All Necessary Force

by Brad Taylor

  “Watch yourself, Mr. Ellis. You fear what’s on the camera when the real danger is in front of you. If I had contacts with State Security, I might be inclined to call them for other reasons.”

  Ellis backpedaled. “I just meant you have a lot of pull with the Chinese government and could probably help. Nothing more. It would be conducive to our business.”

  “Let’s discuss that first. When and where will we transfer the equipment?”

  “Here in Cairo. I’ll give you specific instructions later. A plane will land at the airport in Alexandria, and I’ll transport the equipment here. From there, I’m out of it. It’s up to you to get it out of the country.”

  “When? We are only here for one week.”

  Ellis passed him a local cell phone he’d purchased. “I’ll call you twenty-four hours before the transfer. It’ll be within a week.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Look, I have to get back to my delegation before they wonder what happened to me. I don’t want to meet again. Are we good?”

  Han said, “Yes, up to a point. If I haven’t heard from you in five days, I’m going to find you. You won’t have to worry about the camera.”

  Ellis felt sweat trickle down his sides. “Hey, no need for threats. I’ve always been good. Ask your other folks. We go back a long ways. The proof may be on that camera.”

  “I’ll make some calls. Forget about the camera. Focus on the transfer. Give me the information on the man.”

  Ellis gave him all he knew and left, winding his way back through the maze of booths. As he walked, he replayed the conversation in his mind. He realized the power scale had shifted. Somewhere along the line, he had fallen from a valued asset to a tool to be used. He had always called the shots, with the Chinese accepting whatever he offered. Now he was being outright threatened to produce. Even with the risk of the camera, an uncomfortable truth settled in: His greatest danger was no longer his own country discovering his activities. He’d never seen that coming.

  14

  Keshawn walked through the woods around the substation, sketching what he could see of the interior. This one was a distribution point, one of the substations around the state that took the power from high-voltage lines coming from the generation plants and stepped down the voltage to something the residents and businesses could use. He was looking for the piece of equipment that made the step-down possible—an extremely high voltage transformer. He didn’t know why, but he’d been tasked to gather information on every substation that housed an EHVT. So, when his daily rounds took him by one, he stopped and sketched. Not many of them did, but enough to keep him busy.

  He’d been specifically told to look at the line of sight, to find a vantage point where he could clearly see the transformer from outside the chain-link fence. A position where the view wasn’t blocked by the myriad of other components inside the substation. The contact had said, “See where you could attack it from the outside with a rifle.”

  He knew that a rifle would do little damage to the transformer, since each one weighed over twenty tons and stood fifteen feet tall, but he liked the sound of the tasking.

  Attack.

  15

  After pushing Jennifer to enter the travel agency, I had worried like a grandmother until she was out. Not about her safety, but about whether she’d get the information. It was a simple task, but the repercussions would ripple through the Taskforce grapevine if she failed. Precisely because it was a simple task. I should have known the worrying was a waste of time. After all, I’d trained her.

  Jennifer had had no trouble inside the travel agency. She found out that the JI guy maintained an office there but was out of town for another week. Maybe more. She’d spent most of her time setting up a trip to Solo on the eastern part of the island, where archeologists had found one of the earliest known hominid skeletons. Whatever the hell a hominid is.

  After passing the information, we spent a day and a half at a UNESCO world heritage site, Jennifer running around like a child while the rest of us wondered if the hotel had a bar. Fortunately, before Jennifer could find other sites to go explore, we got another message. Which meant another mission. Johnny was really wearing out his welcome, but it did get us out of the jungle and back to Jakarta.

  Knuckles got the coffee this time. “He wants to meet to talk about it. I didn’t get any instructions.”

  “Where?”

  “A place called the Bar Fly Club. It’s on Jalan Jaksa. Apparently, it’s where all the expats hang out, so we’ll blend in fine.”

  Contacting Johnny or his team face-to-face was a risk because it would tie our two covers together when they had no business meeting, like a Wall Street banker having lunch with a pimp. It would have to be carefully managed.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “Pretty simple. He’ll be playing darts. We’ll get a beer, then go play darts with him. Introduce ourselves as fellow Americans, bullshit a little bit, then get down to business.”

  It was plausible. Expatriates naturally congregated, so our actions wouldn’t draw too much attention. As long as neither of us was being targeted, it should work. Knuckles read my mind.

  “He’s sure his guys are clean. They’ve done nothing to spike. He’ll have the team wash us. Once we get to the bar, we just get a table and wait. If we see another teammate join Johnny at darts, it means we’re clean and the meeting’s a go. If nobody shows by seven thirty, we walk out, meeting canceled.”

  We spent the rest of the day scouting the area. At precisely seven, we entered the bar. It was a seedy little place, consisting of outdoor seating and a small inside area with a pool table and a dartboard. It was already crowded with backpackers staying in the hostels on Jalan Jaksa and expats from all over the world lined up at the bar. Johnny was at the dartboard, throwing with another man I didn’t recognize.

  We got a few beers and took the only inside table that was open, trying to talk over the groan of the overworked and useless air conditioner.

  Jennifer watched the dart game for a minute, then said, “Is Johnny religious?”

  Knuckles laughed. “Hell, no. Why?”

  “His baseball cap has a Bible verse on the back.”

  Knuckles looked at me, passing the ball for the answer. I said, “Uhh… That’s just an inside joke. A Taskforce joke.”

  Before I had to explain further, a man I did recognize joined Johnny’s group. I couldn’t recall his name, but he was Taskforce.

  Knuckles said, “That’s our cue.”

  We got up and sauntered over to the dartboard, spending twenty minutes introducing ourselves, throwing darts, and generally playing the “where you from” game like expats always did. Finally, Johnny said, “You’re clean. Let’s get a table outside.”

  We were assaulted by the heat as soon as we exited. Even at night, the humidity caused my clothes to stick. Johnny found an isolated spot and didn’t waste any time. “I want you guys to do a B&E on the travel agency and get into Noordin’s computer.”

  The task caught me by surprise. Breaking and entering wasn’t a risk-free proposition, and he already had the experts here for that. I couldn’t understand why he wanted to even enter in the first place.

  I said, “We’ve got the best hackers in the world in D.C. Why take the risk of breaking in?”

  “Yeah, I know, and we’ve already cracked the network, but there’s close to a hundred computers in that building, all on the same ISP. The guys have to go through each one, line by line, to see if it’s the right one. It’ll take a month.”

  Knuckles chimed in. “So? That’s what we do. Slow and patient. You push the issue, and you’ll burn the Taskforce.”

  “I know, but there’s a lot of chatter right now. Something big is going on, and the boss is willing to push it. Nobody has any leads, and this guy might be involved. CIA, FBI, and DOD are all pinging red, but with nothing concrete. It’s coming from all sorts of groups. JI, GSPC, AQ—everyone’s talking about a hit.”

  “Wh
y us?” I said. “You’ve got the Taskforce team. We’ve only got a couple of operators and a cover organization.”

  “Because you’ve already seen the inside of the building. You know the layout.”

  “Bullshit. Jennifer’s the only one that’s been inside.”

  “Right.”

  He didn’t say anything else, and it dawned on me that he wanted Jennifer to do the B&E.

  “Whoa. Wait a minute. We’re just the cover organization. You guys do the operations. We just facilitate.”

  “Pike, come on, don’t feed me that shit. You’re the only cover organization in the Taskforce that’s run by operators. What did you think was going to happen when you started traveling? You expect me to believe you wanted to sit on the sidelines?”

  I looked at Jennifer and saw she had caught the reference. He had said operators. Plural.

  He continued, “You know this makes sense. Why send in someone who doesn’t know the floor plan when you can send in someone who’s already been inside?”

  He had a valid point. It’s exactly what I’d do—if I had my own team. But I didn’t, and Jennifer was brand spanking new. She’d never done anything like this outside of training, and it was my fault she was in this position. I’m the one who had forced her to go inside in the first place. This was a much bigger risk, and Knuckles saw it the same way.

  He said, “Johnny, I agree with what you’re saying, but I don’t know. Jennifer’s not ready for this. She’s never done a live operation.”

  “Jesus,” Johnny said. “She’s not going in alone. She’ll have my team there with her. I just want to use her knowledge of the floor plan. We’ll do the hard work.”

  Jennifer spoke up. “I’ll do it.”

  We all looked at her as if we’d forgotten she was there.

  “I’ll do it on one condition. My guys go inside with me. No offense.”

  I scowled and she mouthed What? I looked at Knuckles and Bull. “What do you think?”

  Bull said, “If someone’s going in regardless, might as well be us getting the high adventure.”

  Knuckles nodded, saying, “I’m game, but I think it’s a bad idea all the way around. Not Jennifer or us going in, but anyone going in. Too risky. Especially for a fishing trip.”

  Johnny was smiling, knowing he’d won. “It’s not my call. Someone getting paid the big bucks wants it done, so don’t fret over it.”

  I said, “Okay. What was your plan?”

  “Well, we haven’t seen any security guards—even with the jewelry wholesaler on the third floor—so that’s not a threat. Basically, the place is wired with CCTV cameras and an alarm system, but they’re all linked into a central hub. Unfortunately, it’s a closed network. We can’t find an access point on the Web, and we’ve looked hard. We can still gain control of the SCADA system if we can just get to a wire anywhere on the network.”

  SCADA stood for supervisory control and data acquisition and was an egghead phrase for the computer system that controlled the security of the building. It came from industrial processes where a computer monitored all aspects of production to ensure efficiency. More and more commercial facilities were networked this way, with one overarching computer controlling everything from the air-conditioning to the lighting—sometimes in a location hundreds of miles away from the building.

  I said, “Where were you planning on gaining SCADA control?”

  “There’s a blockhouse out back. We’re pretty sure that’s where the lines are feeding. Once we had control, one team would enter while another pulled security, using the cameras all over the building.”

  “How sure are you about the blockhouse?”

  Johnny grimaced. “Well, not one hundred percent. I was going to crack that first, put on a slave unit, then crack the building. If we couldn’t figure it out, or the blockhouse was bad, we’d just pull back.”

  Knuckles said, “You just need a data line that’s in the network?”

  Johnny nodded. “Yeah. We only need about two inches for the slave unit to function. It’s got a broadcast range of about a quarter mile, so anywhere nearby’s good enough.”

  “Why not just use one of the wires coming out of the cameras?”

  “We thought about that, but they’re all on the exterior of the building above the second floor. I thought it would be easier to crack the blockhouse than climb the building. We don’t have any climbing gear.”

  “But if you tagged the camera, you’d know you had the network, right?”

  “Yes,” Johnny said. “But I just told you, we don’t have any climbing gear, and I’m not risking a guy trying to do that freehand. If he fell, the whole operation would be shot. On camera, no less.”

  I saw where Knuckles was going. “But what if you had the climbing gear? That’d be a better choice, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it would.” He squinted at me. “Don’t tell me you guys brought climbing gear.”

  “Something better. We brought a monkey.”

  16

  Jennifer was halfway up the drainpipe to the third floor when she heard movement below her. She saw three men milling around the corner of the building, half in and half out of the shadows. Her foot slid against the pipe, making a soft clanking noise. She held her breath. Please don’t look up.

  When Pike had made the monkey comment, she knew they were talking about her. At first, she had violently disagreed, saying that Johnny was right. There was just too much risk. Pike had worn her down until she eventually agreed to at least see if she could climb the building before she made a decision. She knew it was a simple four-story square from her earlier visit, but she hadn’t really looked for a way up on the outside.

  It turned out to have a solid drainpipe on the back corner, which was hidden in the shadows from the street. Each floor had what looked like a foot-and-a-half ledge circling the building, with a six-foot alley separating the target from the buildings next door. The cameras in question were on the third floor.

  She knew she could climb the building with ease. Pike knew it too and had worked on her until she agreed. In truth, she had secretly been a little thrilled by the challenge. Now, twenty-four hours later, her hands becoming slippery in the cloying humid air, she wondered what the hell she’d been thinking.

  Her earpiece crackled, and Pike’s voice came through like a megaphone. “Koko, you set yet?”

  Jesus Christ, that was loud. She looked down and saw that there were only two men now. Neither glanced up. She clicked twice for no, then clicked rapidly four times. She heard the crackle again while still fumbling with her volume control.

  “I understand you have a situation.”

  She clicked once for yes.

  “Roger. I copy. Do you need assistance?”

  She thought about it, knowing assistance would cause the mission to be scratched. She didn’t want to be the reason for that. If they didn’t hear the first transmission, they won’t hear me move. As long as I’m careful. She clicked twice, and slowly began to climb.

  Five minutes and two near-slips later, she was on the third-floor ledge, looking at the cameras seventy feet away.

  “Pike, this is Koko. I’m on the third floor.”

  Stupid call sign. While at Solo, Jennifer had explained to Knuckles the importance of the Java man hominid and his possible link between apes and humans. She had made the mistake of talking about Koko, a lowland gorilla that could communicate in sign language. Knuckles had then given her the name as her call sign for the mission. It had done no good to explain that lowland gorillas weren’t monkeys.

  “Roger,” Pike said. “Standing by.”

  Movement inside the building caught her attention. She could see the glass cases of the jewelry wholesaler in the security lighting, full of samples for retailers to peruse. Just outside the door, behind the bars, stood a man.

  “Pike, there’s someone inside the building. At the jewelry store.”

  There was a pause, then, “Roger. Security guard?”

>   “No. Stand by.”

  The man had bent down and opened a duffel bag. He pulled out a hammer and a canvas sack, setting them carefully on the ground next to the door. Then he pulled out a cordless drill.

  “He’s a thief. He’s got a drill. He’s breaking in.” Her voice came out rushed and panicky, embarrassing her.

  Pike’s came back like he was ordering doughnuts. “Roger all. Break-break, Johnny, we’re aborting. I say again, we’re aborting.”

  “Roger. I copy.”

  Jennifer cut in. “Pike, I can’t get down. There’s two men at the bottom of my drainpipe. I can’t jump from this height.”

  Pike’s voice reflected urgency for the first time. “I copy. What’s the guy inside doing?”

  The man had placed his duffel bag by the stairwell and was kneeling in front of the door, working a drill bit into the drill. The canvas sack and hammer were by his side. Clearly, he intended to defeat the lock, set off the alarm, then use the hammer to smash the glass cases in the jewelry store, stealing whatever he could before the police arrived.

  “He’s preparing to drill the lock. When he gets through that, the alarm’s going to go off.”

  “Roger. Johnny, how’d he get in? Has he already set off an alarm?”

  “I won’t know for sure without the SCADA, but I don’t think so. My bet is that alarm is pretty damn loud. I doubt they’d have just a silent one.”

  The man had finished with the bit and began working the lock.

  “Pike, he’s drilling.”

  Pike came back immediately. “Go to the camera. Initiate the slave unit. Johnny, shut off the alarm. Don’t let it go off.”

  Jennifer had begun moving before he was done, reaching the camera in seconds. She heard Johnny say, “Then what?” followed by Pike’s “How should I know? One step at a time.”

  She found the wire with the red stripe leading out of the camera. Should be the data line. She pulled out the slave unit, a device the size of an average pager with a small antenna on the side. On the bottom were two claws designed to cut through the insulation to the metal beneath. She clamped the unit onto the wire, seeing a blinking red light. This is great. The alarm’s going to go off and I’m going to have a spotlight on my ass like a bad King Kong movie.