by Brad Thor
“So the Chinese could have had a recruiter in Somalia who groomed sleepers and helped move them into the U.S. immigration pipeline. I would use Wazir Ibrahim as the nexus. Look at where he was from in Somalia and who immigrated around the same time he did and we might find the other men in that CCTV footage from Boise.”
It was a good point and Roe wrote it down. “So whoever recruited him may not have known about his proclivities?”
Harvath nodded. “I know the Bureau is contacting all of its Somali informants, but I’d reach out to Detective Hoffman back in Nashville, too. See if he can uncover anyone in that Somali trafficking ring who recognizes any of the faces in the bus station footage. Have him check with Wazir Ibrahim’s widow as well. She may know something about his trip to Boise that could prove helpful.
“Speaking of which, have your teams in Boise had any luck with that additional item I suggested that they look for?”
Roe nodded. “I don’t think a warrant like that has ever been issued before. We got one, though, and I think your idea of roping in the police chief and the mayor was smart, especially for dealing with the smaller businesses. Everyone has cooperated so far.”
“Do we have an ETA?”
“Everything is getting piped to the NSA. They’re running the algorithms as they get the data.”
“What about Tommy Wong?” Harvath then asked.
“Still nothing.”
“What about the other members of the 14K triad back in Southern Cal? Maybe they know something.”
“If they do, none of them are talking,” Roe replied. “We’ve put their phones into heavy rotation and we’re monitoring their email accounts, but the FBI only has so much manpower. We can’t sit on them 24/7.”
“I understand,” said Harvath, who looked at the Old Man. “Has Anne Levy had any success running down any contacts of the students back in the UAE?”
Carlton shook his head. “Zip.”
Harvath glanced at his watch. Even though they had located only three of what was believed would be five storage units, the President had given the go-ahead to move on them. They were located in Las Vegas, Dallas, and Des Moines.
The NSA had nixed the idea of launching an attack against the Great Firewall of China, and for good reason. Just because the PLA’s hacking unit in Shanghai appeared to be watching the CCTV feeds of the storage facilities didn’t mean that no one else was. In fact, as the NSA began to build on what Nicholas had uncovered, they believed there was another source dipping into the feed. And that source wasn’t in China.
It was decided that a widespread Internet disruption originating within the United States was the only way to deal with the issue. The risks were discussed with President Porter, and after addressing a handful of national security as well as private sector issues, he gave his approval.
Plainclothes FBI agents in Las Vegas, Dallas, and Des Moines helped covertly evacuate customers at the facilities as three separate ruses were enacted to evacuate any nearby homes or businesses in each city. No one had any idea what was in the storage units, or if they were booby-trapped.
As soon as the customers had been removed from the facilities, the NSA began compiling the footage they would use for their loops. Two of the facilities, though, had cameras that picked up part of the road traffic near their entrances.
Because of the public safety concerns, traffic was being diverted away from all of the facilities in question. The NSA decided to roll the dice and pulled the entrance camera footage from two previous nights off those facilities’ DVRs. After making sure no one was seen entering during any of the lengths they intended to use, they tested everything multiple times and then let everyone know they were ready to roll.
Once the strike teams were in place, the go code would be given and the simultaneous, three-city operation would launch.
DNI Johnson and the FBI Director had gone to the White House to be with the President in the Situation Room, along with the rest of his national security team. Harvath and Carlton had decided to remain at the NCTC, so they could continue working until the op launched.
Now, noticing the time, they exited the conference room and walked out onto the Ops Center floor.
CHAPTER 50
* * *
* * *
The floor of the Ops Center fell eerily silent and the tension was palpable. The large flat-screens that hung from the second-story catwalks displayed a variety of images. Aerial drone footage showed the storage facilities from above, while the cameras mounted on the team members’ helmets gave on-the-ground POVs. The same secure images being viewed inside the NCTC were also being beamed to the Situation Room at the White House.
The only sounds on the floor came from the overhead speakers and the disembodied voices of Ops Center Command—the NCTC mission commander seated at the largest workstation on the floor—and the strike team leaders in Las Vegas, Dallas, and Des Moines.
“Deadbolt Four, this is Ops Center Command. Do you copy, over?”
“Ops Center Command, this is Deadbolt Four. We copy, over.”
“Roger that, Deadbolt Four. Stand by. Over.”
“Roger that, Ops Center Command. Deadbolt Four is standing by. Over.”
The conversation was repeated two more times as Ops Center Command reached out to the remaining team leaders to make sure they were in place and ready to go.
“Smokestack, this is Ops Center Command. All teams are in place and ready to roll. Over.”
There was a pause and then the voice of General Johnson came through the speakers overhead from the White House Situation Room.
“Ops Center Command, this is Smokestack. You are cleared for launch. Repeat. Ops Center Command is cleared for launch, over.”
“Roger that, Smokestack. Ops Center Command is clear for launch. Over.”
Even though Harvath wasn’t on the ground with the strike teams, he knew what it was like, and he could feel his pulse quickening.
“Cellophane, this is Ops Center Command,” said the voice as he hailed his counterpart at the NSA. “You are clear to commence operations.”
“Roger that, Ops Center Command. Cellophane is clear to commence operation. Stand by.”
Everyone in the room watched the images of the CCTV feeds from the storage facilities. Seconds later, they were replaced with an error message.
“Ops Center Command, this is Cellophane. Grizzly is down. Repeat. Grizzly is down. Stand by.”
“Copy that, Cellophane. Grizzly is down. Ops Center Command standing by.”
Seconds later, the CCTV cameras came back online.
“Ops Center Command, this is Cellophane. Bag tie. Repeat. Bag tie.”
The camera feeds had been commandeered and the looped footage was now successfully playing.
When NCTC personnel had confirmed to the mission commander that the NSA had successfully looped the feeds, he said, “Roger that, Cellophane. Ops Center Command confirms bag tie. Repeat, Ops Center Command can confirm bag tie. Over.”
“Good luck,” replied the voice from the NSA. “Cellophane out.”
It was time to send in the strike teams.
After checking all of the feeds, the voice said, “Deadbolt teams, this is Ops Center Command. Prepare to launch. Over.”
“Deadbolt Four, copy that.”
“Deadbolt Five, copy that.”
“Deadbolt Six, roger that.”
“Deadbolt teams, this is Ops Center Command. On my mark. In three. Two. One. Deadbolt teams, go.”
There was a chorus of “Go! Go! Go!” from the team leaders as they leaped out of their vehicles and poured into the storage facilities.
The strikes played out almost identically across the screens. In Dallas and Des Moines, the units directly behind the storage units in question were tackled. In Las Vegas, because it was a lone row, the unit next to the unit in question was tackled.
First, nuclear, radiological, chemical, and biological levels were taken. When nothing registered, bolt cutters were
used to snap off the padlocks. Once the doors were opened and levels were taken again, boxes, furniture, or whatever else was in the way was moved so that operatives could gain access to the common steel wall separating the units.
Standing on a ladder, an operative with a very small drill bored a hole through the partition near the ceiling, and a small “sniffer” was fed through. When no threats were detected, it was pulled out and a tiny fiberoptic camera was fed in.
Harvath, along with everyone else at the NCTC, watched as each of the fiberoptic feeds came up on the monitors. They all showed the same number of boxes, identically stacked.
Roe, who was standing next to Harvath, said, “Bomb parts?”
“Definitely doesn’t look like baseball cards.”
One by one, the team leaders reported in, requesting permission to go to the next phase. As they did, Ops Center Command gave them authorization.
The next phase involved clearing everything away from the shared wall so that a portable X-ray machine could be wheeled in. As soon as the machines were in place, they began scanning what was on the other side.
The X-rays were bracketed by two telescoping arms, which could be raised and lowered to provide the greatest range of images possible. The pictures they sent back were quite interesting.
There were two extra-large metal cylinders that reminded Harvath of helium tanks, what looked like a rolling metal toolbox with drawers, some boxes filled with clothes or some sort of folded material, another box that appeared to contain firearms and ammunition, and then a series of different boxes that the X-ray machines couldn’t penetrate. They read as solid black.
The Old Man raised his eyebrows. “Lead-lined?”
Harvath nodded. “Yup. Not good.”
“Are you thinking radiological?” Roe asked.
“Yup. And like I said, not good.”
“Agreed.”
They watched as the teams backed out of their respective units and went over to the target units themselves.
After failing to register any nuclear, radiological, chemical, or biological signatures on the outside, the teams began meticulously mapping the seams of the door frames. Deadbolt Five was the first to catch something.
“Ops Center Command, this is Deadbolt Five. Over.”
“Trip wire?” Roe asked.
“Maybe,” Harvath replied. “Or a tamper indicator.”
“Go ahead, Deadbolt Five. Over.”
“Are you getting this picture off my helmet cam? It’s on the right-hand side of the frame, about sixteen inches off the ground? Over.”
“Roger that, Deadbolt Five. Over.”
It was a small, clear decal. Had they not been looking for it, they never would have seen it.
“Ops Center Command. This is Deadbolt Four. We’ve got one, too. Over.”
“Deadbolt Six to Ops Center Command. Same thing here. Over.”
“Tamper seals,” said Harvath. “Lets the bad guys know if anyone has been in their unit.”
Using a mild substance, the teams carefully removed the seals and marked the spot on the frames with chalk. They then went back to searching for anything else that might warrant special attention before making their entry.
“Ops Center Command, this is Deadbolt Four. Over.”
“Go ahead, Deadbolt Four. Over.”
“Are you getting this lock via my cam? Over.”
“Roger that, Deadbolt Four. Looks like a five-wheel combination padlock, brand name is Squire. Over.”
“Deadbolt Five has the same lock here. Over.”
“Same lock for Deadbolt Six. Over.”
“Ops Center Command. This is Deadbolt Four. I haven’t seen one of these before. Do we have any information on this lock? Over.”
The plan had been to pick the locks, not snap them off with the bolt cutters. This way, if they wanted, they could put everything back the way they had found it.
“Deadbolt Four. This is Ops Center Command. We’ve pulled a schematic here. It appears you’re looking at a Squire SS50C. It’s a high-security padlock manufactured in the United Kingdom. Their website calls it the strongest combination padlock on the market. At least a hundred thousand combinations. Over.”
“It’s highly attack resistant. Any suggestion on how to get into it? Over.”
Before Ops Center Command could reply, the agent was hailed by an entry agent on one of the other teams. “Deadbolt Four, this is Deadbolt Six. Over.”
“Go ahead, Deadbolt Six. Over.”
“The locking cam engages on the inside of the shackle, but the high shoulder design won’t let you work a regular steel shim all the way into the opening. Over.”
“Roger that, Deadbolt Six. Any idea of what will work? Over.”
“Use a zipper shim. Feed them in from each side until they bottom out on top of the locking cam. Then grab the tops with two small vise grips and push down. It should overpower the internal spring on the locking cam and pop it open without damaging the lock. Over.”
“Copy that. Stand by.”
Three minutes later, Deadbolt Four radioed. “Bingo. Lock has been removed.”
Deadbolt Teams Five and Six chimed in with similar successes right after. It was time to go to the next phase.
With the padlocks removed and the door frames mapped, the strike teams retreated and a robot in each city was sent to make entry.
It took a certain degree of finesse, but via each robot’s articulated arm, their controllers were able to get the rolling metal doors raised high enough for the machines to slip in underneath. None of the doors were booby-trapped.
From inside, the robots sent back images very similar to those that had been seen earlier. Careful not to jar the stack of cardboard boxes, each controller had his robot pick up a box, transport it outside, and set it down. A human being was going to have to take it from this point.
Wearing advance bomb suits, Explosive Ordnance Disposal specialists with each team thoroughly studied the first box, took readings, and then very carefully opened it up. Inside was another box. This one was filled with what looked like brand-new, uninflated weather balloons.
“I think I now know what’s in those cylinders,” said Harvath.
“Helium?” Carlton replied.
“No. Hydrogen.”
CHAPTER 51
* * *
* * *
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
Boston’s Chinatown was on Beach Street and near Boston Common. It was the only authentically historic Chinese area left in all of New England and it had been the perfect place for the Second Department to establish a safe house.
With more than thirty thousand people per square mile, Chinatown was one of Boston’s most densely packed residential areas, and 70 percent of the people living there were Asian. If you were Chinese and wanted to disappear, this was the place in which to do it.
The five princelings Cheng had been sent to retrieve were scattered among three schools. One was at Princeton in New Jersey. Another was at Yale in Connecticut. And the remaining three were at Harvard, here in Boston.
Because of who they were, they had all received highly specialized training in China. It focused on escape and evasion, more commonly referred to as E&E. They learned not only how to detect surveillance, but how, when necessary, to escape it. They learned how to avoid kidnapping and what to do if in fact they ever were taken. They trained with the best and were expected to take their lessons seriously.
An emergency bug-out plan had been established for each princeling. When a certain phrase was transmitted to them, it would trigger the plan.
Each had been given a specific destination in Boston’s Chinatown. They were to leave their cell phones plugged in, turned on, and in their dorm rooms. Their laptops and any other electronic items were also to be left behind. That would make it much more difficult to track them.
Upon leaving their dormitories, they were to assume they were being followed and to take appropriate countermeasures. They were taught to
stay calm and to not appear aware of any surveillance whatsoever.
After conducting their surveillance detection route, or SDR, each had been assigned a variety of options for how to reach their destination. The princelings at Harvard had it the easiest as Chinatown was right in their backyard. The students from Princeton and Yale had a greater distance to travel and Cheng had transmitted the activation message to them first.
He had done so using Facebook, tapping into established accounts of “friends” they had back in China, who were nothing more than Second Department operatives who kept the accounts active for just such an eventuality. Once the codes had been transmitted, it was up to them.
• • •
For the moment, Cheng tried to remain optimistic that their training and common sense would prevail. Princelings, though, tended to be spoiled. As a result, they often developed an overinflated sense of self-worth and entitlement. In short, they were wholly unreliable. They were also a pain in the ass.
Cheng had been very clear with Colonel Shi that he would not stand for anything less than complete obedience from them. He didn’t care who their parents were, or in the case of the youngest princeling from Harvard, who her grandfather was. His job was to get them all safely out of the United States. For that to happen, they would need to follow his instructions, every instruction, to the letter.
The colonel agreed and trusted Cheng to do what he thought was best. He did caution him, though, that today’s princeling could be tomorrow’s Politburo Standing Committee member.
Shi was correct, but that did little to lessen Cheng’s loathing for China’s politicians. He tried to put it out of his mind. As long as the princelings obeyed his commands, everything would be fine.
With the van secured in the safe house garage, Cheng cleaned his weapon, replenished his funds from a cache hidden beneath the kitchen floor, and prepared a medical kit, just in case any of his charges became ill or was injured during their trip.
