The Widow's Strike

by Brad Taylor

  Taken aback, Malik seemed to consider his next words carefully. “Your people are persecuted by a power that is propped up through the West, much like all the other infidel Muslim regimes around the world. The Arab Spring has caused many to fall, forcing the United States to pretend it supports the change, but they cannot hide their backing for despots, including your Russian Federation. The West allows Russia to call you terrorists, and the Russians in turn use the United States’ own attacks as proof that they are no different. The Great Satan kills innocents with Predator drones under the guise of counterterrorism, and Russia assassinates your people using the same mantle.”

  She considered his words, seeing the truth they held. She knew of the Predator strikes, of course, precisely because she had heard the Russian president use them as an excuse to conduct brutal purges in Chechnya. She had assumed the statements to be simply more lies, but maybe they weren’t.

  One thing her short trip to Hong Kong had taught her was precisely that she knew nothing of people beyond the borders of Chechnya. Neither did the chain of command of the Chechen insurgency—especially the Islamists who came and fought for religion under the guise of nationalism. They preached a rhetoric that sounded stale even to her naïve ears. Unlike the man sitting in front of her. Maybe she should learn about the world before deciding.

  “What would you have me do? What can a single Black Widow do in the United States that isn’t just a pinprick?”

  “You will become a weapon unlike any other the earth has ever seen.”

  He pulled out a syringe, causing her eyes to widen.

  “This is a vaccine. You will take it once you are back in your hotel room. After twenty-four hours, I will give you a virus. The vaccine does not kill the virus, it only makes it dormant. The virus will live inside of you without hurting you. The only way you can spread it is through your bodily fluids. When the time is right, you will martyr yourself in such a manner that your bodily fluids are spread over a great area.”

  At first, his words made no sense. She wrestled with them in her mind, and then it became clear: She would do exactly what she had attempted in Chechnya, only instead of ball bearings, the death would be in her blood. The thought made her queasy.

  “But when I trained as a shahid, it was against a specific target. The killing started and ended with the explosion. This will be the same way? This virus will only kill those who contact my . . . who touch the . . . who clean up what remains? That’s who it will kill?”

  “No. Once outside of your vaccinated body, the virus will kill everyone who contracts it in a wave of infection greater than any seen by modern man. It will overwhelm the United States’ medical systems and cause a wholesale collapse of their economy. It will destroy the Great Satan. All you have to do is unleash it.”

  Destroy the Great Satan. By killing innocents.

  “But we aren’t at war with civilians. I don’t want to kill women and children. That’s what the Russians do. I want to attack the enemy.”

  He grasped her hands in a kind gesture that was soothing. His words were calm and seemed born from some truth she had yet to experience. “There are no innocents. Trust me. Do you think the United States feels that way when it bombs women and children in Afghanistan? You mention Russian tactics. Did Russia take such precautions when it destroyed Grozny? They call it collateral damage to hide their culpability. Unlike them, I call it what it is: war. They chose the method of combat. We only return the favor. I was told you were the strongest Black Widow ever seen. Remember the fire that led you down this path.”

  She took the syringe, conflicted. He patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry about killing infidels, no matter their age or gender. They may not all carry a gun, but they want to destroy Islam, be it in Chechnya or Iran. Their hearts are black. Given the chance, they would kill you for nothing more than your religion.”

  She said nothing. He continued. “Did you set up an e-mail account as instructed?”

  “Yes.” She gave him the account and password, then asked for his e-mail.

  “Don’t worry about sending something over the Internet. We’ll use the drafts folder of your account to pass any messages. Otherwise, I’ll use the cell phone you were given. If you switch out the SIM card, put the new number in a message.”

  “When will I get the virus?”

  “The vaccine takes twenty-four hours to become effective. I’ll contact you for a further meeting.”

  “Where will I go once I’m infected? Where is the target?”

  He smiled and patted her hand. “All in good time. This is the point where you hear ‘I’ll tell you that at a later date.’ You have no need to know that now, but trust me, the target has been specially selected. Before you reach it, you must be extra cautious in everything you do. You can’t easily spread the virus through the air, but according to the doctor who gave it to me, you can spread it. And that’s something we don’t want prematurely.”

  “What do you mean, cautious?”

  “Wear the surgical masks you were instructed to buy. Use a hand disinfectant regularly. Only drink from bottled water, and dispose of the bottle in a manner so that someone else will never retrieve it. Don’t eat in restaurants with silverware. That sort of thing. A premature infection would give the United States time to work on mitigation. We need multiple points of infection simultaneously to overwhelm the system. One point won’t work.”

  “But I’m only a single person. Are there other Black Widows out there?”

  He looked her in the eye. “No. You are the only one. The target itself will facilitate the spread. Once you are infected, you are our single hope. Remember that, and the reason you were chosen.”

  42

  Looking through the plate-glass doors from across the street, I saw two security guards sitting at the desk in the middle of the office complex. Two. Not one.

  I passed the monocular to Blood and said, “Take a look. What the hell are we going to do now?”

  His eye to the scope, he said, “We just need to get them both out of the way. A little harder.”

  “Little harder? A lot harder. We need an additional man, and everyone’s committed.”

  After identifying the Island Shangri-La hotel as an area of interest, we’d wasted a good six hours trying to figure out why, only to come up completely empty. Nobody remotely in the ballpark of our targets was registered, with just two other men of Arabic descent in the entire hotel. Both came up clean as having flown in from Saudi Arabia a week earlier. Knuckles wanted to squeeze them dry, but we had little time available, and in my mind there was only a small chance an IRGC general from Shiite Iran would be doing anything with businessmen from Sunni Saudi Arabia. Except trying to kill them.

  I decided to forget the hotel and focus on the cell phones Ernie had purchased. Initially, I only wanted the numbers associated with each, but that had gone out the window when Ernie purchased preloaded SIM cards. Since he’d bought at least ten, we had no idea which SIM we should track, as he could simply switch them out at any given moment. The SIM, or subscriber identity module, was what contained the “brains” of the cell phone and was where the phone number, call logs, contact list, and everything else about the phone were stored.

  Well, almost everything.

  Every cell phone also has what’s known as an International Mobile Equipment Identity, or IMEI. Basically, it’s nothing more than a large, unique number that identifies the handset every time the phone talks to a tower. It’s the same regardless of the cell service provider or SIM card used and was what brought us back to the original store Ernie had used to purchase the phones. If we obtained those numbers, we could track him and anyone else he provided the phones to.

  “Koko, this is Pike. You moving yet?”

  “Yes. I’m walking to my start point now. What’s up?”

  “I have an additional mission. There are now two g
uards in the office complex. Decoy will take care of one, but I need you to get the other one out of the building.”

  “What on earth are you talking about? I’m dressed like Catwoman. All I’ve got as camouflage is a cheesy cotton cover-up. On top of that, I’m supposed to be on the roof before you enter.”

  “I know, but I can’t enter with the guard there, and Decoy is the only other guy on the ground. He’s going to trigger the first guard to move. I can’t have him do both. You’ll just look like a crazy homeless person. Go in and ask him to show you where the subway is located. Get him on the street and pointing the way.”

  “What about Blood?”

  “It’s a two-man climb through the air-conditioning duct. I can’t do it myself. And he’s the only one who’s been inside the store.”

  After abandoning the hotel as a start point, we’d turned the formidable research capabilities of the Taskforce onto the office complex and the little shopping promenade located on the ground floor. Luckily, the building had been constructed before Hong Kong was turned over to the Chinese in 1997, so they were able to find some British floor plans, which showed us how to get in.

  While the stores were locked tight with roll-up steel doors, the crawl space in the roof above was wide open. All we needed to do was get to that, and we could simply drop into the store without worrying about penetrating the door. It never ceased to amaze me how people could spend a fortune on the obvious access routes such as doors and windows and yet ignore everything else.

  After gleaning everything we could from the Taskforce, we’d conducted on-the-ground reconnaissance, starting in daylight to identify cameras and alarm leads, then at night, when we were going to conduct the break-in, for atmospherics. Yesterday morning, at two A.M., there had been only one guard.

  Decoy came on. “Pike, I can trip the camera, then head your way. I can be in and out before the first guard returns.”

  The guards were stationed at a desk in the center of the cul-de-sac, in front of the elevators, with the shops ringed around them. Their primary focus was two monitors on the desk with feeds from the cameras throughout the building. Decoy was simply going to short out one camera located outside the western exit, which would send a signal the guard would have to explore. As soon as he did, we were going to slip inside and head straight to the men’s room adjacent to the elevator shaft and then access the ceiling. That, of course, was back when there had only been one guard in the plan.

  “Too much risk. You might still be inside when the first guard gets back. Besides, I need you on-site in case we have to ramp it up. If the first guard doesn’t bite on the camera, I might need you to trip the door alarm.”

  Both side exits were armed with a silent alarm, but, as the office complex had twenty-four-hour access, the front door was wide open.

  Jennifer cut in. “I’m here and ready. On the corner to your south. But don’t blame me if your exit isn’t set. That’s a four-story climb and will take me some effort.”

  “Good to go. We can burn the time inside. All stations, give me an up.”

  “This is Retro. System is running. Standing by for the camera feed.”

  “This is Knuckles. Exfil route is open. Just waiting on the word to shoot.”

  “This is Decoy. You want me to trip?”

  I took a deep breath and glanced at Blood, his ebony skin hidden in the shadows, contrasted starkly by the teeth of his smile.

  I said, “Execute. Koko, stand by until I trigger you.”

  It would have been more fun if something sexy had happened at the word execute, like a door breach going off or gunfire. Instead, all I got was, “Camera’s shorted. Standing by.”

  Both guards fiddled in their seats, obviously bored. Then one leaned in and pointed at a screen. The other one said something and stood up. Seconds later he was out of sight, headed down the hallway to the side exit.

  “Koko, go.”

  She must have inched up as I got the final check, because she was at the door immediately, and she was right. She looked ridiculous. Black skintight shirt and leggings, wearing Vibram FiveFingers shoes, all covered by a shapeless orange smock. She fit the bill of a crazy homeless person. An attractive crazy homeless person, maybe, but crazy nonetheless.

  We watched her talk to the guard, then begin waving her arms around, pointing this way and that. I knew what the problem was instantly.

  That bastard doesn’t speak English.

  He picked up a phone and called someone, then led her out of the building. We waited until they separated from the entrance and then scurried through the front door, running straight into the bathroom.

  43

  Blood set his pack on the floor and went into a stall while I placed an acoustic device against the door. I listened for a second, then turned to him and nodded.

  Standing on the water tank, he maneuvered one of the ceiling tiles aside, then scampered into the hole like a squirrel. I removed the device from the door, grabbed my pack and passed it through the hole, then clambered up.

  I moved down the steel I-beam, giving him room to reposition the tile, and we sat in the darkness for a second, letting our eyes get used to the gloom, the lights from below faintly illuminating the space. Saying it was claustrophobic was an understatement, with barely two feet between us and the floor above. Stinking from mildew, the beam covered in something I hoped wasn’t rat dung, I seated a headlamp with a red-lens light.

  Blood did the same, the feeble glow barely penetrating the darkness, but doing enough to show us the beams we would need to traverse to the store.

  Would be pretty embarrassing to fall through the tiles onto the guard desk.

  I keyed my headset and said, “We’re in,” and we began to crawl toward our first objective. We passed a large aluminum air duct, and Blood whispered, “Exfil.”

  We were going out through the roof, but the only way between floors, outside of using the stairs or elevators, was through the ductwork in the building. And the only way into that was from the outlet in the store. In effect, we either succeeded or learned to live like the rats who’d shit everywhere until the rest of the team could figure out how to exfiltrate us.

  I heard Chinese spoken below us, and we paused. The tone sounded conversational, without alarm, so we continued on, moving like a couple of sloths. We reached what should have been objective number one and Blood paused, scanning left and right with his faint light until he found a CAT 5 digital cable snaking its way up an I-beam.

  I swung my pack around and pulled out a hijacking device that was the size of a large beeper with two spring-loaded claw feet on the side. Praying the video feed wasn’t encrypted, I clamped it to the cable, the claws biting through the plastic covering to the wires beneath. I switched it on and got a green signal.

  “Retro, switch is active. You got a feed?”

  Retro, located next door in a hotel room that was rented by the hour, said, “Stand by.”

  We sat, breathing through our mouths in shallow pants while the guards continued to talk. A bead of sweat built up on my nose, then dripped onto the ceiling tile beneath me. I wiped my eyes, feeling the seconds tick by.

  “Pike, Retro. I got it. Feed’s active. I can see both guards. They’re sitting down chatting.”

  “Roger. Moving.”

  We reached the far wall and Blood began scooting east until he reached a junction of two I-beams. He leaned into my ear.

  “This is where the motion detector is.”

  I nodded and slid my pack around again, pulling out a clear plastic water bottle with the lid cut off and a length of string taped to the bottom. Blood gingerly pulled open a tile. Sitting directly below him, mounted on the wall, was the motion detector. Blood had surreptitiously taken a picture of it earlier, while “shopping” for phones, and the Taskforce had identified it as an old model. One that was easy to trick.

/>   It didn’t really detect motion but rather the infrared energy projected by the human body, much like those annoying garage lights that flip on when you walk by them. The sensor constantly evaluated the amount of infrared coming its way and was calibrated to detect the heat put off by human skin. Unfortunately for it, while light passes just fine through windows or other transparent things, infrared energy does not. Thus, the thing could be stymied with something as simple as a clear water bottle. The trick was getting it on.

  The sensor was angled down, where the threat was supposed to be located, so as long as I wore insulated gloves and kept my hands high, I would be good.

  That’s what the Taskforce had said, anyway.

  I got comfortable on the beam, lying lengthwise. I put on the gloves and slowly lowered the bottle, getting its lip beneath the sensor. I inched it up and over, then sealed it down with a very light strip of Scotch tape.

  “Retro, Pike. Guards moving?”

  “Nope. Still just sitting around.”

  I nodded at Blood and dropped the twine affixed to the bottom of the bottle through the open tile. Blood slid over until he was hanging, then lightly fell the short distance to the ground. I passed him my pack and followed suit.

  The store was only about thirty feet by thirty feet, most of the space taken up with row upon row of cell phones.

  I whispered, “Where to now? Where do they keep the receipts?”

  Blood pointed to a small filing cabinet beneath the cash register. It was secured with an incredibly complex original equipment lock that took all of five seconds to break. I wasn’t sure why they even bothered to use it, since it could have been picked by a five-year-old with a plastic spoon. We split up the receipts and began going through them.

  Every cell purchased by a foreigner had to record the passport information of the person who bought it, which was a two-for-one in this case. All we had to do was find the receipts for anyone from Iran and we’d know the IMEI and the name the person was using. If we found more than one, I was going to kick a wall.