The Widow's Strike (14 page)

J
ennifer glanced left
and right
while Pike prepared the descender.

He said, “Security, give me a readout. We clear?”

“West clear.”

“North clear.”

“East red, I say again, east red.”

Which meant the side with the observation deck and the party. The south side of the SkyPark, where Jennifer was going to descend, faced the South China Sea, so there was little chance anyone would witness her actions from the ground.

Recognizing the voice, Pike said, “Whatcha got, Knuckles?”

“Nothing big. Man and woman doing some heavy petting in the shadows. I can’t tell if they’re just looking for privacy or going to continue up to the infinity pool.”

“We got a couple of seconds?”

“Yeah. Looks that way. Just don’t let them see you controlling the descent if they decide to move.”

Jennifer was clipping the shoulder harnesses in place and seating the central plate when Pike said, “You willing to pull a Dar? I don’t think I’ll have the time to walk you all the way down.”

Jennifer knew Pike was referring to Dar Robinson, the stuntman who’d perfected what they called the “Hollywood rig,” using it for high-level falls in order to allow a top camera to film the shot without worrying about an airbag being in the scene from the ground. The difference was he would free-fall for upwards of a thousand feet before being slowed, whereas she had planned on a gentle slide down the side of the building. “Pulling a Dar” meant she’d simply jump, falling unassisted to the top edge of the tower, then get braked to a halt. Hopefully.

Pike said, “Or we can wait until Knuckles says it’s clear. I’m just afraid of losing our window. The general might return soon. With a Dar we cut our time in half.”

She snapped the harness closed and cinched the barrel nut on the carabiner holding the chest plate.
It can’t be more than forty feet. Not that far.

She said, “Yeah. I can do that. Just don’t let me go beyond the curve. There’s no way I can climb up this cable.”

“I won’t. I set it for thirty feet. It’ll be like a bungee jump.”

He helped her out of the hot tub, laughing at the Vibram FiveFingers shoes on her feet.

“What? You want me to do this barefooted?”

He clipped in the cable, ensuring it was seated to the plate at her front. “No, no. If you’re going to pull a circus stunt, might as well look like a clown.”

She punched him in the arm for the comment. He ignored her, now all business. He tested the lead of the cable a third time, then proceeded to go over her harness from head to waist, just like a jumpmaster prior to a parachute operation. Satisfied, he glanced over the side and keyed his Bluetooth. “We’re ready to execute. Status?”

“West still good.”

“North the same.”

“Still got the cupid couple in the east, but you’re good. They definitely aren’t going to focus on anything but body parts.”

Jennifer climbed over the railing and stared down into the black night, the ships in the harbor blinking like stars far away. Pike held up the PVAC straps, and she slid her arms through, cinching yet another harness around her shoulders and groin. Last, after seating her hands into the suction devices and checking to ensure the hoses wouldn’t snag, she strapped on a large butt pack, swiveling it to her front.

She turned and faced Pike, trying to project confidence but feeling a nagging fear eroding into her like a river into sand. Pike checked the descender one more time, ensuring the cable would feed without snagging and the length was set correctly, then stood up.

He held out his fist for a bump, surprising her. He’d never done that before. She wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or an indicator of how little faith he had in this mission. She rapped his knuckles and he said, “I spent so much time on the method of infil I forgot to ask, you have any questions about the Third Eye?”

“Nope. That’s the easiest part of this thing.”

He leaned over once more, then said, “Well, you’re wasting time then.”

She nodded, closed her eyes, and rocked forward, then backward, holding the railing and chanting in her mind.

One . . . two . . . three!

She pushed off and immediately felt the sickening drop in her stomach. She accelerated, first feeling still air, then a hurricane force ripping at her ponytail, reminding her of high dives in her youth, the fluttering of the cable sounding like a whip in front of her face. She waited for an eternity, past one high dive in her mind, then two, then three, and knew with sickening certainty the system had failed.

An involuntary scream tried to escape as her eyes snapped open. She allowed a low-pitched growl and snapped her hands on the cable in a desperate attempt to alter her fate. Then she felt a jerk in her groin, and she slowed quickly to zero.

She got her bearings and realized she was staring into the South China Sea; her back was to the wall, and she was swinging toward it.

She rotated around but only got two-thirds of the way before colliding into the wall with her shoulder. She bounced and settled. She did nothing for a second or two, simply hanging and taking deep breaths.

She heard, “Jennifer, you okay? Cable’s stopped.”

She smiled. He hadn’t said
Koko
, which meant he was truly worried.

“Yeah, I’m fine. But I’m
never
doing that again. Rotating now.”

She grabbed the cable and pulled herself sideways, using the friction of the Vibram shoes against the wall and swiveling the chest plate until she was head-down, her right leg snaked around the cable.

She heard, “Good to go. Getting back in the hot tub. Call if you need something.”

Smartass.

She fired up the PVAC, the blenderlike sound screaming to her in the night. She attached the suction devices to the wall and said, “Slack.”

She suddenly dropped three feet, breaking the seal of the PVAC and swinging out away from the wall. Luckily, she was still above the curve. If that happened after the slope began to the tower, she wouldn’t be able to reach to use the PVAC.

“Too far. Go about half of that.”

“Roger.”

She reattached the PVAC and said again, “Slack.”

This time she glided gently down the wall, reaching the curve. She began to walk the PVAC down the slope, seeing the tower to her front, repeating the slack call every few seconds.

She reached the railing and pulled herself over. She lay next to the service stairwell for a moment to catch her breath, then released the PVAC harness. She shrugged out of it, followed by the Hollywood rig, attaching both back to the cable.

“I’m in. You can hoist the kit back up.”

“Roger all. Good job, Koko.”

The call brought another smile.
Need to get him a call sign that sucks.

She waited until the PVAC and descender harness disappeared from view, then tried the stairwell, finding it locked. Nothing she hadn’t expected. She used the forged key-card they’d made earlier, and the door opened. Within minutes, she was outside the general’s suite on the fifty-third floor. Just another guest in a bathing suit coming back to the room. She wished she’d remembered to pack a towel to complete the disguise, but so far nobody had appeared in the hallway.

She pulled out a radarscope from her butt pack and placed it on the door. Designed to determine if any threats extended beyond, it picked up minute movements through upwards of twelve inches of masonry, including something as small as the rise and fall of a chest.

The radarscope showed the room empty. Even so, she called Retro before using the key.

“Retro, Koko. About to enter. Any activity?”

“You’re clear. Nothing since he left earlier.”

She armed herself with a Glock, keeping it close to her chest, and popped the door. She let it swing open, waiting for any reaction. When none came, she swiftly cleared the suite, putting the barrel of the Glock in every crevice. Satisfied it was truly empty, she reached into the butt pack and retrieved a squeeze bottle not unlike those used in restaurants for ketchup.

She pulled down all four towels from the bathroom and spread them on the bed. Putting on a pair of elbow-length dish gloves, she liberally sprayed each towel with the squeeze bottle, first one side, then the other.

Called the Third Eye by the R & D team, the bottle contained a radioactive isotope that could be tracked once on the skin of the target. The constant with any beacon was that it had to be concealed, using something to mask its location. A shoe, a belt, a hat. Something. This was fine if the target knew he was wearing the beacon. The problem with an unwitting target was that he might not wear the concealment device, instead deciding to put on a different pair of shoes.

The Taskforce had researched forever trying to develop what they called the “Naked Man Tag,” a mythical beacon that could be emplaced on a naked man without his knowing, but the closest they’d come was the Third Eye, which was really nothing more than a throwback to the spy dust used by the East German Stasi during the Cold War.

All it did was send an alarm to a device that recognized the isotope, letting someone know the target was in the area. Since they all knew what the general looked like, it would be enough information to position themselves on his line of march for the start of the surveillance.

The difference between the Taskforce isotope and the old Stasi one was theirs would wash off easily, meaning that a shower would render it useless, which was why she was placing it on the towels. Well, that and the Taskforce isotope wouldn’t cause cancer like the one the Stasi used. At least that’s what the R & D folks said. Pike had told her it wasn’t called the Third Eye because of its surveillance applications, but because the target’s kids would be born with an eye in the middle of their foreheads after use.

She hoped he was kidding.

She folded the towels, placing them exactly as she’d found them, then turned to leave. Getting to the door, something tickled her brain, and she surveyed the room again.

She didn’t know what it was. The room looked like any hotel room. Any expensive five-star room, that is. Bed made with chocolate on the pillow, flowers set up, everything in its place. Then it hit her.

There’s no luggage. No clothes, computers, or anything else.

She went to the bathroom and found a toothbrush, used; some shaving gear; and a tube of toothpaste. That was it.

She left swiftly, closing the door and zipping up her butt pack. She called Pike.

“Mission complete. I’m setting the wireless receptors where we discussed, then coming home.”

“Any issues?”

“Not with the mission, but something’s not right. There was nothing in the room. No signs of life besides a wet toothbrush. No luggage or anything else.”

“Maybe he travels light.”

She thought about the frequent-flyer number she had found, the convenience now rattling her.

She said, “Maybe he’s ahead of us on this thing.”

D
r. Na
karat finished
drying off
and dressed in the clothes he had purchased the night before. Much fancier garments than he was used to wearing, but the mall attached to the Marina Bay Sands had no thrift shopping.

The store had been right next to a wireless carrier, and he’d toyed with the idea of buying a new phone, using his credit card. In the end, he didn’t have the courage. Someone could be watching his credit card usage, and he’d been told to only charge to the room. It wasn’t worth the life of his son.

He sat on the bed, watching the time drip by. He thought about getting breakfast, but he had no appetite. In truth, he felt nauseous.

On the counter next to the wide-screen television was a box of gauze. Inside was death. Something he wished he’d never created, but he had, and now it would haunt him forever.

Although he’d been frightened to the point of incapacity, he’d managed to get into his office and back out again with little trouble. The guard manning the front entrance had said nothing at all, clearly unaware of the police visit earlier.

He’d grabbed the virus and vaccine samples and come straight back to the Marina Bay Sands, only to spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling of his darkened room.

He knew the man planned nothing good with the virus. This wasn’t industrial espionage. It was something more, and that fact tore at him. Made him question his choices. His oath.

First, do no harm.

At four in the morning, he’d come close to calling the authorities. Telling them everything and, he knew, killing his son. The pressure had been incredible. He’d sat in the darkness and wept, all alone with his thoughts.

In the end, he’d left the phone on the hook. He’d lost his wife to cancer a year and a half ago, the wound still open and as raw as if it had been raked with a wire brush. He couldn’t lose his son, especially at his own hand.

He opened the instructions he’d been given, making sure he had memorized everything exactly. He felt certain he’d be watched and didn’t want to give any indication he was doing anything other than what he’d been told. A simple mistake could be catastrophic if the man thought he was trying to trick him. For this reason he’d discarded the idea of passing a vial of water. He was sure the kidnapper would have some method of testing what he brought. Would be able to see through any ruse.

His watch alarm chirped, sending a shock down his spine. It was time.

He slowly stood. Moving robotically, he placed the box of gauze in a small shopping bag. He put the untested vaccine sample in his shirt pocket, then wrapped the tested, failed vaccine into a rag and placed it in the shopping bag. The man had said he didn’t want the untested vaccine, but he was bringing it just in case. He’d have given the man his vital organs if he so asked.

He took one last look around the room and exited.

* * *

My “iPod” vibrated
and I looked at the screen: Receptor one had been triggered, meaning the target had left the room.

I made sure everyone had received the alert and that their equipment was functioning, then simply waited on a direction, staring at the screen for the next trigger.

The false iPod was nothing more than a wireless device that received the signal from the receptors Jennifer had placed on all available exits, telling us where to focus our efforts. It looked like a fifth-generation Nano and would even play music—albeit just enough to “prove” what it was.

The receptors were the key. Basically minuscule Geiger counters, they received the gamma projection from the isotope the general had toweled on his body, then sent a signal, alerting us that he had passed. In addition to the ones Jennifer had placed about the hotel, we each had a larger one with more functionality that also showed signal strength. It wasn’t perfect, but it would give us a little edge on how far or close the target was—which would only be necessary in a large crowd, since we could all ID the general by sight.

We were staged in a cloverleaf and not positioned to cover any specific exit, but instead were able to react to multiple points. The formation did little to start initial surveillance, since we were spread way too thin, but did allow us to collapse together once we knew which way he was headed. We’d have been dead in the water without the Third Eye tag, and I didn’t like trusting it. Technology had let me down too many times.

I felt the iPod vibrate again and saw that receptor five had been triggered.

He’s coming through the lobby.
Which wasn’t much help. All that did was eliminate the street exits from tower three. The lobby was huge, and from there, he could travel to the mall, casino, or any of the other street exits.

I checked my smartphone’s moving map and saw Knuckles’s position. “Knuckles, Pike.”

“Yeah, I got it. I’m on him. Moving now.”

“All others, collapse. Knuckles has the lead. Let him trigger, then someone pick up the eye.”

It might have sounded strange asking “someone” to identify and start the surveillance, but surveillance operations were fluid. The worst thing a surveillance chief could do was try to order everyone around like soldiers on a map. I needed them to be thinking and executing on their own, not waiting on my call. I would never have the correct situational awareness and had seen plenty of surveillance operations go to hell because the SC thought he knew better.

The first signs of trouble came quickly.

“Pike, Knuckles. I’ve got a major signal but no rabbit.”

“You mean he got by you before you could PID?”

“No, I mean he’s standing within fifteen feet of me. The iPod is going crazy, but he’s not here.”

What?
I ran through the possibilities and came up with the only one that made sense.

“Look for an Arab. We have two other unknowns here from Thailand. That’ll be the key.”

“Signal’s now fading. I lost him.”

Shit
.

Decoy came on. “I got a weak signal. He’s on the escalator headed down.”

Down meant the promenade underneath the hotel. A moving mass of people all headed to the casino, mall, or metro. A surveillance nightmare. We needed to get a handle quickly, or we’d lose it completely. I checked the map on my phone.

“Koko and Retro, take the tunnel leading up to the mall. Blood and Knuckles, get down to the metro. See if you can pick him up. I’m right behind you. Decoy, start fishing, see if you can get a stronger signal. Everyone ignore the casino. I doubt that’s a destination.”

I started moving fast, getting to the escalator headed down underneath the street. I reached the promenade and was met by a mass of people all swirling around with different destinations.

He’s gone. We’ll never get him in here.

Decoy said, “Got a signal. It’s weak as shit.”

“Where? What direction?”

“Metro. It’s past the mall tunnel.”

I started jogging, hoping to jump ahead of the target. “Koko and Retro, collapse on the metro.”

Knuckles came on. “I got a signal now too. I’m in the hallway leading to the Bayfront metro stop.”

“What do you see? Have you identified?”

“No way. There are hundreds of people here.”

“Everyone get to the Bayfront stop. Get an ID. Send any pictures of possibles, I don’t care how tenuous.”

The Bayfront was on the yellow line, which meant a north-and-south route. North took him to the green line. South to the red.

Either way, we were about to be split.