Alton shrugged. “I picked it up off a street vendor on my way over here. I don’t like to be completely unarmed.”
Jahandar chuckled again. “Keep your Beretta. I don’t need to search you. Besides, I have twelve men here. If you tried any ‘funny business’, as you call it, you and your friends would never make it off my farm alive.”
The arms dealer led them into the dilapidated barn. Rusty farming implements and broken tools hung from hooks on the walls. One of the flunkies removed a push-broom from its mounted position near the hayloft. He used it to sweep a mound of grain a couple of yards towards the back wall, revealing a trap door.
With a lopsided smile, Alton turned to Mallory. “Into the abyss, Mrs. Blackwell?”
“If it’ll help us figure out what happened to my dad, I’m ready.”
CHAPTER 18
One of Jahandar’s men grasped an iron ring affixed to the center of the trap door and pulled it open. He flipped a switch, revealing a plain wooden staircase illuminated by a string of uncovered lightbulbs. The arms dealer and his men descended with Alton and Mallory following close behind.
Once inside the chamber, the lackey flipped a series of switches on a gray panel, and scores of fluorescent bulbs flooded the subterranean room with light.
“Holy cow!” said Mallory. “You weren’t kidding about this place being a mercenaries’ superstore.”
Shelves and tables lined the earthen walls. All horizontal surfaces bristled with arms of every conceivable sort. The weapons were organized by category, beginning with small arms at the room’s entrance and working up to M240 machine guns and several varieties of mortars in the last section. Ammunition of all sorts, electronic gear, knives, helmets, and other types of protective clothing occupied a second chamber branching off the rear of the room.
“Let’s take care of the standard weaponry first,” said Alton.
He and Mallory began with the first small-arms table. They picked out six SIG Sauer P226 handguns with suppressors and plenty of ammo.
“You’re getting one for Mastana?” asked Mallory. “I thought we weren’t bringing her into combat situations.”
“I hope not, but we can’t be sure. The last thing I want to do is leave her without a way of defending herself. David said he’s been training her on his Glock back home, so she knows her way around a pistol. I’m more worried about Gilbert. He told me that before two days ago, he hadn’t handled a weapon since his initial NSA training.”
Mallory snorted. “Guess we’ll be giving him a refresher course.”
After they selected a few more pieces of standard armament, Jahandar gestured to the second chamber. “Non-lethal weapons are over there.”
At the end of a thirty-minute process of selection and haggling, Alton and Mallory sealed the deal with Jahandar. They ascended from the man-made cavern back into the barn and waited a moment for their eyes to acclimate from the glare of the bunker’s fluorescent lights to the ancient barn’s gloom.
Jahandar’s men began dragging equipment up the wooden stairs and placing it in a pile on the barn floor.
Silva walked over. “What do we have?”
“I mostly outfitted for covert ops,” said Alton. “I got the standard stuff: flak vests, web gear, rucksacks, helmets, binoculars, night-vision goggles, sub-vocalization microphones and earpieces, camo paint…”
“We also picked up some tactical equipment we might need, depending on what we find inside the target site,” said Mallory, not wanting to identify Pasha Tech in front of Jahandar’s men. “Smoke grenades, incendiaries, bolt cutters, folding shovels, and shaped charges if we have to blow through a wall. And we got hydrofluoric acid in case we need stealthy access to a safe or locked room. It dissolves steel, sort of.”
“‘Sort of’?” asked Silva.
“Jahandar said it’s only so so for the job,” replied Mallory, “but it’s all he had.”
“I don’t think we want to wander around the chemical stores of Kabul looking for something better,” said Alton. “Not exactly the best way to keep a low profile.”
“Agreed,” said Silva. “What about weapons?”
“Suppressed SIG Sauers, Tasers, and M9s,” he replied, the last item being bayonets that could double as knives. “In case all hell breaks loose, I also picked up frag grenades and some A-fours with M-two-oh-three under-the-barrel-grenade launchers.”
Silva nodded in approval. “So now we load up?”
“Exactly,” said Alton. “Let’s sort everything into the rucksacks now. We don’t want to go strolling through the hotel lobby with all this stuff later.”
The packing finished, Alton counted out thirty-two one-ounce gold coins and passed them to the arms dealer.
“And now you will join me for tea?” asked Jahandar.
Having served in Afghanistan for several years, Alton knew the importance of the tea ritual for sealing a deal. “We’d be glad to. Thank you.”
The group began to walk towards the farmhouse. Alton turned to Silva. “Best manners now. We may have to come back here to resupply.”
She snorted. “I’m an angel. But trust me…I’ll be ready to leave whenever you are.”
“Don’t get too anxious,” said Alton. “We’ll be at Pasha Tech’s doorstep before you know it.”
CHAPTER 19
That afternoon, the NSA team reconvened in the Blackwells’ hotel room. Alton used an RF scanner to sweep the room for electronic bugs, then described the purchased items to Gilbert, David, and Mastana.
“We also got body cameras,” he added. Alton turned to Mastana. “Everyone on the team will be recording a video throughout our trip to Pasha Tech. When we return from the mission, I’ll need you to translate any writings our cameras pick up.”
Mastana nodded. “Yes, I can do that.”
“And now it’s almost time to have our con call with Vega,” said Alton. Ten minutes later, he activated the room’s screamers and dialed into the secure teleconference.
“Greetings,” said Vega. “Did you get the money I wired?
“Yep,” replied Alton. “We met with my arms contact a few hours ago.”
“How did that go?”
“We got everything we needed,” replied Alton. “We’re ready for a covert op. Now we just need to decide where to go once we get inside Pasha Tech.”
“I have some good news on that front,” said Vega. “Back before nine eleven, the Afghani government required companies involved with the construction of government buildings to submit architectural plans prior to commencing work. All the plans were scanned and stored on a government server. You may recall that Pasha Tech was owned by Sakhi Enterprises, a government-run company.”
“Which means that Pasha Tech’s plans would have been submitted, too,” inferred Alton.
“That’s right,” said Vega. “One of my analysts has all the passwords for the Afghani government’s public-records domain. With the help of an interpreter, she found the blueprints folder and eventually tracked down the architectural plans to Pasha Tech itself.”
“Awesome,” murmured David.
“What kind of information were you able to get?” asked Silva.
“It’s pretty detailed,” said Vega. “We got our hands on the site plans and blueprints for each building. We only got this a couple of hours ago, so we’ve just started analyzing it. Let me bring it up.” He switched over from his videoconference camera to white architectural images rendered on a royal-blue background. “This is the site map. The complex has five buildings, and the whole thing is surrounded by a fence.”
Alton studied the map. A building lay in each corner of a rectangle formed by the fence, while a large structure lay in the middle of the site.
“The main entrance for motor traffic lies on the eastern side,” continued Vega.
“In that case, we’d probably want to enter from the west,” said Silva.
Alton nodded. “Probably. But we’ll want to recon the area once we get there. The topograp
hy might create a natural spot to breech the perimeter, like a lot of underbrush or a hill to hide our activities.”
“The five buildings are labeled,” said Vega. He zoomed into the center building. “This large one is the lab. The schematics for that building show a refrigerated section in the middle and a security checkpoint at each of its two entrances. This building in the northwest corner houses the administrative offices. Any records the company maintains are most likely stored there. The security for this building, at least for the entrances, appears light, as far as its design is concerned.”
“Agent Vega,” said Alton, “I’ve been thinking about this operation. Strategically, what approach should we use? Do we try to observe their operations firsthand, or do we take company records and bring them back to study?”
“Good question, Blackwell,” said Vega. “I’ll leave that call up to you when your team arrives on site. Ideally, we’d prefer to observe the activities of the lab. But if security is too tight, let’s opt for the company records. As long as you get in and out unobserved, you could always return to the lab on a second operation.”
“Makes sense,” said Alton. “Either way, the architectural plans should make it easier for us to penetrate the site. Let’s take a closer look at the layout of the administrative building.”
Vega zoomed in until only that building filled the screen on Alton’s laptop.
“What’s with all the weird halls?” asked David, pointing to a jumble of dead-ends and switchback corridors. “It looks like a frikkin maze.”
“Maybe it’s supposed to be,” said Alton.
Silva drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “Why would they do that?”
“Perhaps to confuse intruders,” replied Alton. He ran a hand through his hair, contemplating the strange design. “If I hadn’t seen how organized the lab was laid out, I’d think they just didn’t plan this building very well. I think this design was intentional, made to trip people up.”
“Which implies they have something to hide,” said Mallory.
“Mastana,” said Alton, pointing to a bit of script on the screen, “I see a lot of rooms with this label. What does it translate to in English?”
“The place for retaining the records,” she replied.
“Interesting,” said Alton. “In that case, this funky design might actually help us.”
“How’s that?” asked David.
Alton pointed to several rooms on the schematic. “There’s probably, what, a dozen rooms marked ‘records retention,’ right? Now, notice how the halls are more convoluted in the middle of the building? That recording-keeping room in the dead center would be tough to find if you didn’t already know where you were going. That suggests the company’s most sensitive records are stored there. Plus, see how the walls in that room look reinforced, almost like a safe? Again suggesting the location of their most confidential documents.”
“What if nothing’s stored in there?” asked Silva. “I mean, how many companies use paper records these days?”
“Normally, I’d agree with you,” said Alton. “But we know Pasha Tech doesn’t have servers that connect to the internet. They may not use servers at all.”
“But what if they do?” pressed Silva.
“The only way we’ll find out is to infiltrate the complex,” said Alton. “If we can find a terminal once inside, we’ll know soon enough how much of their records are stored online. If not, at least we have an idea of where to seek out the most meaningful paper records. Agent Vega, you’ll send me all these schematics, right?”
“Of course. How soon can you launch your operation?”
“Tomorrow night. If we leave first thing in the morning, we should arrive in Ghorak in time to recon the Pasha Tech site just after sunset. If we see anything at the site that raises a question or concern, we’ll postpone it a night. We can’t afford to lose the element of surprise.” Alton looked around at his team. “Is everyone good with that plan?”
Silva replied “yep.” The rest nodded.
“Very good,” said Vega. “Keep me in the loop. And good luck.”
CHAPTER 20
Rala Vaziri slipped on a baseball cap and pair of dark sunglasses before climbing into the passenger seat of Teng’s five-year-old Toyota Vios. The somewhat dirty sedan would draw less attention in the streets of Hanoi than would the businessman’s sleek limousine. Likewise, Vaziri hoped that concealing her Afghani features would help her blend into the city’s ceaseless flow of cars, motorcycles, mopeds, and pedestrians.
They pulled out of Teng’s expansive, countryside estate and set a course due west for the heart of Hanoi. Thirty minutes of driving on increasingly congested roads led them past the Old Quarter, a throwback collection of Buddhist temples, pagodas, and tiny shops selling everything from gongs to jewelry.
The Toyota exited the city center and proceeded northwest, towards the gated communities preferred by most members of the ruling communist party. As traffic thinned out, the sun touched the horizon behind a field of rice paddies, casting an orange glow onto the water.
Teng turned to Vaziri. “I never asked you…were you surprised your boss agreed to this mission?”
“Not really. Like you, we have a vested interest in the success of our product. It helps us attract future customers. Laying the neurotoxin myself will prevent the drug from failing due to an improper application.” Not to mention, the Director would make a hefty profit off tonight’s activities, much of which he would share with her.
“What do you mean? How could the drug fail? I thought you said the neurotoxin would only kill Mai and was guaranteed to do so.”
Vaziri shook her head. It was a good thing she was the one executing this job. “It is, but it has to be applied in just the right spot. Put it on the wrong surface, where other people could inadvertently rub it off in passing, and there won’t be enough left to take out Mai.”
“I see,” said Teng, nodding.
“Speaking of that, can you pass me the intel folder?
“But you’ve studied it for hours already.”
“A little more won’t hurt,” said Vaziri, grabbing the door handle as the sedan jostled over worsening potholes in the narrow road.
Teng chuckled. “I admire your perseverance.”
She pulled out the map of Mai’s sprawling neighborhood. “It’s the only way to make sure the job’s done right.”
Twenty minutes later, the sedan pulled onto a narrow lane running behind Ciputra, the largest and most heavily-fortified of Hanoi’s elite, gated communities. Vaziri pulled off her sunglasses, then swapped out her ball cap with a scarf, a garment that better suited the upper-crust neighborhood while still concealing her identity.
“Let me out here,” she said.
“Behind the wall?” asked Teng. He turned surprised eyes to the fence, a fifteen-foot high structure of black, wrought-iron bars topped with sharpened points.
The car’s brakes sent a whine of protest as it pulled to a stop.
“Yes,” said Vaziri. She stepped out of the car and leaned her head back in. “Getting in through the main entrance would be tough. But the security company doesn’t expect anyone to scale this fence, so they don’t guard it.”
Teng nodded, then stopped mid-motion. “What if one of the security patrols questions you?”
Vaziri shrugged. “What if they do? I have no weapons. I only have a purse with the usual assortment of lady’s products—including a very special brand of perfume. They can even spray it if they want to. Until I remove the O-ring and twist the nozzle to the secondary container, it’s just plain old cheap perfume.”
Teng laughed. “Looks like you’ve got it covered. You want a letter of commendation when you’re done?”
Vaziri smiled in grim determination. “It’s a little early to pop the champagne. But when I’ve finished, you’re welcome to let my boss know if you’re happy with my services.” She rose from the sedan’s door. “I’ll text you on the encrypted number when I need a
pickup.”
Teng nodded and motioned to his driver to depart.
The car motored off, and Vaziri stood beneath an expanse of open sky. At this distance from downtown Hanoi, the glare of the city’s lights fell dim, allowing an array of twinkling stars to emerge in the twilight sky. Nearby foliage rustled under the influence of a light breeze.
Vaziri pulled away her gaze and turned to the gated community. A dozen paces down the trail, a thick clump of unfamiliar, lush shrubbery abutted the fence, providing a perfect spot to scale it. She walked over and removed a length of nylon cord from underneath the false bottom of her purse. On the third try, a loop at the end of the rope caught on one of the fence spikes, and Vaziri pulled herself over. She stuffed the cord back into her purse. Plan A involved coming back to this spot to exit the neighborhood, but the rope might prove helpful in case a plan B became necessary.
She cut a silent path between two houses and within a minute found herself on the sidewalk. Memorizing the map of the neighborhood had paid off. She knew the precise route needed to take her to Mai’s house. Pulling the scarf high on her head, she turned to the south and set a leisurely pace down the street, looking for all the world like a trophy wife out for an evening’s stroll.
Scarcely five minutes into the walk, a pair of teenage boys approached. Wearing the latest designer jeans and two-hundred-dollar sneakers, they stopped in front of Vaziri, blocking her path.
The short one said something in Vietnamese. Vaziri shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t speak the language.”
The tall one spoke in English with a thick accent. “Haven’t seen you ‘round here before. What’s your name?”
“If you boys would just let me pass…” said Vaziri, angling to the right to go around them.
The tall one leered and stepped sideways, blocking her path. “We ask you a question.”
“I don’t think my husband will appreciate your tone of voice. What are your names?”
The dim illumination of a crescent moon was sufficient to show the tall one’s eyebrows knit together in anger. “Why don’t you come over here with us, and we tell you?” He grabbed her arm and began to pull her towards a thick hedge.
Tears of God (The Blackwell Files Book 7) Page 7