The Widow's Strike (2 page)

D
ressed a
ll in
black, the
man blended in completely with the masonry on top of the wall. Someone would be able to see him if they were interested enough to look closely, but there was little fear of the caretaker guard’s doing that without a reason. Movement was the killer at this point, so the man simply lay atop the wall, waiting.

The guard continued on his route, no longer in sight, but his footfalls echoed on the pave stones. The man looked at his watch, waiting until the sound was overshadowed by the tooting horns of the endless Bangkok traffic.

Seven minutes to get inside.

He pulled up the knotted rope and set the grappling hook on the opposite side of the wall, the rubberized cleats making not a sound as it gripped the ledge. He dropped the rope on the near side, then rolled off himself, hitting the soft grass fifteen feet below.

He remained crouched where he had landed, not moving a muscle, all his senses straining for a break in the rhythm of the night. He saw no movement and heard nothing but the traffic from Luk Luang Road. Convinced he was safe, he slowly rose to get his bearings.

He had been inside the compound on four different occasions, but each one had been during daylight, coming through the front gate on official business. It was a little bit different at night, climbing up an outside wall between two buildings.

Orienting himself, the man took one step before his earpiece came alive. “Freeze, freeze, freeze. Knuckles, you got a four-man element headed across the lawn toward the front gate.”

Knuckles faded back into the shrubbery. What the hell was someone doing working this late? His watch told him he had five minutes before another guard came back through on this route.

“Decoy, I’m running out of time. What are they doing? Coming or going?”

“Going. They just came out of the secretariat building and are now standing around talking on the lawn.”

“I can’t wait. Give me a clear path.”

“Stand by.”

Knuckles scanned the night sky, straining to see if he could detect the Wasp drone overhead. He came up empty, as he knew he would. The thing weighed less than three pounds and had a minuscule three-and-a-half-foot wingspan. With an electric motor, it was damn near soundless. Invisible—especially at night.

“Knuckles, this is Brett. You want to roll over? Try again tomorrow night?”

Brett was his exfil, sitting in a van on the corner of Luk Luang and Ratchadamnoen Nok Roads, right outside the United Nations offices. Knuckles considered, but ultimately decided against it. Just getting inside the compound had been a chore.

He said, “Maybe. Give it a couple more minutes. If I abort, I’ll be coming over the same way. Pick me up on Luk Luang, canal side.”

“Roger.”

“Decoy, what do you have?”

“I’m looking. Outside of the four unknowns, I’ve got bodies right where we expected them. Hang on.”

Knuckles shook his head, still a little aggravated that his team had been called to do the mission. On the surface, it would appear a strange choice to risk so much breaking into the Thai Ministry of Education, but his goal wasn’t inside this compound. It was the Metropolitan Police Bureau across the street, on Phitsanulok Road.

Another team on the ground had found getting inside that place was just too risky but had learned something interesting in the process: The fiber-optic data cable for the police department also serviced the Ministry of Education. All they needed to do was slave into it, which is where Knuckles came in.

The Ministry of Education’s National Museum division was responsible for all archeological work in the country, a convenient arrangement that had given Knuckles’s team a plausible reason to conduct the four reconnaissance missions earlier. As far as the Thai government knew, he worked for a company called Grolier Recovery Services that specialized in facilitating archeological work.

The team he was helping was in Thailand under a different cover and couldn’t simply switch hats to accomplish the mission, so he’d been called forward. He had never linked up with them in-country and didn’t even know who they were tracking. Just that they needed access to the Metropolitan Police database. His mission and theirs were completely firewalled.

He waited in the brush, eyeballing the route he had planned earlier and feeling the time slip away. The compound was about two hundred meters across, but his target building was only one hundred meters away. Tucked between two larger buildings, it was smack-dab in the middle, at the apex of the lawn.

He’d planned this route specifically because it was threaded through the myriad of CCTV cameras, but that was predicated on slipping in between the guard force patrols. He considered simply waiting where he was and letting the guard pass again but didn’t like the odds of discovery. He was hidden well enough in the darkness, but nothing was a sure thing when other human beings were involved. Murphy would raise his head at the worst possible moment. While he felt sure he could get out clean, the mission would be a failure. No way would they attempt another break-in after a compromise.

“Okay, Knuckles, I got a route, but you’re not going to like it.”

“What?”

“Well, you got bodies in front of the building, cameras on the corners, and the guard shack in back. You got nothing on top.”

“Are you kidding me? You need a UAV to tell me to climb to the roof? I could come up with that using a paper map.”

“I know, I know, but the secretariat building runs lengthwise and butts right up to your building. The roof is sloped, so you could go the whole distance without being seen from the front. And I can track your progress.”

“Do I look like a monkey? The secretariat is three stories tall.”

“So you can’t do what the chicks do?”

Knuckles knew exactly whom he was talking about, and the jibe didn’t help his attitude any. He was about to call an abort when Decoy came back.

“Just kidding. I’m looking at a fire escape ladder on the northeast corner. It’s inside the shadows. Can you climb a ladder?”

He clenched his teeth, biting back what was about to vomit out of his mouth. “Roger. I can climb a damn ladder. Is it locked?”

“Can’t tell from the video feed, but you need to make a decision quick. Guard is coming down the path. You got about forty-five seconds.”

“Moving.”

Knuckles sprinted in a crouch across the open area to the shrubbery on the near side of the secretariat building, then scampered down the wall to the northeast corner, underneath the cameras. He heard the guard’s footsteps at the same time Decoy called.

“Freeze, freeze. Guard has stopped walking.”

Knuckles tried to become the wall, breathing in a shallow pant, straining to hear if anyone came toward him.
This was stupid. Only way out is through the guard. Which means compromise.

“He’s moving again. You’re clear.”

Knuckles duck-walked as fast as he could, finding the ladder right where Decoy said it would be. And a chain with a padlock sealing a cage at the base of it.

Damn it.

“Decoy, it’s locked with a cage that goes up to the second floor. It’s going to take me some time. Stay sharp. I need serious early warning.”

“Roger.”

“Brett, Brett, you copy?”

“I got you.”

“I get compromised, same plan; I’m going to deal with the initial issue, then come straight over the wall back to Luk Luang. I’ll need you there immediately.”

“Roger that.”

Knuckles pulled out a red-lensed penlight and studied the lock. An old Schlage. Not too much trouble. He placed his pack on the ground, pulled out a bunch of paperwork and brochures designed to support his cover if he was caught, and peeled back an inner lining, exposing his lock-pick kit. Besides the slave device for the fiber-optic cable, he carried no other special equipment. If caught, he felt it would be a hell of a lot harder explaining a bunch of 007 gee-whiz gear, so he’d opted not to bring any.

Putting the penlight in his mouth, he raked the lock set for about a minute before the pins sheared and the bolt sprang open.

“Decoy, am I clear? This cage is going to make some noise.”

“Yeah, you’re good.”

He pulled the gate open, wincing at the screech it made, the hinges reluctant to break out of their rusty hibernation. He opened it just enough to enter, then slid through. He spent a couple of seconds relocking it from the inside, then made his way to the roof.

Crouched on the shale tile, he began to scuttle the length of the roof, keeping the apex between him and the people on the lawn out front. He reached the far side without any trouble, seeing his target building below him. Then his predicament sank in.

“Ahh . . . Decoy, is there a ladder on the far side?”

From the pause, he knew Decoy was feeling like just as big of a dumbass as he was.

“I’m looking.”

Knuckles waited, wondering how many cases of beer this was going to cost him.

“There appears to be a drainpipe fifty feet behind you. In the crook where the building tees.”

Knuckles spat out, “Drainpipe.”

“Yeah. Looks like you get to be Koko after all.”

He didn’t bother to respond to the inside joke, simply inched along the edge of the roof until he reached the T of the building. He saw the pipe, grateful that it was an ancient cast iron one instead of some flimsy aluminum gutter.

He lay flat on the roof, leaned over, and wrapped his hands around the top of the pipe, taking note of the location of the first anchor point into the wall.

“Get ready for some adventure. This thing breaks and we’re in a world of hurt.”

Brett came on. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

K
nuckles slip
ped over
the side,
clamping his hands in the opening at the top like a vise grip. He hung in the air for a split second, then did a chin-up until his face was level with the roof. He placed his legs on either side of the pipe and slid down until his feet made contact with the anchor.

He slid his hands on the outside of the pipe and began a slow descent, grateful for the gloves he’d worn, initially to prevent any fingerprints but now saving the skin on his palms.

He shimmied down until he was at the first-floor level. He looked beneath him, then simply dropped, hitting the ground harder than he wanted, rolling with the impact into the pool of light from an outside lamp. He scuttled back into the shadows, his target door fifty feet away.

“I’m down. Am I clear?”

“Stand by. Let me sweep.”

Knuckles used the time to break out the lock-pick kit.

“Okay, the four out front are still gabbing, but you’re shielded by the secretariat building. Nothing else moving.”

He sprinted through the light and slid into the alcove, the plan now back on its original track. He pulled the picks that had proven successful earlier on a mock-up and went to work on the lock, a grin sneaking out when it popped in seconds.
Nothing like rehearsals.

He slipped into the darkened hallway and jogged by memory alone. The National Museum office was four doors to the right. The server room was two doors beyond that, down another small hallway.

He reached the turn and was brought up short by Decoy.

“Knuckles, Knuckles, we got a gaggle at your entry point. Don’t know what they’re doing.”

It hit him immediately.
The rope. They found the rope.
It was the one risk he had been willing to take, because he couldn’t scale the wall without some mechanical help, and the odds of someone stumbling across it in the dark were astronomical.

Damn Murphy
.

He raced to the server room door, aiming his penlight at the keypad. “What’re they doing?”

“More people are gathering where you breached the wall. The four out front have gone over, along with some other stragglers. They found something.”

He punched in the keystrokes he’d gotten from headquarters and said, “They found my rope.”

He yanked the door, but it didn’t budge.

Shit.

“Brett, Brett, code isn’t working. What was it again?”

“Six-four-eight-two-pound. I say again six-four-eight-two-pound.”

He said, “I just did that,” as he punched in the numbers again.

The door refused to move.

“Brett, that code isn’t right. What else could it be?”

Decoy came on. “Knuckles, abort. They’re fanning out. They know someone’s inside.”

“Brett, I can’t get out to Luk Luang. Stage on Phitsanulok.”

“Ahh . . . Roger. Moving, but you realize that’s in front of the police station?”

“No shit, now what’s the damn code?”

Decoy said, “Screw the code. Get out of there. They’ve started to search and men are coming from the police station to help.”

Brett said, “Try the pound sign first.”

Knuckles did, and the door opened.

“I’m inside. Give me a trigger when someone enters this building.”

“Trigger now. They’re inside your building now.”

Knuckles snicked the door closed behind him, praying that whoever entered didn’t have the combination to the keypad. He quickly analyzed the mass of blinking lights from the server rack and found the main fiber-optic hub. He pulled out the slave device and clamped it to the cable, waiting until it began blinking a steady green.

Keeping his voice low, he said, “Slave in place. I’m coming out.”

Brett said, “I’m staged. I’ll be coming from north to south. Heads up—this road is full of pedestrians and vendors. The street market is still hopping.”

Which is why it hadn’t been chosen as an entry point in the first place. Well, that and the fact that climbing the wall in front of the police station didn’t seem that smart. Now it seemed a hell of a lot smarter than going out the way he’d come in.

Knuckles placed his ear against the door and heard two voices speaking in Thai. Someone had turned on the hall light, letting a feeble glow spill underneath his door. From his earlier recce, he knew that this hallway led to a door outside. If he could just get out of the server room, he could play cat-and-mouse to the far wall of the compound, avoiding the search party.

“Decoy, you know where the hallway to the server room exits?”

“Yeah, I got it in sight now.”

“Is it clear?”

“Two men moving around to the adjacent building. Give them a second.”

Knuckles listened again, hearing the sounds of the voices moving away, back down the main hall.

“Your exit’s clear.”

Holding his breath, he cracked the door and saw the men had disappeared. He left the server room and sprinted down the hall, pulling up short at the end.

“I’m about to exit.”

“Go. You’re clear. Move straight across to the overhang of the next building.”

He did as directed, running blindly into the night. He reached the alcove and squatted down, thinking,
One hundred meters. Only got one hundred meters.

He shuffled the length of the alcove and peeked around the corner, seeing a parking lot with shrubbery and trees on the far side. No sign of the wall, but it had to be just beyond.

“Knuckles, pack of guys rounded the corner from the north. They’re beating the bushes. Move.”

He slid along the wall until he ran out of building, saying, “I’m going to sprint across the parking lot. Can I make it?”

“You’d better be Jesse Owens, but there’s nobody to your front.”

He took off at a dead sprint, reaching the far side of the parking lot before hearing someone shout behind him. He made it into the foliage and kept going, almost slamming into the compound wall. He immediately turned north, running parallel, trying to find a way over the fifteen-foot barricade.

“What’s the posse doing?”

“Looks like they’ve seen you, but nobody’s giving chase. Everyone is just gathering together.”

Panting, knowing he sounded like a bull elephant in the brush, he saw nothing to help him over the wall and felt the panic begin to rise.
Calm down. Always a way out. Just find it.

“Knuckles, they’ve started to move toward you. Three groups of four, spread out and searching.”

He slowed, wanting the stealth to prevent them from zeroing in on his position. He heard them yelling back and forth and saw the flashlights bobbing behind him. A building appeared out of the darkness, angled away from the wall. The farther north he moved, the more he was hemmed in.

What if it joins the wall?
He’d be trapped. He looked behind and saw that it was irrelevant. He wasn’t slipping through the cordon they had made.

He began to jog in the darkness, the building getting closer and closer. He exited the foliage, hitting pavement, and picked up his pace. He turned to check the pursuit and ran into a metal Dumpster, the clang causing an excited rise in the voices behind him.

He saw the flashlights begin to bounce around crazily and knew they were now closing fast, feeling the kill. He then realized the cause of the noise was his salvation. Three feet from the wall, the Dumpster stood six feet tall. He scrambled on top, heedless of the racket he made. He could clearly make out distinct voices and saw the lights less than seventy feet away. He tight-roped his way along the edge of the Dumpster, reached the side closest to the wall, and launched himself into the air.

He caught the top of the wall and slammed face-first into the masonry. Ignoring the pain, he pulled himself up using adrenaline alone and flipped to the far side, landing in between two street vendors.

Free
.

The vendors simply stared, slack-jawed, making no move to intercept him. He sprinted across the street, ripping off his balaclava.

“Brett, Brett, in position for pickup.”

“Moving.”

He reached the far side and slowed. He began moving north, blending in to the small stream of pedestrians still out this late. He had walked no longer than four seconds when he heard shouting behind him.

“Brett, I got an issue. What’s your location?”

“I see them. I’m just north. Two cops running toward your back. Want me to interdict?”

Knuckles thought about it. Thought about the cameras all around and the fact that introducing the van would complicate matters for the inevitable follow-on investigation. They’d
know
he was the guy if he did something right now. Even if he got away here, they’d now have a description of both him and Brett, along with the van.
That’s assuming you can get away.
Not a sure thing considering the Metropolitan Police Bureau was less than one hundred yards to the south.

“No. Let it ride. I’ve got nothing on me and there’s no way they saw me come over the wall. No reason to suspect I did anything. I’ll talk my way out. I’m going off team net and putting the cell back into OEM configuration.”

He fiddled with his smartphone, leaving the Bluetooth in his ear, now glad he hadn’t brought the extra equipment. It would have been hard explaining why he was carrying night observation devices and a Glock, even without anything tying him to the Ministry of Education.

He waited for one more shout before turning around with a confused “You yelling at me?” look on his face, then patiently waited for them to catch up.

Everything was going fine, him answering the questions with his prepared explanation of why he was in the area, the men digging through his bag and only finding brochures and documents that backstopped his story. Fine until one of them pulled out his balaclava, still drenched with sweat.

He saw the cop smile.
Shit. So much for walking away.

“Why do you need a ski mask in Thailand?”