by Brad Taylor
“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
M
y 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,
ENEMY OF MINE ⁄ 243
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 fourwheel-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
T
he 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 radararray 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 localsonly 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.
He traversed back and forth, entering cafés and galleries and stopping at various historical sights, acting like a tourist, all the while giving anyone the best opportunity to spot him without acting in any way that said he believed he was under surveillance.
He finally began moving west with a purpose. He reached the front steps of the mosque and hesitated, giving the surveillance a final opportunity to see him enter. Climbing the steps, he took off his shoes, but instead of placing them on the floor, he carried them with him, walking at almost a trot to the back.
He went to the nearest men’s restroom, glad the time was in between prayers, leaving the room deserted. He swiftly pulled out the metal funnel and began cramming a baseball-size lump of explosive into it. He formed it in the same shape as the funnel, using the metal as a guide, building up an inch-thick layer around the circumference and leaving a cone-shaped space in the center. When he was done, it looked like the funnel simply had a smaller capacity. His hope was to create an improvised shaped charge. He knew it wouldn’t be perfect, but it should create enough of an explosive jet to accomplish what he wanted.
He placed the electric blasting cap into the small end of the funnel, seating it in the explosives. He then flipped a switch on his final detonator, turning off the WiFi function and making it work manually with a closed-loop electric circuit. He attached both wires from the blasting cap to the detonator and taped it to the bottom of the funnel.
Satisfied with the device, he exited the mosque and immediately entered a government building on the right side, threading his way north until he exited on the Dubai Creek. Now, the walls and fence of the mosque itself would screen him as he went back to the parking area.
Speed-walking back east down the brick walkway paralleling the Dubai Creek, he hit the end of the mosque wall. He wanted to remain undetected, so he swerved into a large group of swarthy men waiting on a water taxi to take them across the river. Once through them, he could see the parking area and had to assume he’d left all surveillance staked out on the mosque.
He quickened his pace, scanning for the white-panel van. He was sure it had dropped off a passenger, then parked to await further instructions.
He reached the parking area and saw no vans, white or otherwise. He walked between the cars, giving the area one more glance, then began moving swiftly toward the eastern road that bordered the village, intent on checking out the second parking area. If he saw nothing there, he’d simply leave the surveillance behind and consider his options.
Two rows from the traffic circle he saw the black man’s car. Sitting empty. He went to the passenger side to be sure and recognized the scrape on the passenger door. He glanced left and right, then scuttled underneath the back bumper.
He found where the gas tank came closest to the exhaust pipe and placed two magnets on the tank. He affixed the metal funnel to the magnets, knowing the gap created enhanced the shaped-charge effect. Satisfied, he attached one end of the soldering wire to the electronic trigger. He wound the wire around the exhaust pipe in a single loop, then attached the other end to the second lead of the trigger. He ended by pushing the arming switch.
It would take some time, but the soldering wire would eventually melt from the heat of the exhaust. When that happened, the flow of electricity in the trigger would be interrupted, and the charge would go off, penetrating the gas tank and destroying both the car and its occupants.
In the end, it didn’t really matter how much destruction he caused. The explosives alone would cause a police response, and anyone associated with the man would be investigated. It would tie them up for at least twenty-four hours, and that’s all the time he would need.
He rolled out from underneath the car, surveyed the area from his knees, then joined the flow of pedestrian traffic back to the water-taxi stand. He glanced back at the car and could see the tip of the funnel hanging beneath. It was definitely out of place, but wouldn’t draw any undue attention. Especially if the driver simply entered the car from the front without circling the trunk. He bought a ticket on a water taxi and sat with a group of day laborers all waiting to cross the creek.
50
I
got the third “no change” call from Brett and realized that Lucas was going to wait outside the mosque for whoever he was tracking. I knew I was missing some type of opportunity and hated sitting there on my ass. I should be using the time for something else. We’d confirmed that Lucas was a one-man surveillance effort, with the local acting as driver to simply pick him up and drop him off, which meant he had no one at the rear of the mosque. I thought about it, toying with the idea of trying to locate his target.
Initially, I’d restricted our surveillance box on Lucas to trailing behind, which also restricted our ability to react. In a perfect world, you’d have operators around him in a bubble, so that no matter which way he turned, if the eye lost him, he’d run into someone else in the bubble. Once we’d confirmed he was conducting surveillance as well, we didn’t want to spook the very target he was after, and since we didn’t know who that was, we couldn’t prevent him from identifying us over time and distance. Simply staying with Lucas would inadvertently confirm to the target that he was under surveillance—in effect, blowing the operation. In truth, we’d been on Lucas for more than three hours, and there wasn’t any way to determine if we hadn’t already compromised him.
I decided to press someone to the far side of the mosque and get a snapshot of anyone who exited. Might get us nothing, but sometimes little things like this ended up paying off big-time. I’d leave Brett and Decoy on Lucas and send Knuckles, since he was the easiest one for Lucas to identify. I could always pull him back around if it came to it.
I gave him a call, telling him the plan and asking him to relay it through his Taskforce phone to everyone else. He rogered, and said he was going to reposition to the western parking lot. Out of nowhere I experienced a deep sense of déjà vu, the feeling bringing with it a tendril of dread.
A year ago, almost to the day, I had repositioned Knuckles and another team member for this exact same purpose, and they had run into a vehicle-borne IED. Knuckles had been ripped apart. The other team member had been killed.
