The Widow's Strike pl-4

by Brad Taylor

  He hung up and dialed another number. “Sanjar is coming now. Don’t lose them once they pick up the pack.”

  The man on the other end said, “What do you want me to do if they don’t pick it up? You want me to take them out?”

  “No! Don’t do that. They’ll pick up the pack. When that happens, alert me and follow them until I can bring in the police.”

  “But I’ll be in a position to attack. We’ll miss our opportunity. It’s why my team was flown here.”

  Remembering the debacle in Thailand the year before, when the immature men had prematurely exploded an improvised device in their safe house, Malik let some steel into his voice. “Do not attempt anything against the Americans. Understand? I want this handled quietly. Let the police do their job.”

  He hung up the phone and dialed one more number, this to a contact who would alert the Hong Kong police force.

  He had toyed with many different ideas of how to prevent the team from interfering with his plan, ranging from an outright ambush like the one espoused by the new team leader to some sort of poison or accident. He’d realized he was looking at the problem too narrowly. He only needed to remove them, not necessarily kill or maim any of the members. He’d hit upon his idea when talking with Sanjar about Sin Tat Plaza.

  China was a free-for-all of copycat articles, from Adidas shoes to Apple computers. The Chinese routinely counterfeited anything they could get their hands on, much to the chagrin of the United States. While the Great Satan screamed about copyright infringements, China did little to stem the black market of goods. Even so, the pressure was there, so he’d decided to use that as leverage. What better way to show China was serious about stopping counterfeit goods than to arrest some Americans who were trafficking in them?

  Using his IRGC contacts, he’d let it be known to the authorities that Americans involved in the transport of black-market DVDs were in Hong Kong, and he had set up a sting, with only the time and place unknown. He knew that the Americans would assume the DVDs held important IRGC information and would take them with them for exploitation. All he had to do was locate where they went, then send in the police. With any luck, they’d come upon the entire team watching a grainy copy of the movie Argo. It wouldn’t matter that there was nothing but smoke in his whole artifice, with no other evidence than the bag of goods. China would want to crow about it anyway and wasn’t very concerned with the rights of the accused.

  The thought made him smile.

  47

  Walking up Kowloon Park Drive, Jennifer heard, “He’s still on Ashley, headed north. It’s tight in here. My heat state is getting bad.”

  She said, “Pull off. Blood, can you intersect?”

  He said, “Looking at the map, Ashley dead-ends into an apartment complex. If he’s continuing north, he’ll have to cut over to Hankow Road. I’m on that now. Decoy, can you stay on him until he passes the last cut-through? If he keeps going, we know his destination is close and I can take the eye from there.”

  Decoy said, “Yeah. I can stop here and see that. Stand by.”

  Jennifer initiated the map on her phone, seeing the large expanse of Kowloon Park just beyond the apartment complex he mentioned, across Haiphong Road. A building at the corner of the park caught her eye. An Islamic center.

  She said, “Retro, what’s your status?”

  “Parallel on Nathan.”

  “You see the park on your map?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look at the southeast corner. It’s the Kowloon Mosque and Islamic Centre. I want you to move to that location. I think he might be headed there.”

  “You got it.”

  Decoy said, “He just cut over. He’s unsighted.”

  A minute went by with nothing, putting a knot in Jennifer’s stomach. Should have diverted Retro to Decoy. Shouldn’t have let him get out of sight.

  Then her radio came to life. “This is Blood. I’ve got the eye. Now headed north on Hankow.”

  Toward the center.

  A second later her phone buzzed, a call from Knuckles.

  “One of the IMEI phones just went active. It’s at the Islamic center next to Kowloon Park.”

  Which confirmed her thoughts. And also triggered a little bit of an alarm.

  * * *

  Malik knew Sanjar was only blocks away and began scanning his camera feeds. He didn’t have real-time radio contact, only the cell phone, and didn’t want to miss him.

  Watching the screen, he realized that catching Sanjar passing by was going to be problematic. The view was so narrow that he would have only a split second, the cameras obviously designed for looking at tape after the fact instead of continuous monitoring for any preventive purposes. He’d made sure that no such recording was happening now.

  Focused on the mass of people flowing up and down Nathan Road, a solitary figure caught his attention, precisely because he wasn’t moving. It was the man with the out-of-date clothes. Part of the surveillance effort. Part of the devil’s team.

  * * *

  Jennifer reached the entrance to Kowloon Park and magnified it on her map. A large expanse of terrain smack in the heart of Hong Kong, it housed everything from a sculpture garden to a fitness trail, with the entire area landscaped much like a zoo. The only thing missing was the animals.

  The Islamic center was to her right, but she decided to ignore it, heading into the park. She walked for about a hundred meters, winding around the trails until she found a park bench on the north end of a sculpture garden, a lily pond off to her right. She sat, pretending to read her tour guide and waiting on the call that the target had entered the Islamic center, something she was convinced would happen.

  The time dripped by and she returned to Knuckles’s information about the IMEI cell phone, wondering yet again about the circumstances of the entire mission. None of it fit.

  Why would Ernie live in that slovenly hostel if he had a room at the Conrad Hotel? Especially since the name they had from the flight manifest in Singapore, and had now confirmed with the passport photocopy from the Sin Tat mission, hadn’t shown up in the Conrad registry? It wasn’t because he was afraid of being found. The room wasn’t tied to him. And why would he be using a phone from Singapore after he’d just purchased four new handsets? With one of those new handsets now talking to him on the old, compromised phone?

  It was almost like he wanted to be found.

  She dialed Pike to relay her fears. Wanting someone else to make the call about ending the effort.

  “You back across yet?”

  “Yeah, just landed. Where are you?”

  “Kowloon Park. I think he’s going to the Islamic center on the southeast corner. He gets in there, and all bets are off.”

  “Any sign you’ve spiked?”

  “Not that we can tell. He’s still out in the open, not pulling anything stupid.”

  “Just keep on him. You’re doing great. Sorry for the mess-up with the ferry, but you got us this far. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Pike, I don’t like this. I think it’s a setup.”

  “Why?”

  “Just the whole set of circumstances. It doesn’t make any sense. The general is pretty damn smart, and after Thailand and Singapore, I think he’s trying to regain the offensive. We should pull off. Let him think he’s won and focus on the other phones.”

  “Well, do what you believe is right. I’ll be there as soon as I can. If you call it, you call it.”

  She said nothing for a moment, prompting Pike. “You still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Pike, I can’t call it. I’m not the team leader.”

  “Jennifer, I’m not there. I wish I hadn’t put you in this position, but that’s water under the bridge. I can’t call what I don’t know. You’re on the ground. You see something that doesn’t fit, then make a decision. Otherwise, he’s the biggest lead we have. Nobody is going to second-guess.”

  Bullshit. Everybody is going to second-guess.

&nbs
p; All she said was, “Okay. Get your ass up here. I’m ready to turn over the radio.”

  48

  Malik kept his eye on the man with retro clothing, waiting on him to do something alerting. He checked the view of the northern camera, making sure he could see into the small courtyard adjacent to the mosque. A stair-step down from the park, it was a little grotto used for some Chinese ceremony or celebration he couldn’t fathom. Forty feet long and twenty wide, it was layered in concrete, with stone benches lining the walls on both sides and small concrete tables interspersed at regular intervals, with the ash of candles or incense burned into the surfaces of the slabs next to the benches. It had never been occupied in the reconnaissance he had done before and was the perfect place for his little drama to play out. He could control the outcome along with the follow-on surveillance effort, as there were only two exits.

  He returned to the stationary man and saw him back up. Within seconds, Sanjar entered the screen. A brief blip of recognition, then gone. Right behind him was the black man from Singapore. They disappeared from view, and he felt the adrenaline begin to flow. Even here, where he would have no ability to alter the outcome. He chewed his lip, praying the new men did what they had been asked to do.

  Everything up until this point had been easy, something he could have done with a few children from his neighborhood. It would all be irrelevant if they didn’t manage to follow the target long enough to give the Hong Kong police a location, be it on the street or in a hotel.

  He turned to the grotto camera and saw Sanjar enter. His protégé stood for a moment, then pulled out a map from his pocket and made a show of bringing it to his face. An ostentatious demonstration that he was signaling someone. More fodder for the surveillance to see. More evidence that what was about to occur required their attention.

  He saw the team leader enter from the camera’s upper reaches. Malik had no sound but knew what was about to occur. He hoped it looked real. He needn’t have worried. The team leader whispered into Sanjar’s ear, then smacked him on the back of the head. Sanjar looked shocked, as he probably was, and pushed the man. They began shouting, then Sanjar, apparently truly furious, punched the team leader in the mouth and knocked him to the ground. He stood over him with a snarl on his face, only to be attacked from the left, by the man who was supposed to pick up the surveillance to follow.

  Idiot!

  Malik’s great plan was breaking down over nothing more than childish emotion. He couldn’t believe it. How were they supposed to compete in the world of the vipers when he was given men such as this?

  He stood up, fists clenched, wanting to run into the grotto but knowing it was worthless. He saw Sanjar fall, roll to his left, and get up on his knees, holding his hands up, as if begging for mercy. He dropped the backpack and stood. Then he lashed out with a foot, catching the team leader in the testicles and felling him like a tree.

  Sanjar screamed something at the other man and took off running, the man in hot pursuit.

  Malik let out a breath. The wrong man was now chasing Sanjar, but the entire team knew the plan. As long as they stuck to the script, the trap was set.

  Except for the idiot in the grotto now cupping his balls. No way would the Americans enter for the bag as long as he lay there rolling around.

  He willed the team leader to rise. To vacate the small concrete space and allow the American devil to retrieve the bag. On-screen the man was breathing in ragged gasps, a thin stream of spittle on his lips, curled into a ball. If he waited too long, the trap would fail.

  Get up!

  He saw the team leader rise, the grainy image doing nothing to mask the pure rage on his face. A rage that would want an outlet. Perhaps he would give him Sanjar when this was over. After all, the script hadn’t called for a kick to the groin. The man limped off to the south, around the corner of the building away from Nathan Road. Out of sight.

  Malik waited, both the man with the bad clothes and the black operative still out of view of the camera. The clock ticked, and still nothing occurred. He unconsciously held his breath.

  And then the black man cautiously advanced, looking left and right. He paused, surveying the scene, then approached rapidly, snatching up the bag. He ran four feet before stopping abruptly. Malik saw him talking to the air, then dropping the bag.

  What is he doing?

  * * *

  Jennifer heard the situation reports from Blood and began to believe she had been mistaken in her misgivings, silently thanking the gods that she hadn’t called off the surveillance and missed the golden egg that had just been laid into their lap. Whatever was occurring had nothing to do with them. The fight was clearly real, an internal dispute between factions.

  It had happened faster than she or the rest of the team could collate, and now Ernie was on the run without the pack. Only a single man standing between them and retrieval. The virus could very well be inside that ruck, and for whatever reason the men at the meeting had chosen to fight instead of pass.

  She maintained her position in the sculpture garden, listening to the updates on the radio. Blood said he’d lost sight of Ernie, then Retro said the final man had left the area. She heard Blood commit to the grotto, moving toward the bag. Then she caught sight of Ernie running to her front.

  He was followed by another man, and as they reached the edge of the sculpture garden, both slowed. Ernie stopped completely and was met by his chaser. The man slapped his shoulder hard, and Ernie pushed back. But there was no longer any fear in either of them.

  What in the world?

  She stood up, moving to the grotto at a rapid pace, studying them both. When she reached the far side of the garden, right next to the entrance of the grotto, she saw Ernie put his arm around the other man’s shoulder.

  A trap. It’s a trap.

  “Blood, Blood, this is Koko. Let the bag go. I say again, let the bag go.”

  “What are you talking about? I have it now with no issue. I screened it. No explosives or anything. It’s full of DVDs. No threat.”

  “Drop it, drop it now. I don’t know why it’s bad, but get rid of it and get out.”

  Decoy cut in, his voice patronizing. “Koko, he’s got the bag without a problem. Let’s reassess back at the hotel. We’re exfiling now. Get off the radio and meet us in the TOC.”

  Two hours before, she would have acquiesced, but Pike had squarely placed the mantle of leadership on her. On her. Letting Decoy override her decision was the easy path. The one she should have chosen. He would be to blame if the decision was wrong. But now she couldn’t, because she knew it was wrong.

  She keyed the radio, her voice steel. “Drop that fucking bag right now. Acknowledge.”

  She waited, then heard Blood say, “Okay, bag at my feet and the guy who got his nuts kicked doesn’t like it. He’s blocking the exit.”

  49

  I reached the outside range of our little covert radios in time to hear the last exchange, and it sent a spike of rage through me. Yeah, I should have been on-site, but I wasn’t, and Jennifer was the designated team leader. It would have been nothing but a little give-and-take, but it looked like she had been right, and the seconds wasted were now turning out to be the difference between life and death.

  I keyed my mike, letting my anger out while assessing the situation. “This is Pike. I’m on-site. All elements shut the fuck up. Blood, don’t push the issue. Back off. Retro and Decoy, provide backup to Blood. Koko, give me a SITREP. What’s the reason for your call?”

  Before she could answer, Blood said, “The guy has a weapon. I can see it underneath his shirt. We’re going into a fight. Do I have clearance for lethal force?”

  Jesus.

  “No. No you don’t. Don’t get into a gunfight unless he shows a weapon. Decoy, Retro, where are you?”

  I was running full out now, inside the park and trying to get to the location with the skimpy directions I had heard over the radio. Retro said, “I’m on him. I got the grotto covered. Blood, ex
it to the south.”

  It was going to happen more quickly than I could control. I reached the sculpture garden Jennifer had described and heard gunfire. The masses in the park all jerked to life, most stiffening and looking left and right, some hitting the deck. Ahead of me two men began running toward the sound of the weapons. I recognized Ernie.

  “Blood, Blood, you got two inbound. Coming right at you. Decoy, Retro, enemy coming from the west.”

  I heard nothing but more sporadic pops, as if they were trading shots hidden behind cover. Which was the worst thing we could have. We needed to hit them with overwhelming force and disappear.

  Retro came on. “Blood’s hit. I can’t get to him, but he’s okay and under cover. The asshole’s hiding in the pillars and taking potshots. All I can do is suppress.”

  I saw Ernie and his pal running to the end of the garden, both with weapons out, a good seventy meters away. Too far for a shot with the civilians scrambling around.

  “Decoy, where are you?”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  Ernie reached the entrance to the grotto, leaping over a woman screaming uncontrollably on the ground. His first foot hit the ground, and she grabbed the leg still over her body. She rose, twisting him in midair and driving him into the concrete.

  Jennifer.

  His buddy whirled and raised his weapon. I screamed to stop the shot and saw his head explode. Out of the bushes, Decoy burst onto the deck and hammered Ernie in the face with his weapon. He jerked Jennifer to her feet and both raced down the stairs into the grotto.

  I ran as fast as I could, closing the distance in seconds. I heard a firecracking of rounds, then nothing. I slammed into the grotto, leaping straight down from the top of the stairs, and found the team split between a dead Arab and Blood getting first aid.

  Jennifer was wrapping a compress around Blood’s upper arm with Decoy helping. He saw my anger and raised his hands as if I was going to knock him out, which, actually, I was considering.