by Brad Taylor
Both elevators had five cables, all able to support the suspended weight of the cars by themselves. He would have to cut all five. He affixed two small charges to each cable, slightly offset, one high, one low. When detonated, the opposite charges would cause a cutting effect and sever the cable. The trick was ensuring that the subsequent explosions to the cables left and right didn’t counteract the very cutting he sought to achieve. Fortunately, he had plenty of cable to work with to ensure success.
Within ten minutes, he had the basics of destruction in place. He then attached the WiFi detonator, but did not attach the blasting caps, leaving them dangling from the detonator like the legs of a spider. The detonators themselves were inert, waiting on a wireless signal to arm. Dropping to the top of the elevator, he pulled out the brushes he had purchased. He affixed one to the roof of the elevator, hanging out into the four-inch gap between the elevator and the well. He placed the second brush to the shelf of the well itself, until the bristles touched across the gap.
He then pulled out the IMSI grabber and set it on the roof of the elevator. Before he forgot, he turned off his cell phone. He attached a micro USB cable from the download hub of the grabber, then cut off the female end, exposing bare wire. He attached the wire to the steel of the brush on the elevator. He then jumped across the well, placed the WiFi transmitter for the detonators on the shelf, and cut the USB cable for it as well, splicing it into the brush on the far side.
When he was complete, he typed his cell phone number into the IMSI grabber alarm function, and powered it up, waiting a minute until it was operational. He saw it sucking in numbers from all over the building.
Having been on the receiving end of cell phone compromises in Lebanon, he’d made a concerted effort to understand their function. He knew that all cell phones constantly look for the tower with the greatest signal strength, switching back and forth seamlessly to the user. It was a distinctly modern weakness that he intended to exploit.
The IMSI grabber acted like a miniature cell tower, causing any cell phones in range to register with it. Used by law enforcement—and other unsavory types—to collate data and potentially listen in to cell conversations, it would lock up any cell phone in range, rendering the phone useless. In this case, it would also trigger the explosives. All the Ghost had to do was input the envoy’s number into the grabber, once he found it.
He turned on his cell phone. Within seconds, his number appeared in the IMSI grabber, the phone duped into thinking it was the closest tower. A red LED lit up, signaling the alarm. He looked at the WiFi transmitter and saw a green LED. The detonator on the cables lit up as well, calmly blinking on and off. The connection worked.
Now, had he inserted the blasting caps, the system would be armed. When the elevator began to lower again, the connection between the brushes would be broken, and the explosives would go off—sending the envoy to his demise in a terrifying free fall.
He smiled at the thought. At the ingenuity of the plan. The grisly death would be perfect for propaganda. To show the world the might of the Palestinian people, no matter the ridiculous attempts at peace going on.
He reset the IMSI grabber, zeroing out his phone number. He saw the green LEDs shut off and inserted the blasting caps.
In twenty-four minutes the second elevator was rigged exactly like the first. He had no idea which elevator the envoy would be in and wanted to ensure both fell to their doom.
Finished with the primary, he searched for the brake cable of both elevators. Without cutting them, the elevator would fall for about a floor, then gradually slow by friction applied to the rails through specially constructed shoes. The brake itself was triggered by the speed of the elevator. If the cable attached to it reached a certain velocity, a flywheel was engaged, causing the brakes to be applied.
For the first time, he noticed no other cable. The brake should have been on the side, away from the main cables holding the weight of the elevator itself, but there was nothing. He made a concerted search and came up dry.
He exited the room, finding Hamid nervously talking to a businessman from one of the upper-floor suites. He waited until the man walked away, then approached. Hamid was sweating profusely, his skin sickly white.
“What was that about?”
“Nothing. He simply wanted to report a faulty bathroom.”
The Ghost realized Hamid had no stomach for the work. He regretted showing his hand with the elevators, knowing Hamid would spill his guts if captured. He’s not a fighter. I shouldn’t have placed so much on him. It sank home that he needed to eliminate the weakness. Get rid of the link that would cause failure. He looked at Hamid’s wilted face, slightly panting, and knew he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. What was to come was to come. He didn’t have it in him to kill his friend and wished he had not drawn on him for help. Wished he’d used Hezbollah contacts instead, even given the risk.
“Where is the brake cable for the elevators? I can’t find it.”
“There is no cable. It’s a new system that works on radar. It’s computer controlled and constantly monitored. A network continuously assesses the speed of the elevator, and if it reaches a certain velocity, it shunts the brakes.”
“Where is this system?”
“In the basement we entered.”
In short order, they were back where they started, with Hamid showing the braking architecture. It consisted of a radar array aimed up into each elevator shaft, reading the speed of the cars, not unlike the radar guns used in a police speed trap.
The Ghost said, “Can we just shut it off? Disable it?”
“No. The elevators go through a computerized self-test. If the brake system isn’t in operation, neither is the elevator.”
The Ghost opened his cell phone, enabled the WiFi feature, and saw he had no signal. Which meant there was no way to initiate explosives down here. He couldn’t slave into the main on the elevators.
“Where is the last WiFi node? How far does it extend?”
“I honestly don’t know, but I do know the lobby for the Armani Hotel is right above us, and it has WiFi.”
The Ghost considered. He would have to return to the electronics souk and buy a WiFi repeater, but it should work. If he placed one in the shaft of the elevator, it should be able to expand the signal from the lobby and allow his system to talk. He had to come back here tomorrow to input the American’s cell phone number anyway. The problem was he would have little time, risking the envoy setting off the trap while he was still constructing it.
It was the best he could do.
48
My cell phone vibrated with a single word: JACKPOT.
I dialed Decoy’s phone. “Hey, man, you can’t simply send a text like that. What do you have?”
“The phone grid was right on. It’s his. He’s sitting in a white-panel van outside a small indoor shopping area. No movement. Doesn’t appear to be doing anything in the van. Just sitting.”
I thought about what Lucas could be doing. “What’s in the shopping center? Can you tell?”
“Looks like electronics. Cell phones, cameras, that sort of thing. He’s got a local in the driver’s seat, but they’re not talking.”
So he has help. I didn’t want to talk too much on an open cell phone, and let the rest of my questions drift away. We’d left our concealed radios and other kit in Lebanon, and until we could get more, I was stuck with a standard cell phone. Knuckles, Decoy, and Brett had their Taskforce phones, which allowed them to communicate together in real time, but I could only go point-to-point, which was going to be a pain in the ass as surveillance chief.
We’d gotten the go-ahead to launch to Dubai last night. It was a little bit of good news/bad news for me. I’d told Kurt we had a lead, then how we’d found it. Saying he was a little pissed was putting it mildly. He’d about ripped the computer apart in front of him. In the end, I’d convinced him that I’d used my judgment, just like I was paid to do, and we’d found a solid anchor for Lucas. I knew he’d
calm down, because he was smart enough to know there was no sense yelling about it now. What’s done is done.
He’d spent a little more time chewing my ass, then ran out of steam, turning back to the operation. He almost grudgingly ran the cell number we’d located, and it had pinged as active in Dubai. Even better, he’d already launched our equipment bundle to Europe the day before, and it was due to hit a drop zone in the desert south of Dubai later this afternoon.
We’d landed midmorning and established a base of operations in a local hotel, getting connectivity with the Taskforce via a VPN. We got a current grid to the cell phone and had immediately established a surveillance box to start tracking Lucas.
My phone vibrated with another call. “He’s moving. Headed north to the Sheikh Zayed Road.”
“Did he ever get out?”
“Not that we saw. He could have earlier.”
“Okay. Remember, loose follow. Lose him instead of compromise.”
I was a little bit hamstrung because Lucas knew what Jennifer and I looked like—we were both targets he had tried very hard to kill in the past—which really left me with a three-man surveillance element. Even that was sketchy, because Knuckles had been with me when we captured Lucas the first time. Lucas would have seen him only briefly, if at all, because bullets and fists had been flying. I was willing to risk using him mainly because even a three-man surveillance effort was not nearly enough manpower to conduct a proper follow. Two men would be a bigger risk, and if it came down to it, we could afford to lose him instead of getting compromised because we had his phone to fall back on. The problem was the phone would show us a location on a map, but not what Lucas was doing. We needed eyes on for that.
I got both Knuckles and Brett moving ahead of the van on the other side of the creek on Sheikh Zayed Road, positioned to pick it up and allow Decoy to roll off.
I decided to cross the creek myself, staying far back from the pack, not wanting to accidentally run into Lucas. Acting as the surveillance controller with just a cell phone was proving to be a challenge, since I couldn’t hear what was going on with the team. I knew Knuckles, Decoy, and Brett were talking because they had Taskforce phones, but they wouldn’t call me unless it was necessary, so I had no situational awareness.
My phone buzzed, and I snatched it up, seeing it was Jennifer. I felt a prick of disappointment and a flood of relief at the same time.
When we’d gotten the grid to the drop zone, I’d decided to send Jennifer on the recovery mission. I didn’t want to send one of the clean guys, depleting my already small surveillance capability, since Lucas knew Jennifer on sight. I was a little worried about launching her out into the desert by herself, not because she was a woman, but because nobody should go out in such a harsh environment as a singleton. If she got stuck in the sand, or had any other issues, there wouldn’t be anyone to rescue her.
She’d seemed pretty confident, and I’d given her plenty of four-wheel-drive training last year. She was no slouch at vehicle recovery. I’d decided to let her go after she’d given a pretty thorough brief-back on her route in and out. She’d rented a Nissan 4×4 from one of the adventure travel services that dotted Dubai and headed out. Hearing her voice meant she was back in cell range and safe.
“No issues with the equipment. Got everything we asked for.”
“No issues with the drop?”
“Well…no, not really.”
I smiled. Something had happened. “What’s that mean?”
“The drop was off by about a thousand meters. Idiots never waited for me to initiate before tossing it out of the plane. No signals, no commo, nothing. Like they had someplace else more important to be.”
“And?”
“And I got stuck in the sand. Okay? I’m still sweating like a hog from digging out.”
I started to rib her just for fun when my phone buzzed from an incoming call. “Gotta go. Brett’s on the other line. Go take a shower. See you tonight.”
Brett said, “He was just dropped off at the Financial Centre metro station. I’m on him, Knuckles is off.”
“Okay. See if he’s meeting anyone on the train and give us a call when he gets off. We’ll parallel on Sheikh Zayed Road.”
I confirmed instructions to Decoy and Knuckles, trying to piece together what Lucas was doing. Why leave his vehicle on a major thoroughfare and take the metro? What’s he up to?
Brett called twenty minutes later. “He’s off at the Internet City stop. Talking on a cell phone. He did nothing but ride. I see his van approaching. Knuckles is coming to get me.”
What the hell?
“Stay on him. Something’s up.”
We lost him for about ten minutes, forced to conduct a lost-contact drill of trolling the neighborhood he had last been seen entering. The next call came from Decoy and did nothing but muddy the waters even more.
“I got him. He’s parked in a section of hardware stores, just sitting still. Like he was at the electronics store. Isn’t getting out.”
He gave his location, and I asked, “How long was he unsighted? Could he have gone inside?”
“I don’t know. I suppose he had time to get out and purchase something.”
It was Brett who broke the code on the strange activities. “I see him. Got him from the north. He’s looking through binos at a store entrance.”
He’s following someone else.
49
The Ghost exited the taxi outside a hardware store and slowly turned around, as if to get his bearings. In reality, he was looking for the white-panel van. He was now sure he had seen the same van at both the Burj Khalifa and the electronics store, and while it might have simply been a coincidence, he had decided to run a surveillance detection route to see if he could flush out anybody on him.
He’d entered the metro, hoping to see the white van disgorge a passenger, knowing if he was under surveillance that’s what would have to happen or risk losing him. The van didn’t appear, and he had ridden for a few stops before getting off again, spotting nothing suspicious. Nobody on the train paid him any undue attention. He’d attempted to memorize anyone getting off with him, but none had spiked or done anything that indicated they were interested in what he was doing.
He entered a rustic hardware store with a large front window. Perusing a shelf of tools, he maintained observation on the front door, waiting to see if anyone entered.
After five minutes, he began to believe he was imagining things. He dropped a hammer back on a shelf and proceeded toward the exit. Before he opened the door, he saw a car directly across the street, a long scratch in the paint on the passenger side. The damage held no interest to him, but the man in the passenger seat sure did.
The black man from the metro.
He stared hard through the window, trying to convince himself he was wrong, but the more he studied, the more he was sure the man had been in his metro car and had exited with him. Now he was in his own vehicle, driven by someone else.
Why take the metro for two or three stops if you have a car?
But the man hadn’t entered the metro with him. He’d come on at the next stop and hadn’t given him a second glance. And he wasn’t giving him or the store any attention now. He was looking down the street. If he were following me, why would he be so stupid as to park out front?
He decided to find out once and for all. And take the fight to them if it proved true. He had a small wad of explosives left, and one detonator. He’d thought about simply cramming it all on the final radar-array in the elevator shaft and was now glad he hadn’t.
He walked the aisles until he found a small spool of soft soldering wire, rated to melt at three hundred degrees. He continued and purchased a roll of electrical tape, a metal funnel, and a package of magnets. Moving to the checkout counter, he glanced again at the front door. He saw the vehicle was gone.
He exited the store and hailed a cab. He told the driver to head downtown, rapidly assessing a plan of action. He needed to separate the
followers from their vehicles, which meant he would need to dismount in an area that contained at least some Westerners. He knew they wouldn’t risk raising attention by trying to penetrate a locals-only area.
He also needed the ability to wash himself. To lose the surveillance and let him execute his plan. He gave the driver directions to the Bastakia Quarter, an ancient Persian merchant center that was now a pseudo café/art area. It would have both tourists and locals and was big enough, with winding walkways between two-story buildings, that the surveillance would be forced to follow on foot. It also had limited parking areas. Few choices for them to leave their car, and few areas he would have to survey. Most important, it was anchored on the west end by a mosque. A place no Westerner would dare enter.
The cab dropped him off in one of the two parking areas, and he rapidly moved into the labyrinth of ancient buildings, weaving through swarms of tourists and locals alike. He saw an open double-wood door and entered, finding himself in a courtyard with men smoking water pipes and women drinking coffee. He ran to the east wall and peered out, seeing the parking lot and the roundabout that led to it. Within a minute, he saw the white-panel van coming through the roundabout. He had been right.
The van didn’t stop at the parking area, but kept going until it was headed south on the eastern edge of the village. The Ghost saw brake lights flash, then lost sight of it.
Dropping off his man.
He didn’t want the surveillance to think they’d lost him. He wanted all of the men out and tracking him.
He left the building and headed south, cutting toward the eastern edge. He could recognize only two of the surveillance team who were on him, but that didn’t cause any concern. He was fairly sure the rest would find him and pick up a follow. Especially since he planned on being very visible.
