Agent Zero

by Jack Mars

  “Six-ten.” The pilot might have guessed what Reid was after, since he looked a little ill.

  “So you could get us there in, what, thirty minutes?”

  “Sir—”

  “And how much room would you need to land?”

  “I… I’d need a runway. Sir.”

  “And if you didn’t have one?”

  The pilot blanched. “…Sir? You can’t be serious.”

  “Maria, phone.” She slapped the cell into Reid’s hand and he showed it to the pilot. “Your orders were to take us wherever we wanted to go. If you’d prefer, I can get the Director of National Intelligence on the phone right now and we can explain to him that you’re wasting time and potentially compromising literally thousands of lives. Or, you can take us where we want to go.”

  The pilot gulped. “Uh… four,” he said meekly. “Four hundred feet, give or take. Five to be safe.”

  “Thank you. Wheels up, now.”

  As the pilot scurried away, Reid gave the phone back to Maria. The hint of a smirk played on her lips, but she was doing her best to hide it.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I know this is a very grave situation, but… you are one hundred percent Agent Zero right now.”

  He didn’t say it aloud, but the strange thing about it was that he wasn’t all Zero. If not for Professor Lawson, he wouldn’t have interpreted the dying terrorist’s taunt about Sion. And he doubted he would have given the World Economic Forum a second thought. He was both—or rather, they were him.

  And he was fully aware that he would simply have to live with that.

  Maria retrieved a first-aid kit from an overhead compartment and opened it on a fold-out table in front of him. “Let me see that hand,” she said. He put out his bloodied left hand, palm-up, to show the long slice where Rais’s knife had opened it. “I don’t have much to work with, but we can at least bandage it.”

  “Thanks,” he said quietly as she cleaned the blood away from the wound. Her touch sent a pleasant tingling sensation up and down his arm, very nearly numbing the pain.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “No, I mean for…” He didn’t know quite how to articulate his thoughts to her—mostly because he was having trouble sorting them out for himself. For someone he had distrusted only two days earlier, he was now seeing her more like a partner. A friend. No, it was more than that. At least he thought it could be.

  She glanced up at him, her slate-gray eyes patiently meeting his as she waited for him to finish his sentiment.

  “For everything,” he said finally. “I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

  “Like I said.” She smiled. “Don’t mention it.”

  The phone rang again as soon as the Gulfstream was in the air.

  “Agents are on a chopper,” Cartwright said. “But Jesus, Zero, I’m looking at this guest list, and it’s staggering. Kent, the Vice President is there. Our own VP. Not to mention the President of the People’s Republic of China. The Prime Minister. More than a hundred of the world’s billionaires.” Cartwright heaved a sigh before adding, “This is so much more than a matter of national security. I need to report this up the chain immediately.”

  “Deputy Director,” Reid said, “I understand your position, but if word gets out at all—if the media starts reporting on it, or Amun has any reason to believe their plan won’t work…”

  “…Then bombs start going off,” Cartwright finished with a defeated sigh.

  “Amun is watching. Trust me on that.” He thought back to his own experiences. Amun had been there every step of the way. In the basement with the Iranians, he had first seen the brand of Amun on the Middle Eastern brute’s neck. In Otets’s facility, two more members of Amun, each with the glyph scorched into their skin. And when Morris failed to kill him, the Amun assassin Rais was there.

  “Amun is watching,” he said again. “This is their grand scheme, and if they get any idea that we’re onto them, they’re going to know that we’re aware of their plot. If Davos starts a hasty evacuation, or if any media is alerted to this…”

  “Kent, this is a lot more than our jobs at stake here,” Cartwright argued. “The NSA is likely recording this call. If this goes south, they’ll know that we knew. Do you know where they put people like us in that situation?”

  “I do.” Hell Six, he thought. In a hole in the ground for the rest of our lives. “Just stay calm a minute and stay on the phone.” He put Cartwright on speaker and set the cell down. “Baraf, you said security has been heightened in Davos. How long has this security detail been working onsite?”

  Agent Baraf shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure, but at least two weeks.”

  “Okay. Then that means Amun placed their bombs before then, which means that they’re not likely on timers.” The bombs he had seen in Otets’s facility had a capacity of double-digit hours, minutes, and seconds—but not days. And there was no way that Amun would compromise the position of their explosives in order to set timers. “Equally unlikely is a dead man’s switch—no one is going to hold a trigger for two weeks. So they must be on remote detonation. From what I saw, these are not complex devices; they’re a fairly simple bypass to a remote transmitter.”

  “And the transmitter’s range would have to be close,” said Maria. “Within, what, a quarter mile?”

  Reid nodded. “Maybe even less, if they want to ensure everything goes off without a hitch. But considering the sprawl of the resort, we need to consider anywhere within a quarter mile of the suites. That’s our perimeter.” He turned to the Interpol agent. “Baraf, tell Davos security that they need to focus their efforts on locating the bombs. If they’re going to start evacuating, it needs to be done slowly, carefully. There cannot be a panic.”

  Baraf nodded tightly. “Davos will have done thorough sweeps prior to guests arriving. Wherever Amun has concealed their explosives may be more difficult to find than we have time for.”

  “I know.” Reid tried to put himself in Amun’s shoes. Where would I hide them? He thought back to Reidigger’s apartment in Zurich, when he did the same thing to find the bug-out bag beneath the floorboards.

  But before that, he had checked the walls for any sign of disturbance.

  “Before anyone arrived,” he said suddenly, “I bet the resort did some upkeep, right? Any necessary repairs would have been completed…”

  “You would be correct,” Baraf told him. “In fact, a renovation was completed only a few weeks ago.”

  “That must be it. I bet that’s how they hid their bombs—they could have sent members in, posing as construction crews. It would have given them access to any part of the resort.”

  “That’s true,” said Maria, “but any work they did would have had to be inspected and approved afterwards, right? So Davos should have a log, or some sort of record…”

  Baraf’s eyes widened. “Which would mean that with any luck, they’ve given us the locations of their bombs!”

  Hiding in plain sight, Reid thought. If it was true, it would be the cruelest taunt possible. If their attack was able to go off, Davos would eventually realize that they had had everything they would have needed to prevent it.

  “Baraf, can you relate all that to Davos security?” Reid asked.

  The Interpol agent nodded. The phone was already to his ear.

  “Cartwright, you still with us?”

  “I’m here.” The deputy director’s voice sounded exhausted.

  “We need a favor. Davos doesn’t have an airport. We need you to get on the phone with the Swiss Federal Office of Police and see if we can clear about five hundred yards of highway, outside the city and at least a mile from the resort. We don’t want to be seen coming in.”

  “Just like old times,” Cartwright sighed. “All right, I’ll make it happen.”

  Twenty-three minutes later, the Gulfstream G650 alit on the Parsenbahn thoroughfare, on a straight stretch of highway that the Federal Office of Police had quickl
y and temporarily blockaded. As soon as the three agents disembarked, the small jet turned on the highway, with some difficulty, and took off again, to avoid any scrutiny from the media. They were just far enough from the alpine resort to avoid being seen, but it was entirely possible, Reid realized, that someone had witnessed their rapid descent. Without an airport, it would be very strange to see any plane flying low over Davos.

  He could only hope that Amun hadn’t noticed.

  He, Maria, and Baraf were ushered into a waiting police car. “No lights, and no sirens,” he told the officer in the driver’s seat. “And if there’s a back way in, take us there.”

  It took them less than two minutes to get from the Parsenbahn to the alpine mountain resort. Reid couldn’t help but admire the beauty of it; the site of the World Economic Forum in Davos looked more like a sprawling village of low-rise condos and villas, each roof capped in snow and surrounded by tall fir trees that downright dwarfed the buildings they encircled. The entire resort was nestled in the shadow of the Swiss Alps. It was picturesque, serene—and very likely about to be destroyed.

  They disembarked from the police car and were immediately greeted by a thin, keen-eyed man with black hair and a well-tailored black suit. He did not waste any time expressing his displeasure.

  “Agents,” he said in harsh German-accented English, “I am Burkhalter, general manager of the resort. I do not appreciate being kept in the dark regarding the safety of my guests.”

  “We sincerely apologize, sir,” Baraf offered diplomatically, “but there is little time for that. If I can brief your security team, we can assess—”

  Burkhalter interrupted with a sharply raised hand. “I must insist that you share the details and legitimacy of any potential threat immediately!”

  “And we will,” Reid cut in. “We can talk as we walk. Can you show us to the closest structures that have been recently renovated?”

  The manager opened his mouth to speak—likely to argue Reid’s request—when a phone chimed from his inner coat pocket. He plucked it out and held up one finger to signal them to wait.

  “Burkhalter,” he answered. His exasperated expression slackened, the corners of his mouth dragged into a dumbfounded frown. “I… I understand,” he murmured. “Stand by for instructions.” He lowered the phone and stared at Reid. “It would seem your tip is correct, Agent. My security team has discovered an incendiary device.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Reid’s stomach tightened instinctively. They had found a bomb—but only one, and he had the feeling there were many more hidden in the resort.

  “Where?” he demanded.

  “Guest quarters,” Burkhalter told them. The color had drained from the manager’s face. “A chalet, recently renovated.”

  Reid snatched the cell from him and put it on speaker. “This is Agent Kent Steele with the CIA. With whom am I speaking?”

  A gruff voice came through the phone. “This is Captain Hegg, head of security.”

  “What can you tell us?”

  “The device was sealed inside a wall, as suspected,” Hegg said. “They appear to have used a lightweight wood-pulp composite material, rather than plaster.”

  “Maximum damage,” said Maria knowingly. “So the blast radius isn’t as affected.”

  Burkhalter’s shock finally seemed to wane as he waved a hand impatiently. “None of that is important. This is officially a crisis situation, which calls for immediate evacuation protocol.”

  “Wait,” Reid insisted. Burkhalter blinked at him in astonishment. “Just wait. Listen to me. The people that did this have been planning this for a long time. I have no doubt that they’ve acquired information on which heads of state are staying in which suites. They are here. They are watching. And if we give them any reason at all to believe that we’re aware of them—they will detonate.”

  Burkhalter scoffed loudly. “Then what would you have us do, Agent? This staggered evacuation could take hours. Some of our guests will insist on knowing the nature of the threat. And if you are wrong and these terrorists set off their bombs anyway, we could be responsible for hundreds of lost lives. Important lives.” He shook his head. “Davos will not bend to the whims of fanatics. We must get people to safety.”

  “I believe he is right, Agent Steele,” Baraf agreed quietly. “It is, as you might say, a catch-22.”

  Reid ran his hands through his hair as he thought desperately of a potential solution. He had no idea how many bombs might be onsite. It could take days to locate them all. They couldn’t evacuate everyone before Amun caught on. They were here somewhere, at least one of them, maybe more, with their finger on the trigger, waiting for their moment. And they could be anywhere…

  “Wait,” Reid murmured. That’s it, he thought. Someone here had their finger on the bombs’ trigger—but they couldn’t be anywhere.

  “This is quite enough,” Burkhalter grumbled. “We are getting these people to safety immediately—”

  “Burkhalter,” he said harshly, “you will continue a careful evacuation of the resort. Do not incite a panic. Do not attract media attention. The bomber is here somewhere, on the premises, and there are limited places they can be. If you start emptying this place, deaths will be on your shoulders. Do you understand?”

  Burkhalter set his jaw firmly. He looked as if he might have some choice words for Reid, but instead he nodded once, tightly.

  “Captain Hegg,” Reid said into the phone. “Your team is currently sweeping for bombs?”

  “That is correct, sir,” Hegg confirmed. “We’ve called in bomb squads from the Federal Office to assist—”

  “I’m afraid we don’t have time for that,” Reid interrupted. “I understand it’s very dangerous, but we need to locate as many of the devices as we can. These particular bombs are activated by a radio transmitter. It’s a small black box about the size of a matchbook with a single blue wire from it. If they remove that, it should render the bombs useless to Amun…”

  “Should?” Hegg asked.

  “It’s the best chance we’ve got. Inform your team: remove the transmitters immediately from any discovered devices. Keep Burkhalter updated on your progress.”

  “I will.” Hegg ended the call and Reid handed the phone back to the manager.

  “Do you want to clue us in on what you’re thinking?” Maria asked.

  “Whoever is controlling the bombs must be stationary,” Reid said. “They have to be set up somewhere. They’re not mobile.”

  “What makes you think that?” Baraf asked.

  “Each bomb requires its own detonator,” Reid explained, recalling the devices he had seen in Otets’s facility, “unless they’re physically linked, and this place is too sprawled for that. Even remotely, if all the bombs were on a single detonator, it could potentially weaken the signal to a degree that would impede their potential success.”

  Burkhalter looked like he might be sick. “How many devices do you believe are hidden?”

  Reid shook his head. “We don’t know.”

  “All right,” said Baraf, “then we’re looking for someone who has established a temporary base of operations somewhere they would be uninterrupted.”

  “Staff quarters, perhaps?” Burkhalter offered. “Basement levels?”

  “There are far too many places that could be,” said Baraf disdainfully.

  “Hang on,” Maria said suddenly. “We’re at the base of the Swiss Alps.” She pointed upward toward the enormous mountain beyond Davos. “Mountains wreak havoc on radio reception.”

  “You’re right,” Reid agreed. “The thicker the material, the higher the chance it’ll absorb radio waves… which means the bomber would need some elevation, a place with a clear enough signal to transmit across the resort.” He spun on Burkhalter. “Where would someone be able to be isolated while still getting clear signals?”

  “I… um…” The thin manager rubbed his chin. “The crow’s nest, I suppose?”

  “What’s the c
row’s nest?”

  “It’s a nickname for the former control room in the conference center,” Burkhalter explained quickly. “The equipment grew obsolete years ago. Now we only use it as a broadcast booth, since it overlooks the main auditorium…”

  “And no one would be using it yet because the forum hasn’t begun,” Maria finished.

  “I know how to get there,” said Baraf urgently. “Follow me. Mr. Burkhalter, if you would, please gather whatever security personnel are not working directly with Captain Hegg on locating the bombs and have them start searching any isolated areas of the premises. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

  “But again,” Reid reminded him, “make sure they go about it carefully. We can’t have it be obvious.”

  “I shall.” The general manager nodded again and hurried away toward the staff headquarters to gather what Reid hoped would be enough manpower to find the bomber in time. The three agents headed the opposite direction, Baraf leading the way. The Italian agent sprinted ahead, with Maria and Reid on his heels. (It was fairly impressive to him how quickly Baraf could move in leather loafers.) They crossed a snowy courtyard and cut between a row of A-framed chalets and a blocky three-story building of suites.

  Reid’s knee throbbed angrily as he limped along as quickly as he could. Despite his best efforts, his pace slowed, and soon Maria and Baraf had gained a lead on him.

  “Kent!” she called back. “Are you all right?”

  “Just keep going,” he panted. “Don’t wait for me. We need to…” He caught sight of an object in his periphery and glanced upward, between the chalets. “Baraf, wait. What is that?” He pointed toward the horizon.

  Baraf slowed to a jog and gazed in the same direction, toward a four-story white spire behind the A-framed structures. “That? It is a, uh, how do you say… a steeple. Of a church.”

  “Is it in use?”

  Baraf stopped and frowned. “It is a landmark, centuries old. The resort was built around it, and…” He groaned. “No. It is not used.”

  Reid caught his breath as he weighed their options. Burkhalter’s crow’s nest theory fit the bill perfectly—just as perfectly as an unused steeple in an ancient church would.