The Forgotten Soldier: A Pike Logan Thriller (32 page)

63

A
fter identifying the location of the key storage, Guy entered the garage, searching for the valet spaces. There were just two floors, and the valet spaces were fairly easy to find. In minutes, he located the Audi in a corner, away from the lights, one of only seven cars parked in the valet spaces.

Even better.

He checked for cameras and found two, one near the entrance to the garage, and one near the elevators. None focused on the valet parking.

He returned to his car and retrieved his equipment, then went to the front desk, dragging a carry-on roller and holding a briefcase. He checked in, got his keys, then said he was late to meet a friend at a bar—delayed plane and all that—and had no time to go to his room. Would they hold his luggage until he returned?

Of course they would. He watched to ensure that the bag went into the same closet he’d seen before, then exited the hotel, taking the briefcase.

He walked around the block, then penetrated the garage, now moving swiftly. He went straight to the Audi, going around to the front, against the wall, and opened the briefcase, pulling out a black box with an antenna and a digital readout. He turned it on, and saw a read of three different codes from three different cars.

Modern-day vehicles have an enormous amount of encryption technology embedded into the key fobs they use. Rolling codes, time-outs, shifting encryption, all were designed to defeat the latest cat-and-mouse game of stealing the transmitted unlock signal and, for the most part, did prevent him from doing that very thing. But his target also used an RFID transmitter, whereby if the physical fob itself was close to the car, a person could unlock or lock the vehicle simply by touch, without sending a code. It was considered the perfect security, because the signal was so low that the fob had to be present for the door to unlock—within a meter or two—and if the fob was present, it must either be stolen or be from the owner.

If it were stolen, then no amount of encryption would matter. After all, if someone stole the keys to a 1970 Volkswagen, the same thing would occur. So it wasn’t something to worry about. Except ingenious thieves had found a work-around.

His contact in Beirut had developed an amplifier that would take the weak signal of the key fob and transmit it over four hundred meters to a mated receiver, which would, in turn, transmit the same signal to the car. In effect, tricking the car into thinking the fob was present, the computer inside not realizing the fob had turned into the size of a briefcase.

It wasn’t exactly easy, as the amplifier had to be within two meters of the key fob, and had to be there for the length of time it took to enter the vehicle. Not a technique that would work with someone moving around with the key fob in his or her pocket. But something that was easy for a key fob locked in a valet closet.

He clicked the first signal, then touched the handle of the driver’s door. The car remained locked. He clicked the second, and touched. The headlights flashed, and the doors unlocked. He smiled.

Money well spent.

He pulled the handle and slid into the footwell. He withdrew a blank Audi key fob and a small device with a circle of plastic on one
end and a data connection on the other. He rotated on his back and pulled open the ODB II port that was used for diagnostics of the vehicle’s engine via the car’s central computer. The one that controlled everything about the vehicle. Including its security codes.

The key fob’s security was designed to prevent the codes from being stolen out of the air, while in use, not from inside the vehicle itself. Access to the car laid bare the entire system. After all, even owners needed a way to program a new fob, and that had to happen in conjunction with the vehicle itself. The ODB port was the gateway for doing so, and was mandated to work with a standardized software program to prevent the manufacturers from building in a proprietary system that would force the owner to only use their service centers for diagnostics. It was a bit of legalized egalitarianism that worked in the car thief’s favor.

He plugged in the data connection, waited for the LED light to flash, then placed the key fob blank into the plastic circle. He sat just over a minute, then saw the LED strobe for five seconds before shutting off.

He unplugged from the port, then held up the fob.
Moment of truth.

He pressed the button, and the door locks snapped shut. Now under the command of his new fob.

He had no idea if the car would start, and no intention of trying. The man in Beirut claimed it would, but also stated that there were “variables” in models he couldn’t control when it came to actually driving the car. Just getting in was assured, but running the vehicle was out of his hands. A disclaimer, you know, because he truly cared about helping out the owner with a new key fob.

Guy didn’t care. All he needed was a way to access the car on the move, without the laborious briefcase trick.

He put the fob down and withdrew his final items from the briefcase: the hand grenade he’d taken from Nikos’s office, a digital,
battery-powered capacitor, and a section of wire colored black and white.

He’d already rigged the grenade for an electrical charge instead of the friction primer that was normally used, drilling out the spring that rotated the firing pin, rendering the grenade safe before continuing.

From the driver’s seat, he taped the digital capacitor to the body and connected the wires running out of the fuse set. He pushed a button, checking the battery on the capacitor and the connection with the fuse, making sure he had a clean circuit. A light flashed green, telling him the capacitor could store the electrical charge he’d need, and the circuit was good.

He went to the passenger’s side and opened the door, flicking off the overhead light. He spent thirty more minutes underneath the seat, securing the grenade under the cushion and splicing the leads into the air bag release system, his chosen form of initiation.

In all modern cars, there was a small pressure switch in the passenger seat that let the computer know if someone was occupying that space, which, in turn, told the computer to arm the air bag. This was what he leveraged.

When he was done, he had a perfect pressure-plate booby trap. Should someone sit down, they’d close an electrical circuit, and in so doing, initiate the grenade. He tested the components for electrical flow, saw it was good, then disconnected one of the leads, defusing the system. He wouldn’t arm it until he was sure his target was in the vehicle, which was the point of the new key fob.

It wasn’t foolproof, as the grenade fuse would still require four to five seconds to explode—enough time to escape if someone were switched on to a threat. In addition, the seat itself would mitigate the blast, but he was sure it would kill whoever was inside the car and he thought the mitigation was a good thing. He didn’t want any collateral damage from innocents walking by the vehicle. Or because
someone different used the car. Which was why he was sitting on Perikleous Street, just down from the Embassy of Qatar, slugging Red Bulls and waiting on his targets to exit.

He’d watched the Audi appear early in the morning at the Athenaeum Hotel, and was pleased to see the same package as yesterday: The driver from Crete, the primary face from the target package in the passenger seat, and the secondary one in the backseat. He’d begun to follow, just waiting for the chance to arm his trap. Sooner or later, they’d stop for lunch or something else, and he’d get the chance to turn the expensive ride into a death trap.

Today was the day.

64

H
aider not only heard the displeasure through his father’s chosen words, but he also recognized the disgust in his father’s voice even through the VPN connection, the enunciation leaving no doubt that the man on the other end thought he was talking to an idiot.

“So you actually had your friend attempt to interdict a meeting with the CIA? And you thought this was prudent?”

“Well, honestly, he did it on his own.”

His father’s answer surprised him. “At least he tried something, for as little good it did. Does he understand what the CIA is?”

“Father, I have a man attempting to kill me and my friends. He’s already succeeded twice. Our intersection is Nikos, and he said the killer was tied to a CIA contact. It was how Nikos had met the man. Nikos was following her, and agreed to help us help eliminate him.
After
the meeting with the CIA.”

“And yet you failed. For the second time.”

“Father, we didn’t know they would have an entire
team
there. We just thought it was a meeting between two people. It was a way to stem the bleeding, without exposure. We weren’t doing anything to the CIA agent.”

Haider saw his father lean back, the screen making his actions jerky with the weak connection. Sharif rubbed his face, then said, “You broke up a CIA meeting. A meeting you
knew
was CIA. Why
do you now think the team was out to get you?
Of course
they had a team. That attack on your friend wasn’t because they were hunting you. It was because you
interrupted a meeting with the CIA
.”

“We didn’t interrupt anything. We were going to track the man that’s doing the killing
after
the meeting. They struck first, without us doing anything. Khalid said that they tried to capture him. Does that sound like a team providing protection?”

“Shut up and use your head for a change. I swear, how you survived in Afghanistan is beyond me. Khalid entered the park.
Khalid
attempted to interdict the meeting. How can you possibly say they were out to capture him? Do you mean they actually set up an enormously complicated trap, feeding Nikos information, knowing that he would feed it to you, and that you would be stupid enough to react?”

In the cold light of day, his father’s logic crushed the conspiracy theories from the discussions the night before. Maybe they
were
reading too much into the attack. But that didn’t alter the fact that two of his friends were dead. One for sure, and another who had simply disappeared.

He said, “Father, you might be right, but I want to leave here. Yesterday may have been my fault, but there is still a team chasing us. Still someone who wants to see me dead.”

Sharif shut that line of discussion down. “No son of mine is a coward. At least your friend Khalid has the courage to attempt to capture the American, even if he failed. You will not flee from the operations simply because it has become dangerous. Do you understand?”

The words were as abrupt as a physical slap.
Coward? Who said anything about fear?
He said, “No, I don’t understand. Staying here, waiting to get attacked, is stupid. It’s not helping anything. Courage and stupidity are two different things. In fact, it might be hurting the very mission you want. I should go to Oslo to prepare.”

Tarek, his father’s confidant, showed the hint of a smile. Haider
took it as a good sign. Sharif waved his hand as if he’d had enough of the discussion. He said, “You can’t go to Oslo until you know when the meeting is to occur.”

“I think I’ll learn that today. I have a meeting with Secretary Billings today, and I think the peace talks are soon.”

“Do you have the
shahid
? Is he ready?”

“Yes. He’s acting as my driver, the same thing he will do in Oslo. The problem is, he has no way to get into the country. He has a passport from Afghanistan, and no visa for Norway. We paid for the documents before we knew where the peace meetings were going to occur.”

“Go back to Nikos. Money is no object. Pay what he wants.”

“Nikos has disappeared. He won’t answer the phone or the email he gave us. Khalid thinks the park mission scared him and he’s gone underground. Either way, he’s no help.”

Sharif thought for a moment, then said, “Talk to Secretary Billings. Tell him your predicament. Tell him you have a confidant well versed in Afghanistan affairs, both from the Taliban and from the government. He’s your inside man, and he’s necessary if they truly want an unbiased look from Qatar. Tell him he has an Afghanistan passport and that he’s going to act as your driver to deflect attention, but he needs a visa. The government of Qatar can’t help, given how secret this meeting is.”

“Father, he’s not going to provide a visa from Norway for an unknown man from Afghanistan.”

“Yes, he will. He likes the intrigue. He wants to be secretive, thinking he’s manipulating events outside of the primary participants. He wants to do something like this, or he’d have never asked for your help. Trust me, I have dealt with men like him many times.”

Haider heard the words, and for the first time in his entire adult life, he felt pride in being his father’s son, and admiration at the Machiavellian manipulation proposed. His father understood the levers
to pull without ever having met Secretary Billings, and Haider, having worked with the secretary, knew what his father said rang true.

Haider said, “I can ask, and see what he says.”

“He’ll say yes. He’s infatuated with his own importance. He wants to report back to his president that he’s in control and manipulating events for the United States. Make no mistake, he believes he needs you more than you need him, and I think it is absolute poetry that we will use him to facilitate the means of his own destruction.”

Haider said, “Okay. I’ll do my best. What about the car? Is it ready?”

“Yes. I’ve arranged for you to pick it up. Just tell me when.”

Haider nodded and said, “We’d better go. I have a bit of a drive. I hope you’re right about the American secretary of state.”

“I am, but the results will depend on you. If you fail and cannot get your
shahid
to travel with you, you can be the one who drives the vehicle.”

Haider laughed, but the look on his father’s face left doubt as to whether he was making a joke.