Authors: Brad Taylor
He watched it disappear, seeing a Caucasian male in the passenger seat. He continued down to the door, reflecting on its importance. Odds were it was nothing, but he didn’t like playing the odds. He hadn’t seen the driver, but if it
was
following him, it would be from Hezbollah. He couldn’t afford to discount it even if it was a Westerner.
He banged the door three times and stepped back. Hamid opened and smiled.
“The building is yours. The observation deck elevators are at the hundred and twenty-fourth floor, like you asked.”
“How long before they are used?”
“The first tour is at one
P.M
., so you have two hours.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
They took a service elevator with the first button marked 100. It took a full minute to reach that level. From there, they took the stairs to the 125th floor, and the maintenance room for the observation deck elevators. The Ghost left Hamid outside for early warning and entered alone.
He had done quite a bit of research on elevators in the past twenty-four hours and knew exactly what he was looking for. He needed to intercept two things—the cables holding up the elevator and the brake system that would cause it to stop if the cables failed. The bank of elevators to the observation deck consisted of two double-deck Otis systems. Two targets that the envoy would have to use, a chokepoint that would cause his death. The only other way up to the observation deck was the stairs.
He immediately moved to the roof of the first, nestled at the top with the edge of the elevator level to the shelf left and right. The cables from the elevator roof attached to the pulley above with a space of a few feet between them. He broke out the explosives, already configured to cut steel.
Both elevators had five cables, all able to support the suspended weight of the cars by themselves. He would have to cut all five. He
affixed two small charges to each cable, slightly offset, one high, one low. When detonated, the opposite charges would cause a cutting effect and sever the cable. The trick was ensuring that the subsequent explosions to the cables left and right didn’t counteract the very cutting he sought to achieve. Fortunately, he had plenty of cable to work with to ensure success.
Within ten minutes, he had the basics of destruction in place. He then attached the WiFi detonator, but did not attach the blasting caps, leaving them dangling from the detonator like the legs of a spider. The detonators themselves were inert, waiting on a wireless signal to arm. Dropping to the top of the elevator, he pulled out the brushes he had purchased. He affixed one to the roof of the elevator, hanging out into the four-inch gap between the elevator and the well. He placed the second brush to the shelf of the well itself, until the bristles touched across the gap.
He then pulled out the IMSI grabber and set it on the roof of the elevator. Before he forgot, he turned off his cell phone. He attached a micro USB cable from the download hub of the grabber, then cut off the female end, exposing bare wire. He attached the wire to the steel of the brush on the elevator. He then jumped across the well, placed the WiFi transmitter for the detonators on the shelf, and cut the USB cable for it as well, splicing it into the brush on the far side.
When he was complete, he typed his cell phone number into the IMSI grabber alarm function, and powered it up, waiting a minute until it was operational. He saw it sucking in numbers from all over the building.
Having been on the receiving end of cell phone compromises in Lebanon, he’d made a concerted effort to understand their function. He knew that all cell phones constantly look for the tower with the greatest signal strength, switching back and forth seamlessly to the user. It was a distinctly modern weakness that he intended to exploit.
The IMSI grabber acted like a miniature cell tower, causing any cell phones in range to register with it. Used by law enforcement—and
other unsavory types—to collate data and potentially listen in to cell conversations, it would lock up any cell phone in range, rendering the phone useless. In this case, it would also trigger the explosives. All the Ghost had to do was input the envoy’s number into the grabber, once he found it.
He turned on his cell phone. Within seconds, his number appeared in the IMSI grabber, the phone duped into thinking it was the closest tower. A red LED lit up, signaling the alarm. He looked at the WiFi transmitter and saw a green LED. The detonator on the cables lit up as well, calmly blinking on and off. The connection worked.
Now, had he inserted the blasting caps, the system would be armed. When the elevator began to lower again, the connection between the brushes would be broken, and the explosives would go off—sending the envoy to his demise in a terrifying free fall.
He smiled at the thought. At the ingenuity of the plan. The grisly death would be perfect for propaganda. To show the world the might of the Palestinian people, no matter the ridiculous attempts at peace going on.
He reset the IMSI grabber, zeroing out his phone number. He saw the green LEDs shut off and inserted the blasting caps.
In twenty-four minutes the second elevator was rigged exactly like the first. He had no idea which elevator the envoy would be in and wanted to ensure both fell to their doom.
Finished with the primary, he searched for the brake cable of both elevators. Without cutting them, the elevator would fall for about a floor, then gradually slow by friction applied to the rails through specially constructed shoes. The brake itself was triggered by the speed of the elevator. If the cable attached to it reached a certain velocity, a flywheel was engaged, causing the brakes to be applied.
For the first time, he noticed no other cable. The brake should have been on the side, away from the main cables holding the weight of the elevator itself, but there was nothing. He made a concerted search and came up dry.
He exited the room, finding Hamid nervously talking to a businessman from one of the upper-floor suites. He waited until the man walked away, then approached. Hamid was sweating profusely, his skin sickly white.
“What was that about?”
“Nothing. He simply wanted to report a faulty bathroom.”
The Ghost realized Hamid had no stomach for the work. He regretted showing his hand with the elevators, knowing Hamid would spill his guts if captured.
He’s not a fighter. I shouldn’t have placed so much on him.
It sank home that he needed to eliminate the weakness. Get rid of the link that would cause failure. He looked at Hamid’s wilted face, slightly panting, and knew he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. What was to come was to come. He didn’t have it in him to kill his friend and wished he had not drawn on him for help. Wished he’d used Hezbollah contacts instead, even given the risk.
“Where is the brake cable for the elevators? I can’t find it.”
“There is no cable. It’s a new system that works on radar. It’s computer controlled and constantly monitored. A network continuously assesses the speed of the elevator, and if it reaches a certain velocity, it shunts the brakes.”
“Where is this system?”
“In the basement we entered.”
In short order, they were back where they started, with Hamid showing the braking architecture. It consisted of a radar array aimed up into each elevator shaft, reading the speed of the cars, not unlike the radar guns used in a police speed trap.
The Ghost said, “Can we just shut it off? Disable it?”
“No. The elevators go through a computerized self-test. If the brake system isn’t in operation, neither is the elevator.”
The Ghost opened his cell phone, enabled the WiFi feature, and saw he had no signal. Which meant there was no way to initiate explosives down here. He couldn’t slave into the main on the elevators.
“Where is the last WiFi node? How far does it extend?”
“I honestly don’t know, but I do know the lobby for the Armani Hotel is right above us, and it has WiFi.”
The Ghost considered. He would have to return to the electronics souk and buy a WiFi repeater, but it should work. If he placed one in the shaft of the elevator, it should be able to expand the signal from the lobby and allow his system to talk. He had to come back here tomorrow to input the American’s cell phone number anyway. The problem was he would have little time, risking the envoy setting off the trap while he was still constructing it.
It was the best he could do.
M
y cell phone vibrated
with a single word: JACKPOT.
I dialed Decoy’s phone. “Hey, man, you can’t simply send a text like that. What do you have?”
“The phone grid was right on. It’s his. He’s sitting in a white-panel van outside a small indoor shopping area. No movement. Doesn’t appear to be doing anything in the van. Just sitting.”
I thought about what Lucas could be doing. “What’s in the shopping center? Can you tell?”
“Looks like electronics. Cell phones, cameras, that sort of thing. He’s got a local in the driver’s seat, but they’re not talking.”
So he has help.
I didn’t want to talk too much on an open cell phone, and let the rest of my questions drift away. We’d left our concealed radios and other kit in Lebanon, and until we could get more, I was stuck with a standard cell phone. Knuckles, Decoy, and Brett had their Taskforce phones, which allowed them to communicate together in real time, but I could only go point-to-point, which was going to be a pain in the ass as surveillance chief.
We’d gotten the go-ahead to launch to Dubai last night. It was a little bit of good news/bad news for me. I’d told Kurt we had a lead, then how we’d found it. Saying he was a little pissed was putting it mildly. He’d about ripped the computer apart in front of him. In the end, I’d convinced him that I’d used my judgment, just like I was paid to do, and we’d found a solid anchor for Lucas. I knew he’d calm
down, because he was smart enough to know there was no sense yelling about it now. What’s done is done.
He’d spent a little more time chewing my ass, then ran out of steam, turning back to the operation. He almost grudgingly ran the cell number we’d located, and it had pinged as active in Dubai. Even better, he’d already launched our equipment bundle to Europe the day before, and it was due to hit a drop zone in the desert south of Dubai later this afternoon.
We’d landed midmorning and established a base of operations in a local hotel, getting connectivity with the Taskforce via a VPN. We got a current grid to the cell phone and had immediately established a surveillance box to start tracking Lucas.
My phone vibrated with another call. “He’s moving. Headed north to the Sheikh Zayed Road.”
“Did he ever get out?”
“Not that we saw. He could have earlier.”
“Okay. Remember, loose follow. Lose him instead of compromise.”
I was a little bit hamstrung because Lucas knew what Jennifer and I looked like—we were both targets he had tried very hard to kill in the past—which really left me with a three-man surveillance element. Even that was sketchy, because Knuckles had been with me when we captured Lucas the first time. Lucas would have seen him only briefly, if at all, because bullets and fists had been flying. I was willing to risk using him mainly because even a three-man surveillance effort was not nearly enough manpower to conduct a proper follow. Two men would be a bigger risk, and if it came down to it, we could afford to lose him instead of getting compromised because we had his phone to fall back on. The problem was the phone would show us a location on a map, but not what Lucas was doing. We needed eyes on for that.
I got both Knuckles and Brett moving ahead of the van on the other side of the creek on Sheikh Zayed Road, positioned to pick it up and allow Decoy to roll off.
I decided to cross the creek myself, staying far back from the pack,
not wanting to accidentally run into Lucas. Acting as the surveillance controller with just a cell phone was proving to be a challenge, since I couldn’t hear what was going on with the team. I knew Knuckles, Decoy, and Brett were talking because they had Taskforce phones, but they wouldn’t call me unless it was necessary, so I had no situational awareness.
My phone buzzed, and I snatched it up, seeing it was Jennifer. I felt a prick of disappointment and a flood of relief at the same time.
When we’d gotten the grid to the drop zone, I’d decided to send Jennifer on the recovery mission. I didn’t want to send one of the clean guys, depleting my already small surveillance capability, since Lucas knew Jennifer on sight. I was a little worried about launching her out into the desert by herself, not because she was a woman, but because nobody should go out in such a harsh environment as a singleton. If she got stuck in the sand, or had any other issues, there wouldn’t be anyone to rescue her.
She’d seemed pretty confident, and I’d given her plenty of four-wheel-drive training last year. She was no slouch at vehicle recovery. I’d decided to let her go after she’d given a pretty thorough brief-back on her route in and out. She’d rented a Nissan 4×4 from one of the adventure travel services that dotted Dubai and headed out. Hearing her voice meant she was back in cell range and safe.
“No issues with the equipment. Got everything we asked for.”
“No issues with the drop?”
“Well…no, not really.”
I smiled. Something had happened. “What’s that mean?”
“The drop was off by about a thousand meters. Idiots never waited for me to initiate before tossing it out of the plane. No signals, no commo, nothing. Like they had someplace else more important to be.”
“And?”
“And I got stuck in the sand. Okay? I’m still sweating like a hog from digging out.”
I started to rib her just for fun when my phone buzzed from an
incoming call. “Gotta go. Brett’s on the other line. Go take a shower. See you tonight.”
Brett said, “He was just dropped off at the Financial Centre metro station. I’m on him, Knuckles is off.”
“Okay. See if he’s meeting anyone on the train and give us a call when he gets off. We’ll parallel on Sheikh Zayed Road.”
I confirmed instructions to Decoy and Knuckles, trying to piece together what Lucas was doing. Why leave his vehicle on a major thoroughfare and take the metro?
What’s he up to?