Operator Down

by Brad Taylor

  She stopped him and said, “Let me talk to Creed. You scare him.”

  He passed across his phone with a grin, saying, “You mean he has a crush on you.”

  Bartholomew Creedwater was a computer network operations guy, which—like saying a loan shark was an alternative financing expert—was a polite title for what he really did. He was a hacker, and he was good at his trade. He’d worked with their team on a number of occasions, aggravating Pike with his clear attraction to Jennifer, but Pike recognized talent when he saw it, and Creed always seemed to work extra hard when Jennifer asked. He’d been dedicated to their team for this mission, acting as standby reach-back access for any technical capability that was required.

  Jennifer put in a Bluetooth earpiece so it wouldn’t look like she was talking on two different cell phones and waited for the call to be answered. She eventually heard a tentative voice: “Hello? Pike?”

  She said, “It’s Jennifer. We’re on a target and need some help with penetration.”

  The voice turned almost giddy. “Hi, Jennifer! Tell me what you have. I’ll get in. Can you access a USB port? Plug in one of my thumb drives?”

  “It’s not a computer. We’re looking at a table, five guys having a meeting, all probably with cell phones.”

  “That’s it? Do you have a number?”

  Pike snapped his fingers and pointed. She said, “Stand by,” and watched another man approach the table. An Orthodox Jew wearing a yarmulke and sporting payot curls. One of the contractors stood up and shook his hand, pointing at an empty seat.

  This just got interesting.

  Pike rotated his finger, telling her to speed things up. She nodded, and into the phone said, “I don’t have a number, but I have the Pwnie phone out and operational. You said this thing could penetrate everything, Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, cellular. Everything.”

  She heard tapping on a keyboard, then, “It can, but I have to have a root. I can’t just magically make shit happen. That’s Hollywood.” There was a pause, then, “Okay, I have you on the network. And you have a bazillion phones, wherever you are. I need to neck it down, and I can’t do that here. It’s why you guys go inside. If I could do it, we wouldn’t need you. Give me something.”

  Pike said, “The damn meeting’s going to end. Jesus. Can’t Creed get us something?”

  Jennifer shook her head, saying into the earpiece, “What phones do you see? Is there a block of them? One with a Bulgarian country code? Something like that?”

  More tapping, then, “No Bulgarian country codes, but strangely, a few from South Africa. A smattering of Americans, some German, but most from Israel.”

  Jennifer saw Pike lean forward and knew he’d seen something. She waited, hearing, “You still there?”

  “Yeah. Hang on.” She looked at Pike and said, “What do you have?”

  “One of those wannabe commandos is wearing an Apple watch. Ask if that’s any help.”

  She said, “We have a target with an Apple watch. Is that any help?”

  “No. Come on. You think I can type in ‘Apple watch’ and then get access to whoever you’re looking at?”

  Now aggravated, Jennifer snapped, “No, but doesn’t that access a cell phone? Can’t that neck things down? It’s not like there are fifty of them in here.”

  She heard him come back sounding like a whimpering puppy. “Jennifer, I’m trying to help, but . . . wait, you might be onto something.” Jennifer winked at Pike. Creed continued. “Can you get within thirty meters of the guy? If you can, I can use the Pwnie phone for a man-in-the-middle attack. Nobody wears an Apple watch as a timepiece. His Bluetooth will be tethered. That’s the whole point.”

  Pike said, “Apple is leaving. Heading to the men’s room.”

  Jennifer nodded at Pike, then said into the earpiece, “Creed, he’s going to the bathroom. The women’s room is right next door. Can you get a read through the wall?”

  “Yeah, if it’s only a single wall, the Pwnie will access it.”

  “Stand by.”

  She stood, and off the phone said, “Creed thinks he can penetrate with that guy’s watch, but I have to get within thirty meters. I’m going to the bathroom.”

  Pike nodded and said, “Don’t get burned. Let him in first. This isn’t ending today.”

  She placed her hands on the table and leaned over, getting face-to-face, saying, “You told me I was a Jedi last mission. You can’t keep giving me instructions. It’s unseemly.”

  She waited to see if he would take the bait, and he did. Just like she knew he would. He leaned forward and kissed her, then, because he was Pike, didn’t let it go. He said, “There are many more levels of Jedi to get to mine.”

  She stood up and said, “He-man woman-hater crap.”

  He laughed, and she sauntered off. It was a little bit of fun, but the point of the exchange was to solidify to anyone watching that they were, in fact, a couple. If something happened in the next few minutes, she didn’t want the analysis later to report that a couple had entered and then spent the entire time staring at a table of five.

  She threaded her way through the restaurant, keeping Apple in front of her. When he disappeared into the men’s room, she accessed the ladies’ room, finding it empty. She whispered, “I’m in. What do you have?”

  Creed said, “I have a thread. A Bluetooth stream. You sure it’s his?”

  “Hell no, but we’re in the back of the restaurant, and my room is empty. Do you have more than one?”

  “No.”

  “It’s his. Get your man-in-the-middle jihad on.”

  She heard the keyboard tapping and him saying, “You’re a little more forceful today. You don’t usually talk to me like that.”

  She said, “It’s the stress. Sorry.” What she thought was, Pike is rubbing off on me. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

  He said, “I got it. I’m in. What do you want? His contacts, email, what?”

  “We want to turn that watch into a microphone. We want to hear what happens when he returns.”

  “Easy breezy.”

  She said, “You’re still the best, Creed.”

  She could almost feel the blush through the phone line. He said, “Anything for you guys. You’re my favorite team.”

  Meaning she was his favorite. She grinned, thinking about the time Pike almost cracked Creed’s head open in the Bahamas. Favorite team. Yeah, right.

  She went back to the table, saying, “Can we get real-time?”

  “No. The Pwnie just gets access. The feed will come to me, but I’ll get it to you as soon as I can.”

  She sat down, winked at Pike, and said, “Sounds good. Thanks for the help.”

  She disconnected and told Pike the state of play. He said, “Well then, I guess we can get a couple of real drinks, since we’re not going to be able to react to anything that’s said.”

  They watched Apple sit back down, hoping the watch microphone was good enough to pick up what was being discussed. Three minutes later, their optimism plummeted, and not because of the technology. The meeting broke up. Pike watched them paying the bill and said, “I hope they laid out their evil plan at the last moment. What a waste.”

  She saw him bring out his phone, and he said, “Brett.” He called and found that Tyler had left the diamond exchange and gone straight back to the hotel. She watched the party leave and said, “You want to stay on him?”

  The waitress brought over their Bacardi and Cokes, and he said, “No. Our heat state is bad enough. He’s headed back to the hotel.”

  She grinned and said, “Never waste a drink. Taskforce motto.”

  He raised his glass and said, “There’s a reason for that. You might not get another one.”

  14

  We finished our drinks, just making small talk, giving our target table time to disperse to wherever they w
ere going. The last thing I wanted was to bump into one of them accidentally out on the street because we left too early, and it was really bad form to waste a drink. If I didn’t know we were on a mission, it would have been a pretty good day on vacation. Jennifer evidently felt more like the latter, because she set her empty glass down and said, “Let’s go explore the old city.”

  I stood up, throwing enough shekels to cover the bill, and Jennifer said, “I want to talk.”

  Which, of course, immediately turned our relaxing time into some sort of trap. I said, “Fine by me,” and we set out, winding through the alleys and wasting the afternoon in art galleries. Okay, I thought it was a waste. Jennifer enjoyed it, which, because I knew we were never getting to Caesarea, would probably get me some points.

  We exited the old city next to some sort of weird hanging orange trees—literally orange trees that were suspended in the air by wires—with me still waiting on the “talk,” when she finally said, “You think Aaron and Shoshana will make it?”

  I said, “What do you mean? Their company is obviously going strong. In today’s world, there’s a significant market for their talent, and a lot of shitheads who claim it. They measure up.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I mean the marriage.”

  Holy shit. Where is this going?

  I said, “They’re just weird enough to stay together.”

  She looked at me, and I saw she knew I was dodging. I said, “They’re connected on a level that few people are. It’ll be fine.”

  We broke out into the main thoroughfare with the clock tower, and before she could say anything else, I said, “That worked out. Our car is a block over.”

  She started to say something, and I speed walked forward, getting away from the conversation. She caught up, and my phone rang. Creed, saving me by the bell.

  He said, “I have the transcript, but it’s not a lot of help. Whatever substantive info they shared happened before we accessed the Apple watch.”

  I said, “About what I figured. Did you send it?”

  We crossed through the fabled flea market, although I don’t know why anyone would call it “fabled,” since it looked like every other flea market on earth. You were more likely to find a sculpture built out of wine bottles than a piece of the Ten Commandments.

  Creed said, “I’ll send it in a second. Typing final now. We had to do some work on the audio to get a clear readout.”

  We found the parking lot and our car, and I hung up. To Jennifer, I said, “Transcript is on the way.”

  She nodded, entering the vehicle. In short order, we were headed up the coast to the Hilton. In blessed silence.

  We drove out of Jaffa and entered the outskirts of Tel Aviv, me pretending to fight the traffic to stay away from the conversation. But Jennifer was having none of it.

  She said, “If they’re so connected, what are we?”

  I drove past the old Jaffa train station, now an eclectic outdoor mall, and said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She looked at me and said, “Yes, you do.”

  I gripped the steering wheel hard, and the sensation brought me back to Guatemala, when I’d first met Jennifer—and wanted to choke her. We’d been together going on seven years now, and I knew sooner or later a conversation like this would happen. I liked where we were but could recognize Jennifer getting antsy.

  I said, “What do you want out of this?”

  She slid her hand into mine and said, “Nothing. I mean, I’m just trying to sort out where we stand. Are we in a relationship because I’m an Operator in the Taskforce? Or are we in a relationship and I happen to also be in the Taskforce? If I left, would we still have what we have?”

  I said nothing. After a two-minute silence, she said, “Pike? It’s a fair question.”

  I said, “Is that what this is about? You want to leave the Taskforce?”

  “No, no. Not at all. It’s just a question.” She looked out the window for a moment, then said, “Aaron and Shoshana recognized what they had and committed to it.”

  Uh-oh.

  I said, “Shoshana wouldn’t recognize a relationship if it came up and bit her in the ass. She’s crazy. Don’t you remember the wedding?”

  “I remember it, but that wasn’t Shoshana’s doing. That was just outside circumstances. I didn’t see you running away from the sound of the guns.”

  I said, “I acted defensively. Shoshana did not. She’s fanatical. She’d do anything for Aaron, slaughtering whatever gets in her way. That’s her idea of a relationship.”

  “Seems I remember someone else doing the same at one point in time. For me.”

  Jennifer was talking about Guatemala, when I had, in fact, turned into a sociopathic killing machine to get her out of the grasp of a drug cartel. I hated it when she used stone-cold logic and was absolutely confused as to where this conversation was going. As I’m sure she intended. It was a gift only women had.

  My blessed Taskforce phone pinged with a message. I said, “Check my cell. I think Creed’s message just came in.”

  She unlocked the phone as I pulled into the underground parking garage for the Hilton. I shut the car off and said, “Well?”

  She passed the phone and said, “It’s not much for our mission, but it is interesting.”

  I read:

  UNSUB 1 (Clear Israeli accent): . . . I don’t have a location yet. I expect to have it by tomorrow.

  UNSUB 2 (Undetermined accent. Possibly South African): How hard can it be? We gave you a full name and address. We just want a pinpoint from a local and some atmospherics.

  UNSUB 1: I have that address, but your target isn’t there. I think I know where she’s located, but I want to confirm.

  UNSUB 2: We’ve paid a great deal of money for this information. You’re not getting any more, if this is some scheme to up the ante.

  UNSUB 1: I know, and honestly, it gives me pause as to why. I’m digging around trying to find the target, and I’m hearing things. Things about the Mossad. You said this was a private conflict. A corporate fight. I don’t mess with the Mossad.

  UNSUB 3 (Another possible South African): It is a private thing. The target may have worked with the Mossad in the past, maybe, but I know that’s not happening now. Just get us a location. You came highly recommended. Don’t cause a blow to your reputation because of some rumors.

  Pause in the conversation. Unintelligible cross talk.

  UNSUB 1: Okay. Let’s meet again tomorrow morning. You know the Tel Aviv Marina?

  UNSUB 2: Yes.

  UNSUB 1: There’s a restaurant inside, near the water, called Fortuna del Mar. I’ll meet you there at nine thirty tomorrow morning, right when it opens.

  The rest was just pleasantries and good-byes. I tapped the phone against my leg, thinking. Jennifer said, “I don’t see what any of this has to do with an American arms dealer or the Taskforce mission profile.”

  “Me either. I’m considering passing this off.”

  “To who?”

  “Shoshana and Aaron. The mention of Mossad is enough to inform them. If they want to play, they can. If not, then we did what we could. I don’t feel right sitting on the information while we refocus on Tyler.”

  “You can’t give them Taskforce intel. We weren’t even supposed to tell them we were here.”

  I pulled out my phone, saying, “Screw all that NOFORN stuff. Sometimes our intelligence restrictions end up hurting more than protecting.”

  Jennifer just shook her head. Shoshana’s phone rang out, going to voice mail. I hung up, saying, “No answer.”

  I dialed Aaron’s number. It went straight to voice mail, no ringing at all.

  I set the phone down, and Jennifer said, “No answer with him, either?”

  “No. It didn’t even ring.”

  She smiled and said, “Maybe
they’re doing honeymoon stuff.”

  I opened the car door and said, “Maybe, but it doesn’t feel right. Aaron’s the type who would answer that phone midthrust. He certainly wouldn’t turn it off.”

  She got out, saying, “Quit being a worrywart. That’s my job.”

  I laughed and said, “Okay, okay. You’re right. He’s probably trying to keep Shoshana from devouring him.”

  15

  Aaron heard the rustling in the darkness and knew they were coming for him. He was in no shape to fight, having already suffered a brutal interrogation at the hands of Johan. Even if he was in perfect condition, there were too many to win against, but he would make it painful. Make it much, much more expensive than the watch on his wrist.

  Mentally, he had already made the choice. He would fight to kill from the first blow. He knew that a pathetic attempt at an escalation based on their actions would only lead to an inevitable outcome. Having lived in a world of violence that few on earth could understand, he knew where this was going, and no restraint on his part would alter the trajectory he was now on.

  Once he was overpowered, they’d beat him unmercifully. Punish him for his insolence. The only thing he had going for him was his propensity for violence, and he intended to use that to his fullest advantage. He knew he wouldn’t be killed outright, even as he planned to kill those who attacked him. But his death would be real all the same. He wasn’t going to risk catching HIV in some prison hospital. If they even bothered to take him to one.

  He’d initially wondered why they left him with his Rolex when they took everything else, including his shoes in exchange for nasty-smelling tire sandals. Once he got into his cell with twenty other prisoners, it had become clear. It was to be payment for the block commander.

  Most of the guards were okay, just bored with their jobs. Some were even nice, giving him additional rice for the extra seventy pounds he had on him compared to the other prisoners, who’d clearly been locked in the dark for a long, long time. The block commander, however, was different. He was a sadistic son of a bitch who ran the prison like a little kingdom, granting favors for payment, even if the favor was simply not getting pounded with his baton. He was tall and thuggish, skin as black as coal, with deep-set eyes in a stretched face; Aaron called him Lurch. It seemed the respite from his punishment in Durban had been the proverbial jumping from the frying pan into the fire.