by Glen Robins
Fire built in Penh’s eyes, a rage Collin had never witnessed in person. He came full-force, and although Collin tried to protect himself, Penh’s powerful kick to the chest knocked Collin on his back. It took the air out of his lungs and shot pain through his torso. Penh fell on him with savage hostility, pinning Collin to the ground. Penh’s knees were on Collin’s biceps, holding down his arms while he repeatedly punched and slapped Collin’s face. Collin wiggled and twisted under Penh’s weight, eventually freeing his right arm as Penh struck him with a right across the cheek. Collin swung his right fist into Penh’s left thigh. This time he let go of the nail as he stuck it in the muscle. In one swift motion, Collin hammered the nail deeper into the quadricep with his balled fist.
Penh howled and grabbed his leg. As he did, Collin reached up and grabbed Penh by the throat with both hands. Penh reacted by grabbing each of Collin’s wrists, trying to pry them away. But Collin was stronger than Penh had credited him. Collin rolled to his left, pulling Penh to the ground and reducing his leverage. As Collin tried to scramble to pin him, Penh kicked hard, hitting Collin in the ribs and knocking him back.
Collin’s muscles were warmed up now and responding better. He spun around and regained his feet. He tried to clear his head while Penh was down. Collin was dizzy and a bit nauseous, but he fought it back. Penh stood and dug the nail out of his leg, glaring at Collin as he panted and fumed.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mobile Command Center, Mexico City, Mexico
June 18, 10:32 p.m. Local Time
A knock came just before a guard stuck his head in to announce the arrival of Señor Billy Bob’s guests. Lukas stood and shook hands with each of the three men as they introduced themselves. Of course, he knew who they were and what they looked like long before this, but he indulged in the pleasantries nonetheless. He gave them a brief and rapid-fire recap of Collin Cook’s story, starting with the accident that claimed his wife and children and moving quickly to the $30 million settlement paid out by Pho Nam Penh’s shell company, Pacific Casualty Insurance, an offshore reinsurer. He spoke quickly and avoided minutia. When he saw the confused looks, he explained that a reinsurance company is one that insures the primary insurance companies when they take on risks that are larger than they are comfortable with. He explained how lucrative this had been for Penh and how he had used the profits from it and other shell companies to fund his syndicate and launch his malicious cyberattacks.
Lukas also explained how he had first met Penh at MIT when they were both graduate students at the vaunted technology school. They joined the same club and studied in many of the same groups. Lukas watched Penh closely because of the vibe Penh gave off, even then. Lukas explained briefly their association and dealings at the time.
Lukas admitted that Penh had given him the shivers back then when he spoke. The man had a coldness and a hardness about him that left little doubt that he wouldn’t stop until his vision became reality. When Lukas was recruited by the NSA, he unfolded for his superiors the depth and breadth of Pho Nam Penh’s intentions and the lengths he had gone to, even in graduate school, to recruit tech-savvy dissidents. With recordings and writings and one of Penh’s dark net websites as proof, it didn’t take long before Lukas was granted permission and resources to keep tabs on Penh. As the threat grew, so did Lukas’s stature and budget. He explained how his death in Afghanistan was faked so he could go deep undercover.
One of his guests asked why he had to fake his death. “Because of an argument that got out of hand the day before graduation,” Lukas explained. “I opposed him openly and disagreed with him vehemently during one of his secretive recruiting events and he swore that if I ever got in his way, he would ruin me. Well, it didn’t take long. He knew I was wary of him and knew I was determined to stop him. That’s why he planted evidence at a mutual friend’s house that cast suspicion on me as a contributor to my friend’s death.”
“How’d you exonerate yourself?”
“By that time, I had friends in high places. My technical prowess and die-hard loyalty had won me many friends. Their words, not mine. They went to bat for me and cleared me of any and all suspicions.”
“It’s good to know the right people, isn’t it?”
Lukas paused, choosing his words carefully. “I enjoy using my talents to help keep people safe, especially the country that has given me so many opportunities and gifts. I know there are plenty of imperfections in our system and in our history, but this country has allowed a poor Austrian kid to grow up and pursue every dream he’s ever dreamed and more. And my friends have been part of that from the time I arrived. I’ll do anything I can to save this country and my friends.”
“Very well,” said the tall, experienced gentleman. “We’d better get to work.”
With that, Lukas quickly laid out the plan of attack. He equipped each man with an earpiece and mic as well as a GPS tracker and camera attached to the bullet-proof vest he wore. The GPS units, they were told, would allow them to see where all of Lukas’s commandos were, including Collin. Each man was marked with a different color. They were also given night vision goggles, gloves, and beanie caps to keep them warm in the chill nighttime mountain air.
As they exited Lukas’s temporary headquarters, a large military command truck on loan from the Mexican government, they stepped across a parking lot to the awaiting helicopter. With a thumbs-up, Lukas wished them luck through the earpieces they wore.
These three detectives had earned the right to be here and be part of this culmination. They had worked hard, applying the skills of their trade. He wanted them to participate in the biggest victory for freedom and democracy that no one would ever hear about.
****
Seventy-Fifth Floor, Unfinished Office Building, Mexico City, Mexico
June 18, 10:38 p.m. Local Time
Blood dripped from the nail as Penh raised it to eye level. He peered past it at Collin, contempt flaring from his dark eyes. The nail made a hollow clink as it dropped to the bare concrete.
Collin crouched down and swept the area with one hand, searching for anything he could use as a weapon. Nothing but dust. He backed up as Penh staggered forward. A few feet later, Collin bumped into a bucket and fell backward, landing in a pile of debris. This gave Penh another chance to pounce. And pounce he did. Two limping steps forward and Penh dove on top of Collin again, punching as he came up to a kneeling position. Collin’s left hand grasped something solid. A short 2 x 4 piece of wood that he swung at Penh’s head. This slowed Penh down enough as he stopped punching to block it that Collin could strike at his midsection with his right fist. He aimed for the solar plexus and succeeded in knocking out some of Penh’s breath. Collin continued to swing the 2 x 4 until Penh wrested it from his grip. With Penh preoccupied, Collin was able to push Penh off him and pull himself free again.
As he scrambled to his feet, he bumped into something solid. A thick hand came around his mouth and another one around his waist. Collin tried to struggle free, but it was useless. The man was too powerful and Collin was too exhausted.
Someone else walked to Penh’s side and helped him to his feet. The bodyguards. Dark sweaters, dark pants, thick bodies. Confidence and victory in their eyes and smiles. Penh shook off the help and staggered toward Collin. They had moved close to the window along the wall perpendicular to the missing window by Rob. Pale moonlight, filtered by the smoked glass, outlined his form as he approached. His fists were balled and the rage in his eyes even hotter than before. Penh stood in the light, three feet from Collin, surveying the scene as if trying to decide exactly how to dispose of his enemy.
As he glared at Collin, shots rang out through the stillness. Penh dropped to the floor, ducking for cover. The bodyguard behind Penh lifted his machine gun, not sure where to aim. Then his arms flailed backward once, twice, three times as bullets ripped into him. His gun let out a final futile burst into the ceiling as he crashed to the floor, sending a plume of dust into the air. The guy b
ehind Collin loosened his grip and dropped to the ground at about the same time.
Collin stood motionless, stunned, while Penh pushed himself up from the ground, clutching his injured thigh.
Crunching sounds in the darkness to Collin’s left pulled him out of the temporary shock and back into the present. “Mr. Cook, are you all right?” said a deep American voice. Collin squinted in the direction of the voice. All he could see was the outline of a tall figure, two hands holding a gun straight out in front of his body, stepping slowly and cautiously through the space.
“Yeah, I’m OK. Who are you?”
The guy stepped into the light coming through the window, still training his gun on Penh. He was a tall black man with a few gray hairs showing at the temples. A second later he flashed a badge. “I’m Special Agent Reggie Crabtree. FBI.”
Another man stepped out from behind Collin, wiping blood from a hunting knife as he stepped over the dead bodyguard. He was tall and husky and wore cowboy boots and jeans with a corduroy blazer. “Special Agent Spinner McCoy,” he said with a grin and a Texas accent as he continued walking. He kicked the gun from the bodyguard closest to Penh.
A third guy approached Penh, gun at the draw. He had thinning reddish hair and a squeaky voice with a heavy British accent. “Detective Nicolas Lancaster, Interpol. Mr. Penh, you are under arrest for criminal acts perpetrated against the United Kingdom and other sovereign nations relating to cyberactivity, grand larceny, and the disruption of banking commerce.” He grabbed Penh’s arms and pulled them behind his back and bound his wrists with plastic zip-tie cuffs.
****
Mobile Command Center, Mexico City, Mexico
June 18, 10:42 p.m. Local Time
Lukas pumped his fist in the air as he watched his three guests take Penh into custody and save Collin. He wasted little time celebrating, though. There was still work to do.
“Butch,” he said into his headset’s microphone. “Get your team downstairs to help secure the civilians. Your backups should be arriving any minute.”
“I don’t know if I can,” responded Butch, who was breathing heavily and speaking haltingly. “We’re pinned down here on the seventy-sixth floor. A whole new unit has joined the fight. There must be fifty or sixty of them taking up position around us. They’ve just about got us flanked.”
“Hang in there, Butch. Use the gas and a flash-bang. That’ll slow them down.”
“Roger that.”
Lukas heard Butch giving one of his men the command to “smoke ’em out.”
“We’re deploying every smoke can we’ve got so we can get back to the stairs,” Butch said, still breathing hard.
“Reinforcements will be coming from up above and down below. They’ll be wearing camo instead of Class B’s. Should make them easier to spot. Don’t shoot at those guys, OK?”
“Roger. Camo is friendly. Everyone we’ve seen in here is wearing B’s.”
Lukas switched his focus to another monitor that showed him exactly where everyone was. Four transport trucks of loyalist soldiers were taking up position on every side of the building, each a block away. Two helicopters were airborne above the building. Salazar’s men had held the top of the building secure. Salazar’s pilot was moving his chopper so the additional transports could land and unload.
Lukas was pleased, but wished they weren’t a step behind Torres and his troops. It would have been so much better if the Mexican authorities had believed him sooner. But, he realized, that was the nature of the business when working with politicians. Their abundance of caution and reticence to move quickly often caused problems for him. This time, the political gears moved just fast enough to divert a disaster and just slow enough to complicate an otherwise simple operation.
Checking the monitor with the live-streaming thermal images, Lukas pressed the mic button on his headset to give his team members some warning. “You’ve got company coming up the stairs. Looks like at least two dozen unfriendlies. Be ready for it.”
****
75th Floor, Unfinished Office Building, Mexico City, Mexico
June 18, 10:43 p.m. Central Time
Nic Lancaster looked very pleased as he hauled Pho Nam Penh to his feet and began to drag him away by the collar. Reggie Crabtree held Collin by the elbow until he was steady enough to walk on his own. Spinner McCoy followed behind.
Collin pointed to the missing glass pane on their right, the source of the wind that was blowing up dust and swirling it around them. “Rob is over this way,” he said as he started off in the direction he pointed.
Following Collin’s instructions, Nic guided Penh toward the windowless wall, using the light from his phone. He found an opening in the metal framing that looked to be for a doorway. He pushed the limping Penh through in front of him into what looked to be a future hallway. The others lined up to follow. He heard something in his earpiece. Something that sounded like a warning. “Come again,” he said politely as he held a finger in his ear to block out extraneous noise. But he didn’t press the mic button.
As Nic shone his light behind for the others to see, he noticed the looks on the faces of Collin, Crabtree, and McCoy. Then someone shouted, “Stop right there.” A blaze of bouncing lights illuminated the empty space, approaching them from all sides. Nic swept his phone light in an arc to reveal at least two dozen Mexican troops with assault rifles aimed and triggers fingered. Each had a high-powered LED light fixed to the top of their weapons. They moved swiftly and surrounded the five men. Two pairs of soldiers moved out to inspect the fallen bodies a few yards behind the group and more men swarmed into their places.
A distinguished gentleman wearing soft Italian loafers, a long camel-colored wool trench coat, and a finely tailored suit stepped into the light. He had a shock of thick white hair, neatly combed, and a full mustache to compliment his handsome, tanned face. “You have no right to be here. This is my country, my jurisdiction,” said the man. His R’s rolled gracefully off his tongue and his J’s had a jha sound to them.
“The hell I don’t,” cried Nic Lancaster in his high-pitched voice. “Interpol has worldwide jurisdiction in cases of international crime, such as the crimes committed by this man.”
“He is in my country. My government will see to his prosecution,” the man said. His voice carried a regal, authoritarian tone.
“And who might you be?” asked Nic indignantly.
“My name is Juan Miguel Rivera Torres. I am a senior senator in the Mexican government. You have overstepped your bounds and I shall see to it that you receive the punishment you deserve for violating the sovereignty of this great nation.”
“I’ve done no such thing, Senator,” Nic said, his pitch elevating with each word. He retained a firm grip on Penh’s shirt.
“Release him to the proper authorities,” demanded Senator Torres. Two of the soldiers stepped toward Nic, aiming at his head. Nic wouldn’t let loose his grasp on Penh. He stared at the senator, jaw muscles tensed.
Torres repeated his demand. “Release him.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” said Nic defiantly. His eyes flicked from one rifle to another. The men holding them tensed, but waited for their leader’s command. Even with all of those muzzles pointing at his head, Nic Lancaster was determined to stand his ground.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Seventy-Fifth Floor, Unfinished Office Building, Mexico City, Mexico
June 18, 10:45 p.m. Local Time
“Don’t get any crazy ideas there, Senator Torres,” barked Reggie Crabtree. He and McCoy had drawn their weapons when they heard Lukas’s warning and now held them steady with both hands, aiming them at Torres’s face. “Tell your boys to stand down or we’ll blow your head off.”
Crabtree had turned his mic on so Lukas could heard the whole exchange. Nic was obviously following Lukas’s instructions to stall as long as possible. The guy had guts. Crabtree had to admire that about him. But he also felt compelled to take control of the situation—to the extent possible
, anyway.
Torres raised a hand to steady everyone’s nerves as he stared unflinchingly at the faces of the two Americans pointing .40-caliber Glocks at him. His comely features remained calm amid the tension. Clearly, he thought he had had the situation completely under control. Torres didn’t know what Crabtree knew because he didn’t have the same information Crabtree had coming in through a hidden earpiece.
“Aren’t you the Senator Torres being investigated by the Federal Ministerial Police for acts of subversion and collusion with a foreign entity intent on overthrowing the duly elected president of Mexico?” asked Crabtree, trying to deflect some of the attention away from Nic.
Torres’s eyes grew wide in panic first, then turned cold and hostile as he cocked his head and squinted at Crabtree. “These accusations have no grounds,” he snapped.
“Oh, really? I beg to differ. I wouldn’t be here by invitation of your government if there weren’t suitable grounds,” said Reggie. “Between our two governments, there’s a mountain of pertinent data that suggests you are guilty as charged.”
“They can prove nothing. Besides, in a matter of hours, there will be a new government in Mexico. At that point, the Policia Federal Ministerial will be under my command and their investigation will be irrelevant.”
The soldiers aiming the rifles exchanged glances, but remained poised and ready to shoot.
“You seem pretty sure of yourself there, Senator. How confident are you in the coalition you’ve formed within the army? Are you sure you have all the support you think you have?”
Reggie paused, watching the senator squirm slightly. His men looked confused and unsure. Reggie listened as Lukas coaxed him through the earpiece saying, “We need two more minutes. Keep it going for just two more minutes.”
“Maybe you are unaware of the four full brigades of soldiers loyal to the current administration—the only one with a legitimate claim to govern—who are, at this very moment, surrounding this building and taking control of it, floor by floor. Your forces, though impressive and surprising in numbers, will be no match for the overwhelming numbers under the command of General Aguilar. I’m sure you know him. He’s the general over the entire Mexican Army. He’s aware of your treasonous designs and has dispatched every available soldier to stop your intended coup.”