Authors: Brad Taylor
L
ucas entered the aquarium
. Ignoring the displays to his left and right, he wound around to the back, threading through the throngs of people. He saw two of the singletons gazing at fish tanks and discounted them. Reaching the rear, he glanced at his watch, then burned thirty seconds at a souvenir kiosk, pretending to look at trinkets, but really eyeballing a stairwell. Nobody went up except kids.
Lucas’s final tactical consideration for the meet had been a location that prevented anyone from closing on him while he was conducting it. A secure area that allowed him to observe those around him without announcing he was conducting any business. He’d located it in a rope bridge that traversed throughout the aquarium. Hanging just below the roof and connected to faux trees from a simulated rain forest, it facilitated unobstructed views to the pathways of the aquarium below and canalized anyone approaching by restricting them to the rope bridge itself.
At ten seconds out, he mounted the stairs, brushing past children bouncing up and down on the bridge. Ahead, at the first anchor tree, the skinny man with the Adam’s apple leaned on the ropes of the bridge, looking down. He held a metro schedule in his right hand.
Right time, right place, right bona fides.
His chubby partner was nowhere to be seen. Lucas approached and said, “This mall is amazing.”
The man started, then, in a stilted voice that spat out syllables like a metronome, said, “It is the largest in the world.”
Lucas grinned at his pathetic delivery and held out his hand. After they shook, he said, “I’m the Infidel, and I understand you can help me.”
The contact nodded nervously, and Lucas returned to watching the mass of people below. In short order, he found the chubby man simply because he wasn’t moving. Another reason Lucas had picked this location. Anyone conducting surveillance would be sifted as the rest of the patrons walked through the aquarium, standing out like a rock against the water of a stream.
Lucas continued, not looking at the contact. “The mission for you is threefold, but simple. One, I need weapons. Nothing fancy. A pistol will do. Two, I need you to stake out a place in one of the Deira souks and alert me when a man leaves. Three, I need a van and you to drive it. Can you do this?”
“Yes. Yes, I can. In fact, I have a van right here at the mall. I would prefer to finish the discussion there.”
Lucas agreed. He didn’t mind giving specifics of the mission. If the contact was truly going to help, he would have to know who he was hunting. If he wasn’t, he would be dead.
They walked to the parking-garage exit, near the entrance to the Burj Khalifa observation deck, the chubby man nowhere in sight.
They reached a dented white cargo van, no windows on the sides and enough dust on the rear to prevent anyone from seeing inside. As they approached, Lucas studied the surroundings. The van sat by itself, rows back from more convenient parking spots closer to the mall entrance. Looking at the walls and ceilings, Lucas realized the spot had been picked because it was outside of any surveillance cameras.
Strike two.
Appearing as if he sensed nothing amiss, he entered the passenger seat. The contact circled to the driver’s seat, his eyes wide, a thin film of sweat on his upper lip. He attempted to smile, but failed. He said, “Show me on a map where you wish me to find your target.”
He reached behind the seat, and Lucas considered killing him outright.
He decided to wait. He needed the help and wasn’t absolutely convinced the man intended harm. When the contact faced back around he held an ancient revolver.
Shit. Strike three.
Instead of fear, Lucas felt disappointment. His mission had just become much harder to accomplish.
He said, “I suppose we’re now waiting on your friend.”
The contact’s face went white, his hand shaking so much the barrel of the revolver twitched. “I know about you. I was told of your skills. Get in the back. Now.”
Lucas said, “They’re lying. I had nothing to do with any Hezbollah deaths.”
The man gripped the pistol with both hands, attempting to stop his tremors. “I didn’t say anything about Hezbollah deaths. Get in back.”
Lucas did so, before the man cocked the hammer to punctuate his request. As it was, the revolver was in double-action mode, which meant a heavy trigger pull and little chance the contact would accidentally fire the weapon in his nervous state. With the hammer back, the trigger became much, much lighter. Something Lucas didn’t want as he waited for the gorilla friend. He needed to kill them both.
They waited in silence for thirty seconds, then the chubby man entered the back of the van, leading with a semiautomatic pistol. The contact exhaled his pent-up breath and said something in Arabic. The gorilla answered, then turned to Lucas.
“Abu Aziz wants you killed slowly, and after he told me what you did, I can’t wait to get started.”
Lucas took the sentence as a good omen, as he had assumed they meant to kill him right here. It would give him time to think. The gorilla pointed the pistol directly at his face and barked at the contact. Lucas heard the ignition turn over, focusing on the weapon inches from his nose. It was an old Colt 1911, and Lucas found it ironic that he was being threatened by the distinctly American armament.
The van began to move, and he noticed the hammer was down on
this pistol as well. The opportunity popped in his head immediately. Unlike the revolver, the Colt was single-action. Meaning it couldn’t be fired with the hammer down
at all
. It was nothing more than a paperweight.
Dumbass.
Lucas’s hands struck like a snake, using the metal of the pistol itself to lock up the joints in the man’s wrist. He rotated violently and heard the wrist crack, then lashed out with an elbow, crunching the Arab’s nose.
The gorilla bellowed and wrapped his good arm around Lucas’s neck, squeezing with all of his might. Lucas felt his eyes bulge and his windpipe begin to crush. He slammed his head back, but hit only air. He drummed both elbows into the man’s gut, getting little response. He attempted to swim a hand between his neck and the man’s arm, but it was as tight as a python and strong. Very, very strong.
Dimly, Lucas heard the contact shouting, attempting to drive and aim his revolver at the same time. The pain in his neck was blossoming out, strong enough to overshadow the lack of air. He threw a hammer fist between his legs, connecting with the man’s genitals, the sweatpants providing no protection. The man jerked, and Lucas felt the air return.
He snaked his hand low again and closed his fingers like a claw on the man’s penis and testicles, attempting to rip his genitals from his body. He heard a high-pitched shriek, and the arm loosened enough to allow him to snake his other hand underneath it.
Maintaining his grip on the prized possessions, Lucas rotated under and out of the arm. Like a thing possessed, he used his free hand to pound the man’s face, not stopping until he was on top of the prostrate body and the head was bouncing lifeless with each blow.
He was rocked forward as the van slammed to a stop. He rose up on his knees and saw the contact scrambling to rotate around, the revolver in one hand. He snatched the driver-side seatbelt, attempting to wrap it around the contact’s neck while he was still in the seat. He
missed, catching him across the face. He jerked to the rear, and the contact’s head whipped back over the headrest, forcing him to bow his body out to relieve the strain.
Lucas kicked the revolver out of his grip and jerked the belt with both hands, bending his spine backward. The contact began to scream, clawing at the belt.
Lucas leaned in, watching the man’s chest rise and fall, seeing the long neck in front of him, the Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. An easy target.
He cranked the belt a little tighter and leaned in to the contact’s ear. “You said you knew about me. About my skills. And they sent your skinny ass to take me out?”
The victim’s eyes were huge, wildly rolling around looking for help. Some miracle to salvage his life. His arms ineffectually batted the air, trying to connect with the devil behind. Lucas said, “Time to meet the virgins.”
He hammered the Adam’s apple with a closed fist. The contact thrashed, his destroyed throat desperately trying to gain life-giving air. Lucas hammered it again. Then again. The contact stopped moving, and Lucas took stock of his status.
The mission was more than likely screwed. He had no help to pinpoint the Ghost and had lord knows how many men now hunting him. On the other hand, he could probably hire a local to trigger. Pay him simply to tell when the Ghost left. He’d told the contact he had three requirements. He now had a weapon and a van.
Two out of three ain’t bad.
T
he Ghost patted the briefcase
and said, “Be very careful with this. The components are not shockproof.”
Hamid nodded. “I will, don’t worry. Are you sure you can find the maintenance door?”
“Yes. You said simply exit the mall and walk around the right side of the Burj Khalifa. Find the first stairwell, walk down it, and knock three times.”
“Yes. I’ll be there. With the detonators and the explosives. Don’t forget your uniform.”
After settling into Hamid’s flat, the Ghost had spent the remainder of the previous day breaking out the explosives from the computer case and monitor, then constructing the detonators. All that remained was sticking the blasting caps into the explosives, then dialing the detonators into the Burj Khalifa’s WiFi network.
He’d removed the
hawaladar
money from the briefcase and built a makeshift nest to protect the delicate electronics of the detonators. The explosives themselves were in a different duffel bag, separated from the blasting caps to prevent a catastrophic event.
The Ghost said, “I’ll meet you at eleven.”
“Okay. Are you sure you don’t want my car?”
“Yes. I want the ability to use multiple methods of travel. I had some issues in Yemen, and there might be someone trying to find me. I don’t want to make it easy on them.”
He picked up the knapsack containing his money and Hamid’s uniform and left the flat. He reached the ground level and surveyed around him, trying to see if anyone paid undue attention. He saw nothing but men, young and old, hawking their spices. He exited the souk and walked northwest on Al Kabeer Street, paralleling the Dubai Creek, headed to a section of town that sold electronics. He still needed an initiation device, and hoped to find it there. Hitting the first street outside the souk, he moved slowly, as if to get his bearings, but really to take a snapshot of the vehicles parked near the exit. He saw nothing suspicious.
The coolness of the morning was quickly burning off. In short order, he was sweating from the walk. He missed his turn in the congested maze of roads and was forced to backtrack until he reached Al Sabkha Road. Turning north, he walked for two blocks, until the stores on his left and right began advertising cameras, watches, and cell phones. He saw a sign for electronic security and entered a tiny mall, seeing the store in the back corner.
The shop seemed to specialize in alarms and surveillance cameras, but might have what he needed. He looked around the aisles for a few minutes, and then simply asked a clerk.
“I wish to purchase an IMSI grabber for cell phones. Do you sell them?”
“Yes, but only to government or the police. I can’t sell them to people off the street.”
“I need one that operates on batteries. It must have a life span of at least four hours, but doesn’t need to do anything fancy. It must simply register the cell phone numbers and hold the phone. The only thing I need is an alarm when an identified number appears.”
“I just told you I can’t sell you the device. Sorry.”
The Ghost leaned closer and opened his knapsack, showing the clerk a large wad of dinars. “I will pay you handsomely. Both for the device and for the service you provide in selling it to me.”
The clerk glanced to the front door, then back at the knapsack.
“It will cost you a lot of money. I’m supposed to register the sale, and I will be taking a risk.”
The Ghost simply nodded. The clerk made up his mind and locked the front door, turning around the “open” sign.
He went in the back and came out with a container a little bigger than a shoebox. He opened it, showing the Ghost the device.
“This has a range of about one hundred meters in the open. Of course, it will be much less with walls or other things in the way.”
He spent the next few minutes demonstrating the workings of the device, showing him the battery indicator, the alarm settings, and the basic operations. The Ghost listened for a little bit, then said, “I can get the rest from the manual. I need two more.”
“Three? Why on earth do you need three?”
“I have three locations. It isn’t your concern.”
The clerk hesitated, weighing the risk. The Ghost dropped the bundle of dinars on the counter.
“Get them.”
Twenty minutes later he was back on the street, looking for a dry-goods store. He found one and bought four scrub brushes, the metal bristles three inches long and mated to a steel handle. He stepped out and caught a cab.
When he arrived at the Dubai Mall, he immediately searched for a restroom. He changed into Hamid’s Burj Khalifa maintenance uniform and exited the mall on the south side, walking around the manmade lake until he reached the parking garage. The sidewalk ended, putting him in the drive for the mall itself. Following Hamid’s directions, he continued around, keeping the Burj Khalifa to his left, towering over him like a giant metal obelisk.
He reached the stairwell just as a white-panel van came up the drive, forcing him to hop on the curb. He turned into the stairwell and did a double take. He couldn’t be sure, but he believed the van driving toward the garage was the same one that had been outside the souk when he initially left. After Yemen, his survival instincts had become
hyperaware, and the van sent a subconscious alarm into his primal core.