Sympathy For the Devil (4 page)

A
S SOON
as Hicks got outside, he saw the weather had taken a turn for the worse. Cold wind and heavy snow whipped around him as he crossed Forty-fifth Street toward the MetLife Building on his way to catch the subway at Grand Central. The storm was blowing in right on time, but Hicks didn’t mind. The wind and the snow only made him feel more alive than he already did.

Hooking a new Asset always made his day. He imagined salespeople felt the same way after closing a deal. Only this was much better. Because Hicks’ thrill wasn’t just over closing a deal on a house or selling merchandise. It came from bending a strong person to his will and making them do his bidding. It was a power trip. A boost to his ego. And an essential part of the University’s success.

As always, Hicks’ happiness was tempered by reality. Despite all his threats, there was always a risk that an Asset might do something drastic like kill himself. Russo’s OMNI profile showed a low likelihood of suicide, but not even the University’s biometric analytics could predict what a man might do when blackmailed.

Either way, Russo’s ego would require some soothing pretty soon; more carrot than stick to appeal to the same greed that had put him in a position to be blackmailed in the first place. Hicks made a note to let Russo move some of the New York Office’s fund’s money in a day or so. Maybe three or four million to start. Let him make some coin off the commission and see the benefit his new partnership with Hicks could provide.

Hicks had just ridden the escalator from the MetLife Building down into Grand Central when he felt his handheld begin to vibrate in his pocket. He stepped out of the flow of pedestrian traffic and tapped the screen alive.

To anyone passing by, he looked like any other man checking his email on a smartphone. On the off chance the phone was lost or stolen, whoever found it would see a phone with a regular passcode screen. Even if they managed to crack the passcode, they’d find all of the usual apps and features one would expect to find on such a device.

But in reality, Hicks’ phone was unlike almost any other device in the world. It had been issued to him by the University and didn’t operate on any cellular network available to the public. It only functioned on the University’s secure OMNI network.

Hicks entered his four digit passcode that unlocked the common features of the phone, then tapped on an ambiguous-looking icon that activated the device’s camera. The camera scanned Hicks’ facial features to verify that he was, indeed, James Hicks.

Another passcode screen automatically opened and asked for a longer twelve-digit password. He entered it and was allowed to access the University’s server.

A text message appeared, formatted in the University’s usual spare style:

STUDENT 1357 REQUESTS IMMEDIATE INTERVIEW. 20:00 HRS TONIGHT. LOCATION FORTHCOMING. PLESE ADVISE AS TO AVAILABILITY.

Although the message was properly formatted and relatively short, Hicks still had to read it three more times to understand it. It didn’t make any sense.

‘Student 1357’ was the official University designation for one of his deep cover operatives: Colin Rousseau. He had assigned Colin an undercover role as a driver at a Somali cab outfit in Long Island City, Queens. The owner, a man named Omar Farhan, and several drivers were on the University’s terror Watch List, which had a lower threshold than most national watch lists. OMNI had been passively tracking their movements for over a year, and Colin had been working at the cabstand for just over five months. Since Colin’s family had originally come from Kenya, he knew enough of the language and customs to blend in without being an obvious plant.

It had been a sleepy assignment and Hicks was thinking of pulling the plug on it. But now, Colin had hit the panic button. When an experienced agent requested an emergency meeting, there had to be a damned good reason.

Hicks wasn’t surprised when his handheld showed his Department Chair was calling him. Other professions had the option of allowing unwanted phone calls to go to voicemail. Hicks didn’t have that luxury. He knew Jason would only keep calling until Hicks answered because, according to the University’s structure, Jason was technically Hicks’ boss.

Hicks tapped the icon to allow the call through and brought the handheld up to his ear. “I just got Colin’s message.”

Jason had never been one for pleasantries or ceremony. “According to your activity log, you had your weekly debriefing with him yesterday.”

“I know. I wrote it, remember?”

“And I read it. I didn’t see anything there that would suggest a sudden need to meet.”

Jason’s tone grated on him, until Hicks remembered the Dean of the University had chosen Jason because he wasn’t field personnel. Jason was a planner and organizer. If it didn’t fall into a cell on a spreadsheet, it held little relevance in Jason’s world. Hicks remembered what the Dean had told him when he’d brought Jason on six months before:
Jason is only your superior on paper, James. He’s merely your connection to us. Think of him as a link in the protective chain of command. That’s all.

That didn’t make working with the son of a bitch any easier. “Field work isn’t always predictable. Things like this happen from time to time, but there’s no sense in wasting time guessing why he needs to meet. I won’t know anything until I actually talk to him.”

“I find the sudden urgency of it disturbing. Will you require any assistance?” Jason asked. “Perhaps a Varsity team could be in the area to provide support.”

“No thanks.” The Varsity was the University’s tactical unit, usually reserved for raids or clean up jobs following a hit. Some of them were levelheaded and some were cowboys. He didn’t want them anywhere near this kind of meeting. “Colin’s my man, my problem. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“And if it does?”

“Then I’ll handle it.”

“The Dean is confident that you will. I only wish I shared his confidence. Colin should be sending through the location of the rendezvous in a moment, if he’s still following protocol. We’ll decide then what precautions are best.”

Jason killed the connection and Hicks’ screen went dark. Jason always had been a last word freak.

The handheld vibrated again as the location for the meeting had come through. Despite the security of their network, the University had an elaborate, often cumbersome, security protocol for emergency circumstances. Undercover personnel called emergency meetings and could call the location. They could only go through the Switchboard and weren’t allowed to contact their handlers directly.

Since most University operatives were usually imbedded with sophisticated, careful terrorist groups, this protocol protected agent and handler alike. The agent called a central number, gave the handler’s call sign and message. An operator then transmitted the insisted on often separated key parts of their messages. Locations of meetings were up to the field agent and seldom included in a message requesting a meeting. If the agent was in distress, there were subtle phrases to use that would alert the University that they were being forced to call in. Colin’s message had no such warning, so Hicks assumed he was clear.

A map application with the address opened and showed exactly where Colin wanted to meet. Under a footbridge in Central Park at eight o’clock that night.

During the predicted height of the coming blizzard.

Hicks pocketed his handheld and headed down to the subway. There was no sense in questioning the message or looking at the map any more than he already had. He could ask himself all sorts of questions and speculate all he wanted, but he knew it wouldn’t do a damned bit of good. He wouldn’t know what all of this was about until he spoke to Colin.

Until then, he had plenty of work to do.

20:00 Hrs / 8:00PM

H
ICKS FELT
like the artic explorers of old as he trudged through almost a foot of heavy snow toward Central Park. The streets were unplowed and deserted and there wasn’t a cab in sight. The MTA had recalled all buses and subways hours ago because of the storm, so walking was the only way he could get uptown. He didn’t mind. He’d been in worse weather in worse parts of the world; often with people trying to kill him. Besides, he had short barreled .454 Ruger in the pocket of his parka to keep him warm. He usually preferred the compact feel of a .22 but, given the wind, he went with a higher caliber. Most would’ve gone for an automatic, but Hicks preferred revolvers. No worries about the damned thing jamming at the wrong time.

Hicks thought a lot about Colin and his phone call as he trudged through the snow. He’d spent the afternoon and early evening on the University’s system analyzing Colin’s phone and computer activity. OMNI was tied in to every ISP and mobile service in the world—had been from the beginning—so access to virtually every web-enabled device was only a few mouse clicks away. No other agency had that kind of access. Not even the NSA. The Snowden mess proved that. The Snowden mess also validated the University’s obsession with secrecy, even in the intelligence world.

None of Colin’s digital activity proved suspicious except for the lack of it in the past day or so. Colin was like most people in the twenty-first century: addicted to his phone. He mostly visited sports sights and online Islamic bulletin boards. He scanned Al Jazeera and the New York Times. When no one was around, he watched SportsCenter clips online and porn sites. Hicks knew Colin had a weakness for Asian chicks and his surfing history proved it.

Since he was undercover, Colin wasn’t allowed to have a University device. He went with an independent wireless carrier instead. Just because University devices couldn’t be hacked didn’t mean the Dean allowed their equipment to be put in harm’s way. Operatives were trained, but they were human and humans made mistakes. They lost phones and left them at friends’ houses. They got drunk and left them behind. No need to tempt fate. Terrorists got lucky. 9/11 had proven that, too.

Colin had been a rock since Hicks had taken over the University’s New York office three years before. Colin had joined the U.S. Army when he was eighteen and had shown a capacity for languages and an immigrant’s love for country. He’d found a home in Intelligence and eventually came to work for the University ten years before.

Hicks had worked with him in other parts of the world and was glad he’d been able to talk him into transferring to the New York Office. Colin was a rare breed who could work deep cover or handle the tactical aspects of the job seamlessly. He could imbed with the bad guys or run a raid on a cell with equal efficiency. And Hicks had every intention of nominating him for Office Head next time an opening came up.

Hicks had fully expected Colin to balk at the cab stand assignment, but he didn’t. Hicks had shown him the file and explained the cab stand owner—Omar—was a Somali with some radical tendencies. He mostly hired Somali drivers with equally radical tendencies.

It was the kind of posting some in the University had classified as a cold assignment, but Hicks’ gut said different. Too many rotten eggs in one place always raised a stink and he wanted eyes on them for a while. The cab stand vibed amateur, but it only took one strike to bring a cell into the pros. The tacit digital surveillance Hicks had placed on their phones and computers led him to believe Omar and his boys would pull a job if someone gave them a chance—and enough money—to pull it off.