by Brad Taylor
“Damn it, Retro, we need that code.”
“Pike, this is Blood, it’s coming this way. Not moving fast.”
“Close back on me. Get back to the door.”
He shuffled toward me, moving at a slow jog, saying, “We got maybe thirty seconds.”
I looked down the darkened hallway, illuminated only by emergency lighting, and caught the faint bounce of the flashlight.
Better to be through the stairwell door before he turns the corner.
“Retro, never mind. We’re getting out now. Decoy, you still on the street?”
“Stop, stop! It’s pound six six six star.”
Great. Sign of the devil. That’s gotta mean something.
The light flashed brighter and I jabbed the keypad, now committed to getting inside the office or getting seen. The light turned the corner and the keypad flashed green. I ripped open the door and we fell inside. Brett whirled and grabbed the door handle, preventing it from slamming shut on its automatic arm. After he snicked it closed, I called for an update.
“Retro, it worked, but it was close. What’s the guard at the desk doing? Anything alerting?”
“No. I think you’re good.”
“Okay. Tell me when he’s back in the elevator. Koko, how’s it coming?”
“Got the line. I’m anchoring now.”
“Good to hear. Remember, we’re going to be moving fast, so no time to adjust anything once we crack the door down here.”
“Roger.”
We waited for maybe five minutes, catching our breath, then Retro said, “He’s in the elevator. Headed up.”
I looked at Blood and he nodded.
“Koko, here we come.”
I cracked the door and snuck a glance out. Seeing nothing, I led the way to the stairwell, not even pausing when I reached it. I broke the seal and knew the clock was now ticking.
We raced upward, taking the steps two and three at a time, Blood slowly but surely leaving me behind.
Retro said, “Guard on the ground floor just stood up. He’s going to the elevator.”
We crossed the third floor, then the fourth, continuing on to the roof. Blood cranked open the door, then held it for me. I slid out into the gravel and pivoted to the left, running to the opposite side where the anchor rope was located.
I reached it but didn’t see Jennifer. I whirled around and she rose from behind a heating unit.
I said, “Go, go.”
Without a word, she leaned out over the edge and grasped the rope, hand-walking until she was hanging over the four-story drop before locking her legs around it. She began to monkey-crawl at astonishing speed, seeming to slide like ice on a countertop across the chasm.
“Blood, get on it. I’m setting the cutter for three minutes.”
Jennifer had rigged the anchor point with a pair of self-cutting flex ties that were designed for releasing prisoners remotely, such as when you captured a bad guy having dinner with his family. They incorporated a time-release cutter that could be set for whatever duration was needed and were pretty handy when you didn’t want to leave the family tied up — possibly for days — but also didn’t want them to go shouting to the police until you were far enough away. Handy for other things as well, like now.
Blood clambered out, and I hit the timer, only to hear Retro say, “First guard in the elevator didn’t go down. He went up to you. Just left the fourth floor at a run.”
Which meant he’d be here in seconds. Before I was across.
Going to have to take him down. Can’t let him see the rope.
Best case, when he woke up they’d have nothing but one big ol’ mystery on their hands. Nothing stolen, only some sort of magic vanishing act after being attacked by a wraith.
I raced back to the stairwell door, turning the corner just as it opened. I darted left, letting the door block me from view. I waited until the guard stepped forward, shining his light left and right. When the door swung closed, I pounced, wrapping his neck in a guillotine choke. He flailed around as I buried my shoulder into the back of his head, cinching shut the blood flow into his carotid arteries. In seconds, he was out.
I lowered him to the ground and took off at a sprint back to my escape bridge. I could see Blood climbing through the window, Jennifer and Knuckles inside. I grabbed the rope and hung out over the gap. I brought my legs up and began scrambling upside down, moving as fast as I could, wishing for Jennifer’s speed.
I was halfway across when I remembered the cutter, and the time I’d lost taking out the guard. Just as it sliced through the flex ties of the anchor.
I felt a sickening moment of weightlessness, then began swinging, moving faster and faster. I cinched my hands as tight as I could and tucked my head, spinning my legs to get my back to the wall. I just about made it, colliding on my side with the rough brick hard enough to almost dislodge me from the rope.
I slid down about five feet, feeling the heat build up through the leather in my gloves, and before I could clear my head, I felt my body being hoisted against the brick. I wrapped my hands into the rope and planted my feet against the wall, walking up as the team pulled.
I made it to the window ledge and was unceremoniously pulled inside. Blood ripped in the remainder of the rope while Jennifer slammed the window shut and jerked the drapes. I just lay on the floor gasping for air.
Knuckles said, “I’ll bet following those Arabs from Saudi Arabia would have been a hell of a lot easier.”
45
The small sitting room at the back of the Kowloon Mosque and Islamic Centre was now Malik’s to use as he saw fit, the contact from Iran having enough clout to ensure that Malik wasn’t disturbed by any of the other patrons. He had no idea what they’d been told and really didn’t care.
He’d transformed the place into a tiny surveillance center, getting the feeds from the cameras located on the four corners of the building and the front entrance. The view wasn’t the best, just a narrow slice of vision from each one, but if Sanjar did his job correctly, a narrow slice would be enough to spring the trap.
After being told his new team was on the way, he’d set the hook last night, providing an irresistible lure for whoever was tracking him. Now he was letting the enemy spin into overdrive trying to track his bait. Other men in the Quds Force would have tried to create an ironclad trap, something heavy-handed that they felt would guarantee a reaction, but they underestimated the enemy.
As much as he hated the Great Satan, he also understood them. Understood that they were not the buffoons the Arab street portrayed, blundering around blindly. Yes, they had a penchant for stomping around with all of the grace of a hippo, but hidden among the idiots were men as deadly as any in the world. Cunning vipers who lived among the shadows much like him. Men who understood his world well enough to take out his chosen team. They would see through all but the lightest of touches.
Unfortunately, he feared the team sent to replace them did not have this same depth of understanding. When he’d briefed them last night they had seemed antsy for a fight, convinced either Allah or their own skill would guarantee success. He had no intention of using any of them overtly. They would be bit players in the upcoming drama.
He glanced at his watch, then used a landline to dial a hotel number, not wanting the hotel to have a record of one of his new cell phones. When the front desk answered, he gave a room number, and Sanjar came on after a single ring. He said, “Turn it on and place one call to whomever you wish in town. Leave it in place for one hour, then begin your walk.”
Sanjar said, “Do we know the devils are here?”
“No, there is no way to prove it without giving up the trap. Trust me, though, they’re here. I’m sure of it.”
Malik didn’t hear the same confidence come back through the phone. Sanjar asked, “The men are set?”
“Yes. You had no trouble finding the DVDs?”
“None at all.”
“Insha’Allah, we will be rid of these hunters in an
hour.”
* * *
Decoy shouted from the bedroom of the suite we were using as a tactical operations center, “Pike, phone just went active. Same location.”
Which did nothing to clarify what was going on. We’d returned to our hotel after the near-disaster, happy to have a thread to pull, only to find a lead waiting on us. Apparently, the third phone we had been trying to track — the one that had called the cheap Hong Kong hostels in the first place — had placed a call to the general’s phone while we were playing cat burglar. The Taskforce had geo-located its position at the Conrad Hotel on Hong Kong Island. Which made no sense whatsoever. Through a process of elimination, we had figured it was Ernie’s phone and that he’d ditched it before leaving Singapore. Now it was active, and not at the hostel Ernie was using.
Knuckles pulled up the grid on our “company” laptop, using a hidden partition in the hard drive. He was looking a hell of a lot better, and I was glad to have him back in shape. I’d purposely kept him out of any sharp action, which had done nothing but aggravate him, but he had more to offer than simply brawn.
“What do you think?” I asked. “What’s up with the call?”
He stared at the screen for a moment, then said, “I don’t know. Why on earth would that phone try to contact the general on his captured cell? Whoever owns it had to know it was no good.”
“So you think it’s a goose chase? A coincidence?”
“In my heart, it stinks, but rationally it’s something we have to focus on. It only rang twice, then disconnected, so it was probably just a knee-jerk dial before moving on to the real phone. A mistake that we can capitalize on.”
“But it might just be a glitch in the network. It’s happened to us before.”
“Too many coincidences here to ignore.” He turned the computer toward me. “For one, the Conrad is right next to the Shangri-La hotel, where we lost Ernie. Maybe this was where he was going all along. Maybe that’s why we found nothing at the Shangri-La. We lost him at that point, so it’s possible.”
I thought about our next actions. We had the IMEIs for the other four phones, but so far they hadn’t become active. This cell was the only lead we had right now, as flaky as it was. Ignoring it could cause us to lose the virus.
We can always redirect later.
“All right. We’re going to stage at the new hotel and track whoever has that phone. I need someone to stay here and monitor it and the other four handsets. I want you to do that.”
Knuckles bristled, saying, “Pike, I’m sick of getting treated like a leper. Let someone else do it. I want in the fight. Retro’s better at this shit than I am.”
I glanced behind me to make sure nobody was listening, then said, “Knuckles, I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I need some judgment here, not simply a phone track. I need a 2IC that’s not engaged. You’re taking this the wrong way. I’d love to have you on the ground, but I don’t need another gun. What I need is some solid advice I trust. Please.”
A small piece of hurt flitted across his face, but only for an instant. “Yeah. I can do it. Shit, anyone could. Get out of here.”
I kept my eyes on him for a second, about to say something else, when Jennifer interrupted. Which only made him feel worse, I’m sure. He had become a believer in her capabilities, but it had to hurt knowing I was more willing to take her into a potential gunfight than him. He misunderstood how much I needed his brain, becoming fixated on the idea that I felt he wasn’t ready.
She said, “If we’re going to start tracking that phone, we need to get set. It’s across the harbor.”
“I know. Get them moving. Box the hotel. You’re the surveillance chief. Figure out how you want to skin it.”
Her mouth parted, taken aback at the responsibility. She glanced at Knuckles, then said, “Okay… maybe we should talk about that.”
“Talk about what? Get the team moving. I’ll take over when I get there.”
She squinted at me, seeing through the fact that I was using this to make her better and not liking the test. She turned around and began giving orders. When she said she was the SC until I arrived on site, Decoy looked like he’d been slapped. He snapped his head to me, and I bored into him with my eyes, not saying a word. He clenched his teeth and began packing kit.
Knuckles said, “Wow. Not the call I would have made. What with a pandemic on the way. But I guess you’d be better off with me sitting up here.”
He had a slight grin on his face, and I knew he was kidding. He understood what I was doing because I’d done the same thing with him on a number of occasions.
I said, “I’ll be there before they even get set. I want to get her used to being on equal footing with the team. No better way to do that than putting her in charge. Now scoot over, I need to send Kurt an update.”
He passed me the laptop and said, “Well, good luck with that.”
I began typing my SITREP, saying, “I don’t need luck. I need you watching my back.”
46
Sanjar exited the elevator and moved to a coffee stand inside the marble lobby of the Conrad Hotel, purposely giving whatever team was around time to locate him. He had no idea how they would do that, but the general had told him not to worry. There were technical devices that the enemy would use to track his phone. His job wasn’t to identify the surveillance. He was the bait, and he would lead them on a trail where others would do so.
He paid for the coffee and shouldered the knapsack Malik had given him, an ordinary backpack no different than the ones used by students on college campuses all over the world, currently stuffed with over fifty counterfeit DVDs of the latest Hollywood movies.
Instead of exiting out the front door, he went back up a level and entered the Pacific Place mall, his first choke point. He meandered through it, stopping at a bakery for a bagel, then continuing on.
Malik had instructed him to walk with a purpose, as if he had a destination in mind, but not go so fast that he would force the surveillance effort to stretch out. He wasn’t to lose them but had to convince them he was doing exactly what he appeared to be doing. In no way did he want them to suspect that he was leading them through a series of gates to sift out their surveillance box.
* * *
Answering her phone, Jennifer said, “Where the hell are you? It’s Ernie, and he’s already on the move. We’ve tracked him for about thirty minutes.”
She listened for a second, then interrupted, saying, “Pike, he’s getting on a ferry. Stay on the Kowloon side. We’re coming to you.”
She heard his answer, wanting to fling the phone out into the water. She hung up and clicked over to the team’s internal radio.
“All elements, this is Koko. Pike’s still out of radio range on the Kowloon side. He just got on a ferry, which means he’s going to pass us as we head across.”
Which means I’m still in charge. She didn’t add that last little bit, not liking it any more than the knuckle-draggers on the team.
Decoy came on, his words surprising her. “No worries. We’re doing fine. Everyone, remember your heat state and pass it if you think you’re getting burned. Koko can’t read your mind.”
A tacit approval of her actions so far, and a reminder to the team that she was still in charge. From Decoy, of all people. The comment gave her a boost of self-confidence. Which is probably what he intended. I’m never going to figure out what makes these guys tick.
She said, “Who’s on him now?”
“This is Blood. I got him. Lower deck, toward the stern. I’m three rows back.”
“He still has the pack?”
“Yeah, he’s got it between his legs, and he’s not meeting anyone here. Not yet anyway.”
She said, “I see Retro. Anyone else up here with me?”
The ferry had two separate decks, and she’d chosen the upper one to stay out of the mix until needed. She was sure others had loaded after her, but she made no attempt to locate them, not wanting to associate at all with the re
st of the team and possibly burn the surveillance effort.
Decoy said, “No. I’m on the lower deck, aft.”
“Okay, when we exit, Decoy, pick up the eye until we merge on the gangway. Retro, take it from there. Acknowledge.”
Retro and Decoy both said they understood, and she settled back, trying to think four steps ahead of what she might be asked to do once the ferry docked, knowing it would be at least forty-five minutes until Pike could catch up. With the mantle of leadership fully on her, she began to think through more than just the mechanics of the surveillance. She began to think about the implications, and they weren’t making any sense.
* * *
Malik heard his laptop ping with an e-mail and opened the latest batch of pictures from his countersurveillance effort. He’d had Sanjar walk through multiple choke points strategically positioned on his route to the ferry, with prepositioned countersurveillance taking pictures at each one. He intended to analyze them, matching up anyone who was in each batch. The odds of someone walking the exact same route as Sanjar were beyond remote, so if he got a match, it would mean the plan was in motion.
So far, he’d identified a nondescript man wearing clothes that were about ten years out of date and another, taller man. Both had been in two separate sets of photos, but not at the same choke points. He was hoping either one would pop up in this batch, confirming the surveillance. He didn’t need to identify the entire team. He only needed to confirm there was a team before setting the plan in motion.
He scanned the photos and froze, zooming in on one.
The cleric was right.
Staring at the lens of the camera was the black man who had chased him in Singapore.
He inserted a SIM card into one of the Galaxy phones from Sin Tat and called Sanjar, now not wanting the Islamic center landline tied to the cell phone they were using as bait.
He said, “They’re on you right now. Don’t worry about following the route anymore. When you get off the ferry, head straight to the park, but still come around the Islamic center. Get them to walk by the cameras. Remember, you need to make the fight convincing.”
