The Widow's Strike

by Brad Taylor

  A small piece of hurt flitted across his face, but only for an instant. “Yeah. I can do it. Shit, anyone could. Get out of here.”

  I kept my eyes on him for a second, about to say something else, when Jennifer interrupted. Which only made him feel worse, I’m sure. He had become a believer in her capabilities, but it had to hurt knowing I was more willing to take her into a potential gunfight than him. He misunderstood how much I needed his brain, becoming fixated on the idea that I felt he wasn’t ready.

  She said, “If we’re going to start tracking that phone, we need to get set. It’s across the harbor.”

  “I know. Get them moving. Box the hotel. You’re the surveillance chief. Figure out how you want to skin it.”

  Her mouth parted, taken aback at the responsibility. She glanced at Knuckles, then said, “Okay . . . maybe we should talk about that.”

  “Talk about what? Get the team moving. I’ll take over when I get there.”

  She squinted at me, seeing through the fact that I was using this to make her better and not liking the test. She turned around and began giving orders. When she said she was the SC until I arrived on site, Decoy looked like he’d been slapped. He snapped his head to me, and I bored into him with my eyes, not saying a word. He clenched his teeth and began packing kit.

  Knuckles said, “Wow. Not the call I would have made. What with a pandemic on the way. But I guess you’d be better off with me sitting up here.”

  He had a slight grin on his face, and I knew he was kidding. He understood what I was doing because I’d done the same thing with him on a number of occasions.

  I said, “I’ll be there before they even get set. I want to get her used to being on equal footing with the team. No better way to do that than putting her in charge. Now scoot over, I need to send Kurt an update.”

  He passed me the laptop and said, “Well, good luck with that.”

  I began typing my SITREP, saying, “I don’t need luck. I need you watching my back.”

  46

  Sanjar exited the elevator and moved to a coffee stand inside the marble lobby of the Conrad Hotel, purposely giving whatever team was around time to locate him. He had no idea how they would do that, but the general had told him not to worry. There were technical devices that the enemy would use to track his phone. His job wasn’t to identify the surveillance. He was the bait, and he would lead them on a trail where others would do so.

  He paid for the coffee and shouldered the knapsack Malik had given him, an ordinary backpack no different than the ones used by students on college campuses all over the world, currently stuffed with over fifty counterfeit DVDs of the latest Hollywood movies.

  Instead of exiting out the front door, he went back up a level and entered the Pacific Place mall, his first choke point. He meandered through it, stopping at a bakery for a bagel, then continuing on.

  Malik had instructed him to walk with a purpose, as if he had a destination in mind, but not go so fast that he would force the surveillance effort to stretch out. He wasn’t to lose them but had to convince them he was doing exactly what he appeared to be doing. In no way did he want them to suspect that he was leading them through a series of gates to sift out their surveillance box.

  * * *

  Answering her phone, Jennifer said, “Where the hell are you? It’s Ernie, and he’s already on the move. We’ve tracked him for about thirty minutes.”

  She listened for a second, then interrupted, saying, “Pike, he’s getting on a ferry. Stay on the Kowloon side. We’re coming to you.”

  She heard his answer, wanting to fling the phone out into the water. She hung up and clicked over to the team’s internal radio.

  “All elements, this is Koko. Pike’s still out of radio range on the Kowloon side. He just got on a ferry, which means he’s going to pass us as we head across.”

  Which means I’m still in charge. She didn’t add that last little bit, not liking it any more than the knuckle-draggers on the team.

  Decoy came on, his words surprising her. “No worries. We’re doing fine. Everyone, remember your heat state and pass it if you think you’re getting burned. Koko can’t read your mind.”

  A tacit approval of her actions so far, and a reminder to the team that she was still in charge. From Decoy, of all people. The comment gave her a boost of self-confidence. Which is probably what he intended. I’m never going to figure out what makes these guys tick.

  She said, “Who’s on him now?”

  “This is Blood. I got him. Lower deck, toward the stern. I’m three rows back.”

  “He still has the pack?”

  “Yeah, he’s got it between his legs, and he’s not meeting anyone here. Not yet anyway.”

  She said, “I see Retro. Anyone else up here with me?”

  The ferry had two separate decks, and she’d chosen the upper one to stay out of the mix until needed. She was sure others had loaded after her, but she made no attempt to locate them, not wanting to associate at all with the rest of the team and possibly burn the surveillance effort.

  Decoy said, “No. I’m on the lower deck, aft.”

  “Okay, when we exit, Decoy, pick up the eye until we merge on the gangway. Retro, take it from there. Acknowledge.”

  Retro and Decoy both said they understood, and she settled back, trying to think four steps ahead of what she might be asked to do once the ferry docked, knowing it would be at least forty-five minutes until Pike could catch up. With the mantle of leadership fully on her, she began to think through more than just the mechanics of the surveillance. She began to think about the implications, and they weren’t making any sense.

  * * *

  Malik heard his laptop ping with an e-mail and opened the latest batch of pictures from his countersurveillance effort. He’d had Sanjar walk through multiple choke points strategically positioned on his route to the ferry, with prepositioned countersurveillance taking pictures at each one. He intended to analyze them, matching up anyone who was in each batch. The odds of someone walking the exact same route as Sanjar were beyond remote, so if he got a match, it would mean the plan was in motion.

  So far, he’d identified a nondescript man wearing clothes that were about ten years out of date and another, taller man. Both had been in two separate sets of photos, but not at the same choke points. He was hoping either one would pop up in this batch, confirming the surveillance. He didn’t need to identify the entire team. He only needed to confirm there was a team before setting the plan in motion.

  He scanned the photos and froze, zooming in on one.

  The cleric was right.

  Staring at the lens of the camera was the black man who had chased him in Singapore.

  He inserted a SIM card into one of the Galaxy phones from Sin Tat and called Sanjar, now not wanting the Islamic center landline tied to the cell phone they were using as bait.

  He said, “They’re on you right now. Don’t worry about following the route anymore. When you get off the ferry, head straight to the park, but still come around the Islamic center. Get them to walk by the cameras. Remember, you need to make the fight convincing.”

  He hung up and dialed another number. “Sanjar is coming now. Don’t lose them once they pick up the pack.”

  The man on the other end said, “What do you want me to do if they don’t pick it up? You want me to take them out?”

  “No! Don’t do that. They’ll pick up the pack. When that happens, alert me and follow them until I can bring in the police.”

  “But I’ll be in a position to attack. We’ll miss our opportunity. It’s why my team was flown here.”

  Remembering the debacle in Thailand the year before, when the immature men had prematurely exploded an improvised device in their safe house, Malik let some steel into his voice. “Do not attempt anything against the Americans. Understand? I want this h
andled quietly. Let the police do their job.”

  He hung up the phone and dialed one more number, this to a contact who would alert the Hong Kong police force.

  He had toyed with many different ideas of how to prevent the team from interfering with his plan, ranging from an outright ambush like the one espoused by the new team leader to some sort of poison or accident. He’d realized he was looking at the problem too narrowly. He only needed to remove them, not necessarily kill or maim any of the members. He’d hit upon his idea when talking with Sanjar about Sin Tat Plaza.

  China was a free-for-all of copycat articles, from Adidas shoes to Apple computers. The Chinese routinely counterfeited anything they could get their hands on, much to the chagrin of the United States. While the Great Satan screamed about copyright infringements, China did little to stem the black market of goods. Even so, the pressure was there, so he’d decided to use that as leverage. What better way to show China was serious about stopping counterfeit goods than to arrest some Americans who were trafficking in them?

  Using his IRGC contacts, he’d let it be known to the authorities that Americans involved in the transport of black-market DVDs were in Hong Kong, and he had set up a sting, with only the time and place unknown. He knew that the Americans would assume the DVDs held important IRGC information and would take them with them for exploitation. All he had to do was locate where they went, then send in the police. With any luck, they’d come upon the entire team watching a grainy copy of the movie Argo. It wouldn’t matter that there was nothing but smoke in his whole artifice, with no other evidence than the bag of goods. China would want to crow about it anyway and wasn’t very concerned with the rights of the accused.

  The thought made him smile.

  47

  Walking up Kowloon Park Drive, Jennifer heard, “He’s still on Ashley, headed north. It’s tight in here. My heat state is getting bad.”

  She said, “Pull off. Blood, can you intersect?”

  He said, “Looking at the map, Ashley dead-ends into an apartment complex. If he’s continuing north, he’ll have to cut over to Hankow Road. I’m on that now. Decoy, can you stay on him until he passes the last cut-through? If he keeps going, we know his destination is close and I can take the eye from there.”

  Decoy said, “Yeah. I can stop here and see that. Stand by.”

  Jennifer initiated the map on her phone, seeing the large expanse of Kowloon Park just beyond the apartment complex he mentioned, across Haiphong Road. A building at the corner of the park caught her eye. An Islamic center.

  She said, “Retro, what’s your status?”

  “Parallel on Nathan.”

  “You see the park on your map?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look at the southeast corner. It’s the Kowloon Mosque and Islamic Centre. I want you to move to that location. I think he might be headed there.”

  “You got it.”

  Decoy said, “He just cut over. He’s unsighted.”

  A minute went by with nothing, putting a knot in Jennifer’s stomach. Should have diverted Retro to Decoy. Shouldn’t have let him get out of sight.

  Then her radio came to life. “This is Blood. I’ve got the eye. Now headed north on Hankow.”

  Toward the center.

  A second later her phone buzzed, a call from Knuckles.

  “One of the IMEI phones just went active. It’s at the Islamic center next to Kowloon Park.”

  Which confirmed her thoughts. And also triggered a little bit of an alarm.

  * * *

  Malik knew Sanjar was only blocks away and began scanning his camera feeds. He didn’t have real-time radio contact, only the cell phone, and didn’t want to miss him.

  Watching the screen, he realized that catching Sanjar passing by was going to be problematic. The view was so narrow that he would have only a split second, the cameras obviously designed for looking at tape after the fact instead of continuous monitoring for any preventive purposes. He’d made sure that no such recording was happening now.

  Focused on the mass of people flowing up and down Nathan Road, a solitary figure caught his attention, precisely because he wasn’t moving. It was the man with the out-of-date clothes. Part of the surveillance effort. Part of the devil’s team.

  * * *

  Jennifer reached the entrance to Kowloon Park and magnified it on her map. A large expanse of terrain smack in the heart of Hong Kong, it housed everything from a sculpture garden to a fitness trail, with the entire area landscaped much like a zoo. The only thing missing was the animals.

  The Islamic center was to her right, but she decided to ignore it, heading into the park. She walked for about a hundred meters, winding around the trails until she found a park bench on the north end of a sculpture garden, a lily pond off to her right. She sat, pretending to read her tour guide and waiting on the call that the target had entered the Islamic center, something she was convinced would happen.

  The time dripped by and she returned to Knuckles’s information about the IMEI cell phone, wondering yet again about the circumstances of the entire mission. None of it fit.

  Why would Ernie live in that slovenly hostel if he had a room at the Conrad Hotel? Especially since the name they had from the flight manifest in Singapore, and had now confirmed with the passport photocopy from the Sin Tat mission, hadn’t shown up in the Conrad registry? It wasn’t because he was afraid of being found. The room wasn’t tied to him. And why would he be using a phone from Singapore after he’d just purchased four new handsets? With one of those new handsets now talking to him on the old, compromised phone?

  It was almost like he wanted to be found.

  She dialed Pike to relay her fears. Wanting someone else to make the call about ending the effort.

  “You back across yet?”

  “Yeah, just landed. Where are you?”

  “Kowloon Park. I think he’s going to the Islamic center on the southeast corner. He gets in there, and all bets are off.”

  “Any sign you’ve spiked?”

  “Not that we can tell. He’s still out in the open, not pulling anything stupid.”

  “Just keep on him. You’re doing great. Sorry for the mess-up with the ferry, but you got us this far. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Pike, I don’t like this. I think it’s a setup.”

  “Why?”

  “Just the whole set of circumstances. It doesn’t make any sense. The general is pretty damn smart, and after Thailand and Singapore, I think he’s trying to regain the offensive. We should pull off. Let him think he’s won and focus on the other phones.”

  “Well, do what you believe is right. I’ll be there as soon as I can. If you call it, you call it.”

  She said nothing for a moment, prompting Pike. “You still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Pike, I can’t call it. I’m not the team leader.”

  “Jennifer, I’m not there. I wish I hadn’t put you in this position, but that’s water under the bridge. I can’t call what I don’t know. You’re on the ground. You see something that doesn’t fit, then make a decision. Otherwise, he’s the biggest lead we have. Nobody is going to second-guess.”

  Bullshit. Everybody is going to second-guess.

  All she said was, “Okay. Get your ass up here. I’m ready to turn over the radio.”

  48

  Malik kept his eye on the man with retro clothing, waiting on him to do something alerting. He checked the view of the northern camera, making sure he could see into the small courtyard adjacent to the mosque. A stair-step down from the park, it was a little grotto used for some Chinese ceremony or celebration he couldn’t fathom. Forty feet long and twenty wide, it was layered in concrete, with stone benches lining the walls on both sides and small concrete tables interspersed at regular intervals, with the ash of candles o
r incense burned into the surfaces of the slabs next to the benches. It had never been occupied in the reconnaissance he had done before and was the perfect place for his little drama to play out. He could control the outcome along with the follow-on surveillance effort, as there were only two exits.

  He returned to the stationary man and saw him back up. Within seconds, Sanjar entered the screen. A brief blip of recognition, then gone. Right behind him was the black man from Singapore. They disappeared from view, and he felt the adrenaline begin to flow. Even here, where he would have no ability to alter the outcome. He chewed his lip, praying the new men did what they had been asked to do.

  Everything up until this point had been easy, something he could have done with a few children from his neighborhood. It would all be irrelevant if they didn’t manage to follow the target long enough to give the Hong Kong police a location, be it on the street or in a hotel.

  He turned to the grotto camera and saw Sanjar enter. His protégé stood for a moment, then pulled out a map from his pocket and made a show of bringing it to his face. An ostentatious demonstration that he was signaling someone. More fodder for the surveillance to see. More evidence that what was about to occur required their attention.

  He saw the team leader enter from the camera’s upper reaches. Malik had no sound but knew what was about to occur. He hoped it looked real. He needn’t have worried. The team leader whispered into Sanjar’s ear, then smacked him on the back of the head. Sanjar looked shocked, as he probably was, and pushed the man. They began shouting, then Sanjar, apparently truly furious, punched the team leader in the mouth and knocked him to the ground. He stood over him with a snarl on his face, only to be attacked from the left, by the man who was supposed to pick up the surveillance to follow.

  Idiot!

  Malik’s great plan was breaking down over nothing more than childish emotion. He couldn’t believe it. How were they supposed to compete in the world of the vipers when he was given men such as this?