The Widow's Strike

by Brad Taylor

  He stood up, fists clenched, wanting to run into the grotto but knowing it was worthless. He saw Sanjar fall, roll to his left, and get up on his knees, holding his hands up, as if begging for mercy. He dropped the backpack and stood. Then he lashed out with a foot, catching the team leader in the testicles and felling him like a tree.

  Sanjar screamed something at the other man and took off running, the man in hot pursuit.

  Malik let out a breath. The wrong man was now chasing Sanjar, but the entire team knew the plan. As long as they stuck to the script, the trap was set.

  Except for the idiot in the grotto now cupping his balls. No way would the Americans enter for the bag as long as he lay there rolling around.

  He willed the team leader to rise. To vacate the small concrete space and allow the American devil to retrieve the bag. On-screen the man was breathing in ragged gasps, a thin stream of spittle on his lips, curled into a ball. If he waited too long, the trap would fail.

  Get up!

  He saw the team leader rise, the grainy image doing nothing to mask the pure rage on his face. A rage that would want an outlet. Perhaps he would give him Sanjar when this was over. After all, the script hadn’t called for a kick to the groin. The man limped off to the south, around the corner of the building away from Nathan Road. Out of sight.

  Malik waited, both the man with the bad clothes and the black operative still out of view of the camera. The clock ticked, and still nothing occurred. He unconsciously held his breath.

  And then the black man cautiously advanced, looking left and right. He paused, surveying the scene, then approached rapidly, snatching up the bag. He ran four feet before stopping abruptly. Malik saw him talking to the air, then dropping the bag.

  What is he doing?

  * * *

  Jennifer heard the situation reports from Blood and began to believe she had been mistaken in her misgivings, silently thanking the gods that she hadn’t called off the surveillance and missed the golden egg that had just been laid into their lap. Whatever was occurring had nothing to do with them. The fight was clearly real, an internal dispute between factions.

  It had happened faster than she or the rest of the team could collate, and now Ernie was on the run without the pack. Only a single man standing between them and retrieval. The virus could very well be inside that ruck, and for whatever reason the men at the meeting had chosen to fight instead of pass.

  She maintained her position in the sculpture garden, listening to the updates on the radio. Blood said he’d lost sight of Ernie, then Retro said the final man had left the area. She heard Blood commit to the grotto, moving toward the bag. Then she caught sight of Ernie running to her front.

  He was followed by another man, and as they reached the edge of the sculpture garden, both slowed. Ernie stopped completely and was met by his chaser. The man slapped his shoulder hard, and Ernie pushed back. But there was no longer any fear in either of them.

  What in the world?

  She stood up, moving to the grotto at a rapid pace, studying them both. When she reached the far side of the garden, right next to the entrance of the grotto, she saw Ernie put his arm around the other man’s shoulder.

  A trap. It’s a trap.

  “Blood, Blood, this is Koko. Let the bag go. I say again, let the bag go.”

  “What are you talking about? I have it now with no issue. I screened it. No explosives or anything. It’s full of DVDs. No threat.”

  “Drop it, drop it now. I don’t know why it’s bad, but get rid of it and get out.”

  Decoy cut in, his voice patronizing. “Koko, he’s got the bag without a problem. Let’s reassess back at the hotel. We’re exfiling now. Get off the radio and meet us in the TOC.”

  Two hours before, she would have acquiesced, but Pike had squarely placed the mantle of leadership on her. On her. Letting Decoy override her decision was the easy path. The one she should have chosen. He would be to blame if the decision was wrong. But now she couldn’t, because she knew it was wrong.

  She keyed the radio, her voice steel. “Drop that fucking bag right now. Acknowledge.”

  She waited, then heard Blood say, “Okay, bag at my feet and the guy who got his nuts kicked doesn’t like it. He’s blocking the exit.”

  49

  I reached the outside range of our little covert radios in time to hear the last exchange, and it sent a spike of rage through me. Yeah, I should have been on-site, but I wasn’t, and Jennifer was the designated team leader. It would have been nothing but a little give-and-take, but it looked like she had been right, and the seconds wasted were now turning out to be the difference between life and death.

  I keyed my mike, letting my anger out while assessing the situation. “This is Pike. I’m on-site. All elements shut the fuck up. Blood, don’t push the issue. Back off. Retro and Decoy, provide backup to Blood. Koko, give me a SITREP. What’s the reason for your call?”

  Before she could answer, Blood said, “The guy has a weapon. I can see it underneath his shirt. We’re going into a fight. Do I have clearance for lethal force?”

  Jesus.

  “No. No you don’t. Don’t get into a gunfight unless he shows a weapon. Decoy, Retro, where are you?”

  I was running full out now, inside the park and trying to get to the location with the skimpy directions I had heard over the radio. Retro said, “I’m on him. I got the grotto covered. Blood, exit to the south.”

  It was going to happen more quickly than I could control. I reached the sculpture garden Jennifer had described and heard gunfire. The masses in the park all jerked to life, most stiffening and looking left and right, some hitting the deck. Ahead of me two men began running toward the sound of the weapons. I recognized Ernie.

  “Blood, Blood, you got two inbound. Coming right at you. Decoy, Retro, enemy coming from the west.”

  I heard nothing but more sporadic pops, as if they were trading shots hidden behind cover. Which was the worst thing we could have. We needed to hit them with overwhelming force and disappear.

  Retro came on. “Blood’s hit. I can’t get to him, but he’s okay and under cover. The asshole’s hiding in the pillars and taking potshots. All I can do is suppress.”

  I saw Ernie and his pal running to the end of the garden, both with weapons out, a good seventy meters away. Too far for a shot with the civilians scrambling around.

  “Decoy, where are you?”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  Ernie reached the entrance to the grotto, leaping over a woman screaming uncontrollably on the ground. His first foot hit the ground, and she grabbed the leg still over her body. She rose, twisting him in midair and driving him into the concrete.

  Jennifer.

  His buddy whirled and raised his weapon. I screamed to stop the shot and saw his head explode. Out of the bushes, Decoy burst onto the deck and hammered Ernie in the face with his weapon. He jerked Jennifer to her feet and both raced down the stairs into the grotto.

  I ran as fast as I could, closing the distance in seconds. I heard a firecracking of rounds, then nothing. I slammed into the grotto, leaping straight down from the top of the stairs, and found the team split between a dead Arab and Blood getting first aid.

  Jennifer was wrapping a compress around Blood’s upper arm with Decoy helping. He saw my anger and raised his hands as if I was going to knock him out, which, actually, I was considering.

  He said, “Don’t even start. I got it, I got it. I screwed up. She’s good at this shit.”

  I heard sirens coming, then my phone rang, Knuckles on the caller ID.

  We have to get out of here.

  I answered and said, “Knuckles, I don’t have time. We’ve got a mess here. I’ll call you in a few minutes.”

  He said, “Make the time. The other IMEI phone just went active. It’s located at the Shangri
-La hotel.”

  50

  Malik saw the new team leader enter the grotto, a murderous glint in his eye, and knew the mission was about to implode. There was no way the American would take the bag once that idiot confronted him. He grimaced, a small part of him hoping the man would push the issue far enough to get his ass kicked, but consciously knowing that was the worst thing that could happen. Then they’d both be involved with the police.

  He accessed the Widow’s e-mail account and rapidly typed a message, keeping one eye on the drama, the lack of sound making it seem as if it were miles away instead of just outside the building he was in.

  He’d ordered the Widow to check the account every ten minutes and now wished he’d made it every five. He wanted to get her moving immediately out of Hong Kong as a precaution. As soon as he was done, hitting save and causing the e-mail account to register an unsent draft, he picked up the Galaxy phone Sanjar had purchased and dialed the bait phone’s number but got no response.

  He heard muffled gunfire and jerked his head to the screen, his mouth falling open. Shooting? The idiot escalated to using his weapon?

  He’d believed that if the plan failed it would be because the Americans refused to take the bait, the end result being their leaving the bag, forcing him to come up with some other method of interdicting the team. As he watched the scene unfold in the narrow frame of the camera, he knew he’d now have to worry about the mission, period.

  In grainy black and white, he saw the black man aiming a pistol at something out of range of the camera. The man spun to the ground from an unseen force and scrambled out of view, followed by a flurry of activity, the cheap camera making it hard to discern what was going on. He saw the team leader—the idiot who had started the fight—step into view and begin firing wildly at something out of sight. The man spun a half step as if he’d been punched in the shoulder, his two-handed grip broken. He held his ground, the pistol in one fist, continuing to fire, his other arm hanging limply at his side. He got off two rounds before his body was whipsawed by invisible rounds. He fell face-first into the concrete. Malik watched for a sign of life. Instead, a dark pool spread underneath the body on the black and white screen.

  Malik began calculating the damage and realized the new Quds team was forfeit. Forget the authorities simply arresting the Americans. At the very least, they’d have the dead team leader and a passport from Iran. Minimal investigative work would lead to the rest of the new team. Sanjar was the only one with a clean break. Hopefully he’d had the sense to flee.

  He thought about his own escape and realized he was in as safe a place as possible. No way would the police come storming into a mosque. At least not until they’d cleared such a search with the proper authorities. Eventually they would, though, if only to ask for the nonexistent tapes for the cameras outside.

  He took stock of his vulnerabilities, staring at the phone he had used. The only connection between him and everything that had occurred. He’d called both the team and Sanjar on it. He ripped out the SIM card and the battery, putting both in his pocket. He then stomped on the phone, smashing it, more out of frustration than because it was necessary.

  He sagged in the chair and rubbed his face, still incredulous at the debacle. He heard running feet outside his door, men chattering in Arabic. He knew it was only a matter of time before they barged in on him, blathering about the fight that had occurred. He would need to be ready. Able to pretend he was as astounded as they were to keep them from alerting the authorities about the strange man in the back room.

  A chirp from his computer jarred him out of his dismal thoughts. He brought the computer out of sleep and saw a new draft message from the Widow. With the SIM card she was using.

  He inserted a new SIM card into the other phone Sanjar had purchased, activated it, and dialed. When the Black Widow answered, he began giving instructions in a low voice, ensuring she repeated everything he said.

  * * *

  I heard the sirens getting louder and said, “Knuckles, hang on. I got a situation here.”

  Luckily, the grotto had an exit right next to the mosque, which spilled out onto Nathan Road. Nobody had been inside when the fight went down. All they knew was there had been gunfire. We had maybe ten seconds before people got up the courage to explore, but that should be enough.

  “How’s Blood doing?”

  Moving to the exit, Decoy said, “Just a ding on the biceps. He’s okay.”

  Jennifer finished wrapping it and said, “The problem is the blood everywhere. He’s going to stand out.”

  “Retro, give him your jacket. Everybody else get ready to exfil. Meet back at the hotel. Arm the alert on your phones. I want to know your location to the meter. You get picked up, hit the alarm. We’ll figure something out.”

  Retro said, “My jacket? Why my jacket?”

  Jennifer said, “Because it looks like you got it from Goodwill in 1988.”

  Decoy poked his head around the wall and said, “Clear here. Crowd’s gathering outside. We can blend if we leave now.”

  Blood pulled off his shirt, the left side soaked red. Retro stripped the jacket off and handed it over.

  I said, “Go. Get out. Decoy and Jennifer first. Retro five seconds after. Blood, you come with me.”

  By the time Blood had the god-awful Members Only jacket zipped, the others had disappeared. We flowed into the crowd, pretending to gawk along with everyone else. Police were running on foot from a substation up the street and I could see flashing lights coming down Nathan Road.

  I didn’t want to walk in front of the Islamic center but also didn’t want to move toward the police. I opted to jog across the road, between the cars, not moving fast enough to draw any attention. Easy to do with everyone focused on the park.

  I dialed my phone. “Knuckles, we had a gunfight. The bastards were hunting us. They set a trap.”

  He said, “I know. I’m outside the main entrance to the park right now. Here’s the status of our IMEI track: New phone just went active inside the Islamic center. Old phone is offline. Also, as I said before, new phone is active at the Shangri-La hotel. What do you need me to do?”

  Huh? “Hang on, you’re where?”

  “Outside the park. I heard the status on the radio. The repeater’s in my room.”

  What the hell?

  We reached an alley, and Blood took it with me following. “So you came down here? I told you to monitor the phone net.”

  His voice came back a little miffed. “You told me to use my damn judgment. And I did. Did you think I was going to sit up there while the team was getting ambushed?”

  I knew it was a losing battle. “Never mind. Where’s the phone at the Shangri-La headed?”

  “That’s why I left. We can’t get any granular resolution on its movements. Taskforce is petrified about messing with the Chinese cell network. They refused to do it. They’ll ping it every ten minutes but won’t risk a full-on trace in real time. The pings will come to our phones.”

  “Why is that? We need the resolution. Did you talk to Kurt?”

  “Yeah. Well, I tried. The president himself said no go. They’re afraid of China seeing the activity. Apparently, China’s on cyber red alert because we’ve accused them of hacking our networks. National Command Authority won’t risk it. A full-on trace leaves too many fingerprints that can be tracked back to the United States.”

  “So we’ve got one phone inside the Islamic center and one at the Shangri-La?”

  “Yeah. I say forget the center and focus on the hotel. Too much activity here.”

  He was right. “Okay, listen, since you’re so fired up about getting into the mix, get inside the park before it’s blanketed with police. We dropped Ernie and another guy at the eastern entrance to the grotto. We didn’t get a chance to search them. See if you can get there before the cops. Find their phones and passport
s.”

  He said, “That’s going to be tough. I’m moving inside now, and the police are already here.”

  “But they don’t know where to look. They’ll contain first. I’m sure all they know is that there was a shootout in the park, and this thing is huge.”

  “Roger all. I’ll contact you later.”

  I hung up and switched to the radio net.

  “Koko, Retro, Decoy, you still up?”

  I got a roger and gave them a situation update on the Shangri-La lead. “I’m headed back to the hotel with Blood. We won’t know if the phone’s moved for another ten minutes. Decoy and Koko, get across the harbor. Try to interdict it the best you can. Retro, stay on this side in case the next ping shows it in the middle of the harbor, on a ferry headed your way.”

  51

  Sanjar lay on his stomach, his brain refusing to focus. The world was in a fog, people screaming all around him, sirens blaring closer and closer. He felt like he was underwater, with time operating on a different plane, everything happening around him faster than he could assimilate. He wanted to move but couldn’t get his body to perform. He saw the weapon in his hand. He threw it into the bushes in reflex, then tried to stand. Something was on his legs. A heavy weight. He tried to focus. Tried to get his body to cooperate but couldn’t.

  His head throbbed with incredible pain. He touched his brow and his hand came back red. Dripping red.

  I’m hit. I’m hurt. General, I’m hurt. Help me.

  He wasn’t sure if he said it out loud or simply thought it. Convinced he had been paralyzed by an assassin’s bullet, he began to crawl away, using his hands to pull himself along the ground, ignoring the screams around him. He scraped along on the concrete, bloodying the tips of his fingers as he clawed for the cover of the foliage just meters away. The weight on his legs was too much, and the ground offered too little for his hands to grasp.