”

  “Yes, sir,” Weng replied. “Incendiaries are unique to each country.”

  “Precisely. And we know from having gathered incendiary samples from conflicts around the world, which devices belong to which country. The slide from the roof is a match to that of a Taiwanese incendiary device—the second slide.”

  Weng nodded, listening intently.

  “From an HJZ incendiary grenade made by the People’s Army of Taiwan, to be exact.”

  “Have you informed the President?” Weng asked. “And how accurate are these tests?”

  “More accurate than matching fingerprints. Fingerprints have billions of combinations. Fewer than twenty countries produce their own incendiaries. We know with near certainty that these are Taiwanese made. And judging by the fact that you’re here, it’s safe to say the President knows.”

  “Will you take me to where you found these samples?”

  “Certainly.” Xiang replied.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The once white Railway Bureau building now looked like a burnt match stick on the skyline. The upper three floors completely black. Streaks of a smoke stains scrawled upward from windows a few stories below, formed by flames leaping up from the windows.

  A line of men in jumpsuits and hardhats flowed from the bottom exits, removing computers and files. Weng and Xiang met a group of them. Zhi, a tall, lanky inspector, gave them hardhats.

  “The building is structurally unsound,” Zhi said. “The men are moving out everything vital. I will escort you up the stairs.”

  They entered the lobby, which appeared fine aside from the thick stench of smoke ingrained into the walls. The trio of men began the trek up the dark stairs, guided by the light on Zhi’s helmet. “Watch your step,” he cautioned.

  They trod up several stories. Arriving at a tunnel-like hole carved out of the charred ceiling. They gingerly climbed a precarious ladder leaning on the partial roof. A remnant of the original roof that had burned and sunk two stories. “Follow me,” Zhi said. “Stay near the edge of the building. The roof is still weak.”

  Once on the roof, the trio hugged the steel and concrete ledge, inching toward a gaping hole in the blackened roof, six feet in diameter. The melted edges sloped inward, like a black hole that had devoured everything in its path. Weng peered into the hole, which continued down into darkness.

  “Whatever it was,” Zhi said, “burned extremely hot, all the way to the sixth floor. Firefighters put hoses on it, but the intense heat vaporized the water without effect, until it finally just burned itself out.”

  “It was a military grade incendiary device,” Xiang told Zhi.

  “Where did you collect the fragments?” Weng asked. Xiang pointed, waving his arm in a semi-circle arc around the hole.

  “When the incendiary first ignited, it showered sparks several feet out. Some of these contained fragments of thermite. They can only ignite at high temperatures and these particles cooled flying through the air. Providing us with the evidentiary samples.”

  “How was the explosive delivered?” Weng asked. “Was it a missile or bomb dropped aerially?”

  “We’re still trying to figure that out,” Xiang said.

  “What about video surveillance of the building?” Weng asked.

  “The fire destroyed the cameras on the roof, along with the drives storing the data. But we did recover footage from security cameras on other buildings.”

  “I would like to see them,” Weng said.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Deep in the bowels of the neighboring Bank of China building, Weng and the two other men stared at a bank of security monitors. Flanking them were a security official and surveillance operator from the Fuzian Branch of the Bank of China. They were both honored to be in the presence of high-ranking officials from the Chinese intelligence community.

  The monitors showed video recordings from various incidental angles of the inferno. One view was from the roof of the thirty-story bank building that happened to capture a large section of the burning roof. Other cameras were in offices several floors down, that could “see” the burning building in the background.

  “Were you posted here on the night of the fire?” Weng asked the seated operator.

  “Yes, sir. A custodian on the twentieth floor spotted the blaze from the window and radioed it down to security. I triggered the alarm immediately and called the fire department, but the fire spread too fast. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. You may very well have saved the rest of the building, as well as sensitive data belonging to the government.”

  Weng turned to Xiang, “Whoever did this knew what they were doing. They intended for the roof to burn quickly, preventing any attempt to extinguish the blaze. Did your cameras detect anyone on the roof before the fire?” Weng asked the seated guard.

  “No, sir.”

  “How about your watchmen on duty?” Xiang asked the security officer in charge. “Did they see anything unusual?”

  Th
e officer shook his head. “No sir.”

  “Were there any aircraft passing by or projectiles flying toward the roof of the building?” Weng asked.

  “No, sir. It was a quiet night. Nothing was happening. Our building was mostly vacant. I don’t recall any helicopters in the area or anything unusual. My guards also said there were no pedestrians near the building, aside from people leaving work for the evening.”

  “Will you show me the feed from the roof of your building at the time just before the fire, please?” Weng asked. It was the monitor that had the best view looking down on the neighboring roof.

  “Yes, sir. The recorders are synchronized, so you can see them all just before the fire.” The operator reversed the footage and it sped back rapidly. The roof appeared to rise upward as the building “unburned” itself. The blaze vanished and the building was intact and quiet. The operator then played the videos forward in real time.

  Weng’s eyes darted from screen to screen. Looking for anything peculiar. Xiang and Zhi also studied the bank of monitors. One with a view near ground level showed sparks spraying from the roof at the moment of detonation. A brilliant burst illuminated the sky above the building on other monitors. Giving form to the puffy clouds hundreds of feet up. Moments later, the glow from the explosion dissipated to the size of a beach ball—melting through the roof—igniting the top floor of the building. Flames shot upward from the hole in the roof as the glowing orb continued to melt downward.

  “Go back to a couple minutes before the fire.”

  “Yes, sir.” The operator rewound at a rapid speed.

  “Slowly, please,” Weng said.

  The video reversed in slow-motion. Weng spotted something— “Stop.” The operator did. Freezing the image. “Now, go forward, slowly if you can.” Weng tapped a smaller monitor. “Make this the main one, please.” The operator moved that image to the much larger main screen. It played in real time. The initial burst of light nearly whited-out the entire frame. “Can you zoom to this area?” The operator zoomed in, and the handrail inexplicably wobbled—one end seeming to break free of its own accord. It dangled over the building’s edge. “Can we see it from higher up? The wide angle?” The operator complied, showing the same moment in time from a higher angle on the main screen. The handrail detached and hung from the building. It jolted again as the bolts broke further down.

  “Something is pulling it down.” Weng said.

  “What?” Xiang replied.

  “Is there footage from a building on that side?” Zhi asked.

  Xiang shook his head no. “This is all we have.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Weng said. “Back up a little. Slowly.” The handrail bent back up and froze in place. Undisturbed. “Freeze it there” Weng said. “A view from another building is irrelevant, because we can’t see what’s pulling it down from here.” The operator toggled the video back and forth. It was empty black space all around the railing as it broke free.

  “There’s nothing there,” the operator said.

  “So, what caused it to break?” Xing asked.

  “Tremors from the explosion?” Zhi guessed. “Vibrations from a load-bearing beam beneath it may have caused it to loosen.”

  “This soon after the fire, though?” Weng asked. “It’s within thirty seconds after the initial explosion. Keep going backward before the explosion, and stay zoomed-in on the handrail.” The operator did, and the footage crept backward. The blooming glow died out. The handrail was hard to see in the dark. Glints of reflections from the building lights set it apart from the gun-metal sky. The rail wobbled. “What was that?”

  The operator played the video and the rail jittered again in real time.

  “Something shook it. Before the explosion.” Xiang said.

  “Yes. And whatever that something was also placed the incendiary device.” Weng replied.

  “Go back to the first handrail wobble and zoom out a little bit, until you can see the area where the explosion occurs. Now play.” Weng said. The footage played forward. Weng intently focused on the blurry network of cables below the satellite dishes.

  “Can you sharpen the focus?”

  “No. We don’t have that ability.”

  “Zoom in here. Did you see it? Back up a little and go forward slowly.”

  A black blur of the incendiary device box appeared from thin air. Hovering and seeming to float down toward the pipes containing the cables. The image was so blurry it was hard to confirm anything with certainty. Something dark and blurry definitely moved on its own before coming to a rest on the roof, among the pipes, cables and gravel.

  “That’s the device.” Weng said. And in that moment it became clear to him why command hand-picked him for the case. Somebody higher up the chain of command anticipated something that had completely eluded Weng, until now. “Play it again. Slower.” Weng said—more for the benefit of the others than his own. The operator did and the others watched mystified. Weng removed his cell phone from a coat pocket and placed a call... “It’s Officer Weng in Fuzhou. The Phantom was here.” He listened intently to his next orders, dictated over the phone. “Right away, sir.”

  Zhi and Xiang exchanged blank gazes as Weng snapped his phone shut, turning to the security officer. “We’re going to need these drives. All of them.”

  “They’re all yours.” The security officer replied.

  “Please give them to Lieutenant Xiang. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I am required to return immediately.” Weng shook hands with the men, leaving Xiang and Zhi even more bewildered.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  GHOST

  Major Trest’s office at Holloman was modest, neat and clean. He had a wide, metal standard-issue military desk. Plain chairs faced it and a plaid couch fit snug against the wall. Plaques, awards and framed medal cases were neatly arranged on the walls and dust-free. A bay window offered a panoramic view overlooking the runway and Stealth Canyon, including Hangar 302 off in the distance. The blinds were pulled, blocking the morning sun as Trest strained his eyes, navigating the internet on his desktop computer. He was a hunt and peck typist, taking longer than normal to pull up Dongnan Kuai Bao—Fuzhou’s top online newspaper at dnkb.com.cn. He hit the button to translate to English. The front page featured an aerial photo of the building fire. The headline, Electrical Fire to Blame at Railway Bureau. Trest was halfway into the article that blamed widespread train delays on the fire when his phone rang. He let it ring. Finishing the article. Then finally picked up.

  “Sheridan isn’t doing well,” McCreary said on the other line.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s been puking his guts out all morning and is a no-show at work.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Lying on his bathroom floor. Should I call an ambulance?”

  “No. He has to call one.”

  “Should we bring him in?”

  “Negative,” Trest said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  About an hour passed. McCreary and Baldo stared at the screen with a feed from the hidden camera in Hal’s bathroom. He was now sitting upright in a robe. Eyes closed. Head swaying. The bathroom wall made a useful backstop, propping him up.

  Hal’s eyes opened a crack. As if to test his current degree of spins. The bathroom continued to whip around him. A cacophony of visions bombarded his mind, but none of the intrusions lasting long enough to reveal any detail. He glanced at the toilet before him, sensing an imminent gut-busting hurl. The bathroom light flickered. He gaped at it blankly. Wondering if the flickering was real or if he was indeed hallucinating. His doorbell rang—breaking him out of the stupor.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, struggling to hoist himself up. His ascension to his feet was old-man-parkour. He gripped the bathtub ledge first—then the toilet—and transferred his weight to the sink counter—then finally standing upright. Just as the lights flickered—and went out. “Great,” he said. At least I’m not imagining it.

/>   Hal shuffled down the hallway, using the wall as a crutch. The doorbell rang again, sounding warbled as the power fluttered on an off. Hal answered the door to an El Paso Electric worker in a hardhat and orange vest. Hal saw the bucket truck beyond—lifting another electrician up to a transformer box at the top of a telephone pole. “Sorry to bother you,” the electrician said, “but the transformer is out, and I’m gonna’ need you to shut down your breaker. If there’s a surge, it could blow out your appliances.”

  Hal nodded. “Give me a minute.” He stepped inside, turning toward the kitchen—the direction of his breaker box in the pantry. The electrician stepped in close behind Hal and injected him with a syringe in the side of neck. Hal instantly collapsed and the “electrician” guided him safely to the ground.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Hal’s eyes opened to paramedics bent over him in a speeding ambulance. “What happened?”

  “You’re alright. You passed out and the power crew called us. Your vitals are low and we started an IV.” Hal glanced up at the bag and line running to his arm. “We’re almost there.”

  Hal drifted in and out of sleep as they rushed him through a series of double doors on a gurney to the ER. He came to a stop and the wheels locked in place beneath him. A nurse stuck heart-monitor electrodes on his chest. He opened his eyes and saw Dr. Elm, a female nurse and Elm’s male assistant. Hal leaned upward—alarming the doctor and nurses.

  “Easy. Just lay down.” Hal could see them clearly now—realizing it wasn’t Dr. Elm and his crew, but the hospital trauma staff. “You’re just dehydrated. Relax. Your levels are coming back up. You’re going to be fine.” Hal’s eyes studied the ER doctor, his brain trying to recall seeing the man before. He hadn’t.