The Widow's Strike (20 page)

B
lood set his
pack on
the floor and went into a stall while I placed an acoustic device against the door. I listened for a second, then turned to him and nodded.

Standing on the water tank, he maneuvered one of the ceiling tiles aside, then scampered into the hole like a squirrel. I removed the device from the door, grabbed my pack and passed it through the hole, then clambered up.

I moved down the steel I-beam, giving him room to reposition the tile, and we sat in the darkness for a second, letting our eyes get used to the gloom, the lights from below faintly illuminating the space. Saying it was claustrophobic was an understatement, with barely two feet between us and the floor above. Stinking from mildew, the beam covered in something I hoped wasn’t rat dung, I seated a headlamp with a red-lens light.

Blood did the same, the feeble glow barely penetrating the darkness, but doing enough to show us the beams we would need to traverse to the store.

Would be pretty embarrassing to fall through the tiles onto the guard desk.

I keyed my headset and said, “We’re in,” and we began to crawl toward our first objective. We passed a large aluminum air duct, and Blood whispered, “Exfil.”

We were going out through the roof, but the only way between floors, outside of using the stairs or elevators, was through the ductwork in the building. And the only way into that was from the outlet in the store. In effect, we either succeeded or learned to live like the rats who’d shit everywhere until the rest of the team could figure out how to exfiltrate us.

I heard Chinese spoken below us, and we paused. The tone sounded conversational, without alarm, so we continued on, moving like a couple of sloths. We reached what should have been objective number one and Blood paused, scanning left and right with his faint light until he found a CAT 5 digital cable snaking its way up an I-beam.

I swung my pack around and pulled out a hijacking device that was the size of a large beeper with two spring-loaded claw feet on the side. Praying the video feed wasn’t encrypted, I clamped it to the cable, the claws biting through the plastic covering to the wires beneath. I switched it on and got a green signal.

“Retro, switch is active. You got a feed?”

Retro, located next door in a hotel room that was rented by the hour, said, “Stand by.”

We sat, breathing through our mouths in shallow pants while the guards continued to talk. A bead of sweat built up on my nose, then dripped onto the ceiling tile beneath me. I wiped my eyes, feeling the seconds tick by.

“Pike, Retro. I got it. Feed’s active. I can see both guards. They’re sitting down chatting.”

“Roger. Moving.”

We reached the far wall and Blood began scooting east until he reached a junction of two I-beams. He leaned into my ear.

“This is where the motion detector is.”

I nodded and slid my pack around again, pulling out a clear plastic water bottle with the lid cut off and a length of string taped to the bottom. Blood gingerly pulled open a tile. Sitting directly below him, mounted on the wall, was the motion detector. Blood had surreptitiously taken a picture of it earlier, while “shopping” for phones, and the Taskforce had identified it as an old model. One that was easy to trick.

It didn’t really detect motion but rather the infrared energy projected by the human body, much like those annoying garage lights that flip on when you walk by them. The sensor constantly evaluated the amount of infrared coming its way and was calibrated to detect the heat put off by human skin. Unfortunately for it, while light passes just fine through windows or other transparent things, infrared energy does not. Thus, the thing could be stymied with something as simple as a clear water bottle. The trick was getting it on.

The sensor was angled down, where the threat was supposed to be located, so as long as I wore insulated gloves and kept my hands high, I would be good.

That’s what the Taskforce had said, anyway.

I got comfortable on the beam, lying lengthwise. I put on the gloves and slowly lowered the bottle, getting its lip beneath the sensor. I inched it up and over, then sealed it down with a very light strip of Scotch tape.

“Retro, Pike. Guards moving?”

“Nope. Still just sitting around.”

I nodded at Blood and dropped the twine affixed to the bottom of the bottle through the open tile. Blood slid over until he was hanging, then lightly fell the short distance to the ground. I passed him my pack and followed suit.

The store was only about thirty feet by thirty feet, most of the space taken up with row upon row of cell phones.

I whispered, “Where to now? Where do they keep the receipts?”

Blood pointed to a small filing cabinet beneath the cash register. It was secured with an incredibly complex original equipment lock that took all of five seconds to break. I wasn’t sure why they even bothered to use it, since it could have been picked by a five-year-old with a plastic spoon. We split up the receipts and began going through them.

Every cell purchased by a foreigner had to record the passport information of the person who bought it, which was a two-for-one in this case. All we had to do was find the receipts for anyone from Iran and we’d know the IMEI and the name the person was using. If we found more than one, I was going to kick a wall.

Two minutes later Blood tapped my arm. He was holding a Xeroxed copy of Ernie’s passport, along with a receipt for the purchase of four different Samsung Galaxy phones. Including the IMEI numbers.

I grinned, laid out the receipt and passport photocopy, and scanned them both with my Taskforce smartphone, sending the PDF file to Retro.

We packed everything up just like we’d found it, then, while Blood opened the air conditioner intake, I repositioned the ceiling tiles back in place.

I took the string attached to the water bottle and wriggled into the duct, letting it play out. Blood followed, bringing up the intake grillwork. When he nodded, I ripped off the bottle and pulled it inside. As soon as it was clear, Blood reattached the grille. We inched backward until we hit a ninety-degree upright bend and I squatted down, allowing him to climb over me and onto my shoulders, his feet on my hands. When he was ready, I stood up and then pressed upward as far as I could, like a demented cheerleader at a football game. I was struggling to maintain the weight and about to let him slide back down when his feet left me.

I looked up to see them snaking inside the next floor’s duct. I waited until he had accessed the office above, knowing he couldn’t turn around inside the duct. Eventually, his head poked back out, and he lowered a line with a loop on the bottom. I placed my foot in it and waited until he was back out again.

I heard, “Pike, Blood. I’m set.”

“Coming.”

I placed both hands on either side of the duct and began inching up, the rope sling stabilizing me while Blood hoisted. Eventually, I reached the open duct and snaked my way inside. I spilled into the office and found Blood was sweating profusely.

“Man, you need to go on a diet. I got the short end of the stick on that one.”

I outweighed him by about fifty pounds, so I guess he had a point.

“Sorry. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

We exited the office, now on the second floor, and jogged to the stairwell, right where the blueprints said it would be. Blood had his hand on the door before I saw the problem. I slapped it away.

“This thing has an alarm lead.”

The plan was to exfil through the roof, monkey-crawling across a rope and into the hotel room adjacent to the building. We figured the roof access would be alarmed but didn’t mind that, because we’d be out and across before anyone reached it to explore. When they found nothing, they’d assume it was simply a malfunction. Now we’d be giving them a hell of a head start, because they’d get alerted while we were still running up the stairs.

“Koko, Pike. You set?”

I got nothing.

“Koko, Koko, this is Pike, you set?”

“Pike, this is Knuckles. She never called for the shot.”

Shit
. Knuckles was in the same room as Retro and was going to use a ResQmax line thrower to shoot her the rope once she was on the roof. It looked somewhat like a handheld leaf blower with a folding stock attached and worked off of compressed air, so it was fairly quiet and could reach distances upwards of one hundred meters. We, of course, had modified it to make it much smaller and almost silent. The downside was that it couldn’t toss a heavy rope like its bigger brother, so we’d have to shoot a thin line to the rooftop, then tie that to the real rope, pulling it across as our escape bridge.

Which should have already happened.

“Koko, Koko, you there?”

I heard nothing, then someone panting. “Yes. I’m here if you’d give me half a second to anchor myself to talk.”

“What’s your status?”

“I’ve got two floors to go. And before you start complaining, the damn guard didn’t speak English, but he knew someone who did. A policeman who was kind enough to personally put me on the subway. I’ve been up and down the peninsula.”

I saw Blood laughing and couldn’t help but grin myself. “Okay, okay, no rush, but there’s an alarm lead here, so when we start coming, we’re going to be moving fast.”

She spat out, “Fine. That’s just fine. Now let me climb.”

I grinned again at Blood, both of us acting like schoolboys, when Retro came on.

“Pike, you might have to rush after all. One guard just moved to the elevator.”

T
he grins vanished.
Blood began
walking down the hallway, checking doors. I said, “Why? What’s he doing?”

“I guess just making the rounds. Find a place to hide.”

Blood came jogging back. “All the doors have keypads. We can’t even get back into the office we used.”

My mind began to spin, looking for options but only returning to the thought of us running from floor to floor trying to outwit the guards, with them closing the noose every time we tripped a stairwell alarm. Until they flooded the place with police.

“Retro, can we get into an elevator? Can we hide there if we don’t push any keys?”

“No. What do you think I’m watching him on? The elevators have cameras.”

Damn it
.

“He’s stopped on the second floor. Now unsighted.”

Because these hallways don’t have cameras.

I raced to the nearest office door, pulled out my phone, and took a picture of the keypad.

“Retro, I need the factory code for this keypad. It’s got the word
Onlense
on the handle.”

All keypads come with a factory code that’s imbedded into it, and the code is usually standard across the lines of that company. You’re supposed to alter the factory code once you have it installed, but nobody ever does, including banks and even nuclear facilities. It’s a little locksmithing secret that had saved me before.

Retro said, “Stand by, I’m working it.”

Knuckles came on with some encouragement. “This is exactly what got me into trouble in Thailand. I’ll bet the prisons here are better, though.”

Given the size of the building, and depending on which way the guard left from the elevators, we had a couple of minutes to work with. If I saw a light coming down the hall, we’d have no choice but to run into the stairwell.

“Blood, head down the hallway and peek around the bend. Tell me if he’s coming.”

“And if he is?”

“We run into the stairwell, out the ground floor, and onto the street.”

“But I’ll be down the end of the hall. About a mile from the stairwell.”

“Yeah, and you’re faster than me. Go.”

He turned and said, “That happens, it’s every man for himself. I’m pretty sure I can outrun the cops, leaving them to chase only you.”

Retro came on. “Okay, it’s a Chinese company called Guangzhou Onlense Science and Technology.”

“I don’t give a shit who makes it. What’s the code?”

“I’m working it. Stand by.”

I gauged the distance to the stairwell door. “Blood, what do you have?”

“I got a flashlight, but I can’t tell if it’s coming or going.”

“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.”