Daughter of War

by Brad Taylor

  “No. I don’t think you gave it away, but I do think you lost it.”

  Yasir advanced into the room, taking a seat on the bed across from Song. He said, “Why do you say that? The phone was ruined. Why else would I come back to you for another?”

  Song scoffed and said, “Do you not think we have ways of tracking the handset? It wasn’t destroyed, and there was significant activity around it.” He leaned forward and said, “Activity leading to dead people.”

  “What are you talking about? That phone is gone.”

  “It is now, that’s correct.”

  “Quit the games. What’s going on? Why are you here? I just passed the Red Mercury, like we agreed.”

  Song rubbed his index finger against his thumb, like he was scrapping something off of it. He said nothing. Yasir waited, then said, “Tell me what this is about.”

  Song gazed at him with hooded eyes and said, “There were several Russians killed in Montreux, Switzerland, a few days ago.”

  “So?”

  “They were killed in the last known vicinity of your original handset. So I know you’re lying. What I want to know now is why.”

  Yasir felt his head spin. He’d alerted his Russian contacts just to cauterize a wound, and now it was coming back to burn him. What the hell had they done?

  He had to tread lightly, because he understood the man in the room wouldn’t believe him. He wished he’d never called in his Russian chit.

  He said, “Okay, okay. I lost the phone. I was afraid to tell you that. I asked some friends of mine to retrieve it even as I executed your mission. I made a mistake.”

  Song nodded his head and said, “Good. Honesty. That’s better than the lies you gave before.”

  Yasir waited. Song seemed to study the drapes, scratching his chin. Finally, he said, “Did the pass go as expected?”

  Now wanting to curry favor, Yasir gushed, “Yes. Yes it did. They’ll head to Nice in the next day or two, and link up with a boat I’ve arranged. I have the itinerary and their safe house, if you think I’m lying.”

  Song stood and said, “No, I don’t think you’re lying, but you need to understand that we didn’t give you the Red Mercury for money. We gave it for other reasons. We need that attack to occur, and you haven’t given us a lot of confidence about execution.”

  Confused, Yasir said, “We paid you for it. You got what you wanted. Money.”

  Song leaned over him and said, “Money is not what we want. We want your tribe to kill people with that weapon. We want a statement. Do you understand?”

  Yasir nodded, saying, “Of course. They’ll do it. They even have a target already planned.”

  Song said, “Good. Very good. Now all that remains is the mess you created.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Song looked at him and said, “Someone killed those Russians. Someone with skill. And now I’ll have to alert my own kill team to repair your failure.”

  Song and the security man left the room, and Yasir glanced at the iPhone on the table. The one implanted with the instructions.

  Those bastards have been tracking me forever.

  He turned it off, and realized why they’d specified an iPhone. One couldn’t remove the battery, so turning it off did nothing if there was malware involved. And Yasir was sure that was the case.

  He rose up, sweating. He needed to leave here tomorrow. Check out. Get away from the last place the North Koreans knew. He sat down, took a deep breath, and exhaled, letting the air go like a leaked balloon.

  And then he remembered what the Korean had said. Who had killed the Russians?

  37

  Amena sat in between Jennifer and Pike on a bench facing the elevators, wondering what she was doing. They’d told her to simply point out the Syrian, but that was the easy part. She wondered why. And they weren’t talking. Not only that, but they definitely were scared of others finding out what they were doing. She’d seen that when Jennifer had told her to remain in the bathroom. She wondered if they were criminals.

  Earlier, three Asians had entered the elevator, and you would have thought they had the plague by the way Jennifer had jerked her back into the bathroom. It made her wonder what was going on. What she’d gotten herself into.

  After five minutes, she’d been allowed to leave the restroom, and then Pike’s team had turned into a whirlwind of activity, with everyone doing something—Veep and Knuckles pulling out electronic gear from a suitcase, Blood and Pike disappearing into the lobby, and her being led to a room by Jennifer. Eventually, Pike had arrived at the hotel room with everyone else, and they’d gone back down to the ground floor. Sitting in between the two, she looked up at Pike and said, “You guys don’t like Chinese people?”

  Pike laughed and said, “No, it’s not that. Just keep eyes on the elevators and maybe I’ll buy you some new shoes.”

  She said, “I don’t know why I’m doing this. Maybe I should just walk away.”

  Pike glanced at her and said, “Maybe you should. I’m not keeping you. You’re the one who said you wanted to tag along.”

  She looked at Jennifer and saw compassion. Someone who wanted to help her. She decided that Pike was the enemy. She’d need to work on Jennifer for her goals.

  Jennifer said, “Hey, you’re helping to stop something bad, like what happened to your family. That should be enough.”

  She said, “You guys are dating? Is that right? I’ve seen American dating on the web with Kim Kardashian. I know all about it.”

  Pike gave her an exasperated glance and said, “Yes, damn it, we’re dating. Just watch the elevators.”

  Truculent, not knowing the grenade she was setting off, she said, “You don’t have to be a jerk all the time for my help. My father was a jerk sometimes, but he understood what it meant to raise a child. He was kind when it mattered. He loved me. I know you don’t get that, but trust me, being nice is a good thing.”

  She saw Pike fold into himself, and then look at her with unadulterated pain. He stood up and walked away.

  She looked at Jennifer and said, “What did I do?”

  She saw a hint of a tear in Jennifer’s eye, which confused her further. She said, “What?”

  Jennifer said, “He had a child. A girl. Younger than you. He had a wife, too. They were both murdered. Don’t judge him. He’s walked your path, and he wants to do the right thing.”

  It was the last thing Amena expected, the words a physical blow. She’d believed that none of the horrors of Syria could possibly translate anywhere else, and she’d been wrong. She looked at Pike across the lobby, seeing the pain she had felt for the last eighteen months. Seeing the scab she’d ripped off. She then realized the cause of the change she’d seen on the bridge, when the killer had admitted to murdering her family. Right before Pike had slaughtered him.

  She felt a kinship.

  She took Jennifer’s hand and said, “This was meant to be.”

  Jennifer squeezed back and said, “Don’t do that. It is what it is. It means nothing for your future. We can give you money, but that’s it. You need to understand that.”

  Amena locked eyes with her and said, “No. If it is to be, it is up to me. And this is up to me.”

  In the background, she heard an elevator ding. She saw that Jennifer didn’t believe her. Didn’t understand the depth of her mother’s words. Jennifer showed the hurt of what was to come, knowing they would abandon her. But that was just because Jennifer didn’t understand her. She was not going to be abandoned. Ever again.

  The elevator opened, and a group of men exited, all walking with a purpose. Still focused on her, Jennifer said, “Honey, this isn’t to be. Don’t get your hopes up.”

  Amena looked at the group, and felt her world harden. She said, “That’s him. That’s the Syrian.”

  Jennifer whipped her head to the right, t
hen began working her radio.

  * * *

  —

  I stomped away from Amena, not wanting to admit how much saving her had meant to me. Not wanting to acknowledge how much I wished I’d been home when my family had been slaughtered. I knew it wasn’t fair to put that on her, and I hadn’t saved her life out of a duty to my own. Well, not entirely anyway.

  She was confusing to me. She was a smart-ass of the first order—which I sort of liked—but she was also feral, not trusting anything anyone said. It meant she could bolt at any moment, screwing us just to save herself. Selling us out to the police or the enemy if she thought she’d get more favorable treatment. She was the worst asset I’d ever run. But she was also key to identifying our target.

  And, truthfully, I liked her as a person, no matter what she could provide.

  I leaned over a railing to the hotel restaurant, letting the steam dissipate from her comment to me, knowing she would never understand how deep her words cut, and my radio went off.

  “Pike, Pike, this is Koko, target in sight. He just left the elevator.”

  My first thought was, Are you kidding me? The second I step away?

  Brett cut in saying, “There was no Growler activity. If it’s him, he doesn’t have the phone.”

  I said, “Are we sure it’s the target?”

  Jennifer said, “This is Koko. It’s him. I say again, it’s him.”

  “Veep, Veep, did you get an elevator car?”

  Veep said, “I’ve got two elevators he could have used.”

  I said, “Get on them, now. Lock them down.”

  We only had Alpha authority against this asshole, which meant I couldn’t thump him in the head and squeeze it for information, even if that was the best course of action in my mind. Instead, I had to do the cowardly surreptitious answer—which meant cracking into his room. But, since I didn’t even know his name, I had no idea what room he was in. To the uninitiated, this would seem to be an insurmountable obstacle. But not to the Taskforce.

  The elevators in this Hyatt used an RFID key card to actuate, meaning if you wanted to go up or down, you had to prove you were staying in the hotel, giving us a vulnerability. While I was conducting a recce with Brett, Veep and Knuckles had installed a skimmer on the elevator key access, basically duplicating what criminals did all over the world at gas pumps, skimming credit card information for nefarious use.

  Whenever someone touched their key to the pad, it was recorded in the official hotel database, to include name and room number. All we had to do was short-circuit that, giving us the information. But that also required us to halt the elevators before anyone else keyed the pad. We had to know that the last keyed one was our target. So I had both Veep and Knuckles staged to “ride” the elevators and shut them down, until they could read the skimmer, based on our alert.

  Veep called and said, “I’m in elevator four, and the last is the twelfth floor. A guy named Sheetston.”

  That isn’t it.

  Knuckles called and said, “I’ve got a guy on the ninth floor. His name is Yasir al-Shami.”

  Bingo.

  38

  I said, “Okay, we’re in motion. Blood, remove the skimmers from the elevators. Knuckles, you’ve got security. Let us know if he comes back up. Koko, take Amena back to our suite. Veep, you’re with me. Let’s crack the room.”

  Everyone started moving in a practiced motion, me meeting Veep holding a door at the elevator bank. I entered, let the door close, then said, “Room?”

  He pulled off a backpack and said, “Nine thirteen.”

  He withdrew a handset with a USB plug dangling out of it, and started cycling through programs. I said, “Creed online?”

  “Not yet. I want to get it in first.” He handed me a thin folded metal rod and I snapped it into place, forming an L shape.

  We reached the ninth floor and I said, “You good?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t fuck this up. We need to be in and out.”

  He said, “You want to do it, Grandpa?”

  I laughed and the door opened. We exited and speed-walked down the hallway, reaching room 913. I saw a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the handle and went past it, walking to the end of the hall, searching for cameras or other exits. I saw none. I returned to the door and said, “Radar scope.”

  He handed me what looked like a cell phone from an eighties movie. The gadget could penetrate the walls and let us know if something was alive inside. It didn’t matter how still you were, it would sense something as tiny as a heart beating.

  I put it against the wall to the left of the door, then began scanning, looking like I was trying to find a stud. I got nothing. I repeated the maneuver on the far side of the door, and said, “Room’s clear. Elevator.”

  He jogged back, positioned himself, and keyed his radio, “Clear, but there’s a camera here. It saw us exit.”

  I pulled a spool of cable from the handle of the tool he’d given me, forming a loop, and said, “No issue. As long as it can’t see me.”

  “You’re good.”

  I slid the rod under the jamb, holding the running end of the wire. I pulled the rod up against the door, then leaned it toward the handle. It missed, rotating all the way to the floor. I withdrew it, then began again. This time, I felt it seat, and slowly pulled the wire running out from under the door. I got nothing.

  Shit.

  Every hotel door opens from the inside—even if the bolt lock is engaged—to prevent someone from being unable to escape in an emergency, such as a fire. The tool I was using was basically a loop that would engage the handle and release the lock as if a guest were in the room—but getting it to seat correctly while being on the outside wasn’t a sure thing. It was like trying to insert a key with a blindfold on. I began to feel the heat of time. If anyone popped out of their room in the hallway, I’d look like an idiot.

  I pulled the rod out a bit, then let it fall back in place, gently tugging the wire. I felt resistance. On my radio, I heard, “Elevator. Not the target, but two people exiting.”

  I gave up on gentle, yanking the wire hard. I felt the door pop open, and slipped inside just as two people rounded the corner. I put my eye to the peephole, seeing them pass without incident. I said, “Inside. Come on.”

  Ten seconds later I saw Veep in the peephole. I let him in, and pointed at the television. Mounted on a swivel bracket designed to swing so that guests could see it on the bed, I pulled it away from the wall while Veep set up the penetration device.

  Before we’d checked in, the Taskforce had given us a complete readout of the vulnerabilities of the room, and the biggest one was the television. A flat-screen Samsung model, it had built-in voice commands that could be used to change channels or search for programs, routed through the internet to a server at Samsung corporate. In this case, the hotel hadn’t activated voice command, but the hardware still existed and was something we could exploit. Using a program called Weeping Angel, we could turn on the voice feature no matter the status of the television, then slave the TV’s Wi-Fi function to our own servers, in effect turning it into a giant microphone that would hear everything spoken in the room. Yay for the Internet of Things.

  I found the USB port, pointed it out, and said, “You got this?”

  “Yep.”

  “Give me the Dragonball. He left without his phone.”

  He passed me another device, this one smaller, looking like a scientific calculator with multiple dongles hanging out of it. I left him to his work, then began searching the room, careful not to disturb anything. After checking the bedroom, I went into the bath and found another iPhone X on the counter, in plain view, but turned off.

  I fired it up, then selected the Apple lightning port dongle of the Dragonball. I plugged it in, turned it on, then saw the iPhone screen go blank, showing a battery charging symbol with ze
ro percent. It jumped to four, and I knew the device was working, cloning the phone.

  I went back to Veep and said, “What’s the status?”

  He said, “Done. Just need to test.”

  He pulled out a cell phone, dialed a number, then said, “Creed, we’re live. Want to test.”

  He listened, then muted the phone, saying, “Test, test, test” into the room.

  He unmuted the cell, put it to his ear, then looked at me and smiled. He said, “Good work,” and hung up. “We’re live.”

  “So if I say Creed’s an asshole, he’ll hear me?”

  My cell vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a single text: Yes.

  I laughed and said, “Okay, good to go. Just know that I’m going to need the transcript first thing in the morning. By six a.m.”

  Will do.

  “Thanks, Creed. Never had a doubt.” I went back to the bathroom, checked the Dragonball, and saw it at 97 percent. My phone vibrated again.

  Koko there?

  It went to 98 percent, and I said, “Yep. But she’s wearing a bathrobe.”

  Creed had a massive crush on Jennifer, even as she treated him like she was a babysitter tolerating the affections of a kid. He ate it up, relishing her attention, not realizing she was far out of his league. Or understanding the fact that I was dating her. Then again, maybe he did understand that, which made him a braver man than I would have been if the roles were reversed.

  Veep came into the bathroom, a question on his face, and I held up my phone. He read the texts, grinned, and it vibrated again.

  She’s in what? Say again?

  We hit 100 percent, I unplugged, and said, “Creed, get your head out of the gutter. I’m in a hostile room. She’s not here. She’s babysitting someone besides you.”

  My phone went crazy with three texts.

  That isn’t what I meant.

  You are cruel.