Death Drones

by Christopher Fox

  “Damn!” Miguel cursed as they scanned the horizon for the elusive SUV.

  “There!” shouted Maria. “Three o’clock.”

  Miguel saw the vehicle top another dune, then he mashed the gas pedal and tore down one side and up the other. Each time the vehicle was on the verge of tipping, Miguel turned the wheel in the same direction, much as one does in a skid, preventing the tip. Several other white Toyota’s filled the landscape making it challenging to keep an eye on the correct one. But, with the Land Rover’s superior power and traction, they managed to lessen the distance between them.

  A sound coming from behind them drew Alberto’s attention, and he turned to look.

  “There’s a helicopter coming up from behind,” he said.

  The helicopter roared above them, narrowly missing the Land Rover’s roof racks.

  “Holy crap!” said Miguel. “He’s buzzing us.”

  The helicopter banked and turned, then headed straight for them.

  “He’s crazy,” said Alberto. “Does he think he can win a fight with over two tons of iron?”

  The occupants instinctively ducked as the skids of the helo barely missed the windshield as it flew over them.

  “Son of a bitch,” said Alex, “he is crazy.”

  Miguel kept on with his pursuit of the Land Cruiser. The helicopter passed over their heads once again and flew toward the Toyota.

  “He’s landing,” said Fayad.

  The helo descended to within a yard of the ground, stirring up clouds of sand with its rotors. Three men exited the Toyota and ran toward the helicopter, shielding their faces. As they reached the open door and clambered onto the skid, an arm extended, grabbed them and hauled them inside the cabin.

  “Son of a bitch,” Miguel said. “I guess we’ve lost him now.”

  “We found him before, we will find him again,” said Alberto.

  “Let’s get back to the hotel,” said Fayad. “We should check out and move our operations to Dubai.”

  * * * *

  Earlier, Miguel and the team had flown into Dubai after tracking the abductors of a sheikh’s son from Costa Rica. They met with Fayad al Musan, a member of the UAE’s newly-formed intelligence agency DarkMatter, patterned after, and trained by, members of the CIA. DarkMatter covered matters of security from cyber to terrorism. When they discovered the abductors had landed in Abu Dhabi, they drove there and checked into the plush Emirates Palace Hotel, considered one of the most expensive hotels in the world.

  TWO

  One Week Earlier

  Miguel sat in his office reviewing files for cases that were ongoing. Frederico, President and founder of Investigaciones Centroamericanas, or Central American Investigations, had appointed Miguel as Vice-President of the company. Miguel, who started out life as Kyle MacDonald, had completed several successful operations over the last few years with the company. Born and raised in a small town in Ontario, Canada, Kyle moved to Costa Rica after someone killed his wife in a botched ransom situation. While in Costa Rica, he had to battle a Colombian Cartel to retrieve a treasure he had found with his girlfriend Jenny. However, to protect Jenny from reprisals, he faked his death and obtained a new identity as Miguel Diaz. Tragedy, however, hit Miguel again when his girlfriend Anna, and son Enrique, died in a car accident two years earlier. Miguel had mourned the loss of his beloved Anna and son and only recently found solace in his work and friends.

  The phone rang and Miguel reached for it.

  “Miguel Diaz,”

  “Miguel, it is Sheikh Muhammad bin Alkour.”

  “Muhammad,” he said with jubilance. He had not heard from the sheikh since he sold his hotel, the sheikh being a regular guest. “How are you?”

  “Not so good, my friend,” he said.

  Miguel’s expression changed from one of glee to one of concern. “What’s happened?”

  A sombre tone crept into the sheikh’s voice. “It is my son Khalil. He has been abducted.”

  Miguel sat up straight in his chair. “No!” he said. “Is he OK?”

  “As far as we know he is fine. Of course, there is a ransom.”

  “How much is the ransom?”

  “5,000 Bitcoins. ”

  “Ouch!” said Miguel. He knew that Bitcoins were worth several thousand dollars each.

  “That is about $35m US dollars,” Muhammad said.

  Miguel gave a low whistle.

  “Khalil was attending a conference in San José when they abducted him yesterday. Today, I received a ransom demand for 5,000 Bitcoins, and I have three days to make the transfer. Failure to comply was not indicated although it was clear that my son’s life is on the line. They gave the usual ‘don’t involve the authorities’ warning.”

  “Have we any idea who the kidnappers are?” asked Miguel.

  “None whatever,” said Muhammad.

  “How were you contacted?”

  “By telephone. The call display read ‘Unknown Number’ and they electronically altered the voice.”

  “Did you record the conversation?”

  “They record all conversations through the office phones for security.”

  “OK,” said Miguel. “Send me a copy of the recording. My people will look into it.” He recited his email address.

  “Thank you, my friend,” said Muhammad. “I know you will be discrete and not let any harm come to my son.”

  “You can count on that.”

  They discussed the issue further with Miguel asking a few more details of his son’s situation.

  * * * *

  Miguel checked the company calendar for personnel available for assignments, happy that his team—Alberto, Alex, and Maria—were in the office. Jimmy was away on another project. He called them into one of the meeting rooms and relayed the conversation he had with Muhammad.

  “At the moment, we do not know who the kidnappers are, nor their motive.” Miguel started. “I am waiting for a copy of the telephone call the sheikh received. It was electronically altered, according to Muhammad.”

  “We should be able to recover the original voice,” said Alex. “It may give a clue who sent the message. We can then use a voice-print analyzer to match it to any in our database. A lot depends on how sophisticated a voice scrambler he used. ”

  Alex was the tech expert for the agency and had amassed a veritable plethora of computer equipment. He also had connections to most of the main government agencies—FBI, CIA, Interpol—with who’s data banks he used to get information.

  “OK, Alex. I will send it over to you as soon as I receive it from the sheikh.”

  “Alberto. Khalil was staying at the Sheraton San José and had two security guards there with him. I want you to question the guards. No one has called police yet.”

  “Will do,” said Alberto.

  “Maria. Khalil was attending a conference at the hotel, ‘Sustainability in Tourism’. He was last seen there and never returned to his room. Go with Alberto, and ask around at the conference; who he talked with, sat beside, etc.”

  Maria and Alberto got up. “OK,” said Maria as they left the room.

  Miguel went back to his office. He had an alert on his cell phone that he received a message from Muhammad. He opened his laptop and clicked on the message and noted that it had an attachment. Miguel clicked on a .wav file attachment that opened on his Windows platform, and he listened to it. The abductors had definitely enhanced the voice electronically, and in no way did it have any recognisable speech pattern.

  Sheikh Muhammad bin Alkour. We have your son Khalil and demand 5,000 Bitcoins for his safe return. You have until Monday at noon GMT to deposit the Bitcoins. The money is to be deposited to Bitcoin wallet —the caller reeled off a 30-digit alpha-numeric sequence that Miguel copied down—You are not to contact any of the authorities. There will be no further communication.

  Miguel checked the calendar to confirm; it was Friday and they had, as the sheikh indicated, three days to make the transfer. He forwarded the email and
message to Alex then played it again. He listened for any background noise that would indicate the caller’s whereabouts, but the electronic doctoring prevented any clues.

  * * * *

  Maria and Alberto pulled up to the Sheraton San José and parked in one of the visitor slots. It was cooler than usual in the Costa Rican capital, and the sun peeked out occasionally from a mostly overcast sky. Maria zipped her jacket to thwart a gust of wind that chilled her to the bone as she followed Alberto into the hotel. She headed for the conference, and Alberto took the elevator to the penthouse where Khalil and the guards had suites.

  * * * *

  Maria made her way to the conference rooms and read the digital displays at each door. She found the ‘Sustainability in Tourism’ conference and spoke to the two ladies sitting at the desk just inside the room.

  “I am Khalil bin Alkour’s private secretary. He is unwell and confined to his room for now. He wanted me to gather his conference materials and bring them to him.”

  “Do you know where he sat?” asked one of the attendants.

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” she said. “So there was no pre-assigned seating?”

  “No,” the attendant said. “But I saw him sitting somewhere near the front.”

  “OK,” said Maria. “May I look during a break in the presentation?”

  “Yes, that would be OK. There will be a coffee break in about ten minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” said the attendant with a pleasant smile. “You may sit at the back of the room for now.”

  Maria entered the room surreptitiously and sat onto one of the chairs arranged against the back wall. Before she sat down, she craned her neck at the front rows. The chairs were arranged in rows on the left and right side of the room, with a space between them for ease of access. All seats were filled on the right side, but an empty chair sat midway in the second row on the left side. When the session ended, she planned to bee-line her way there and speak to the man and woman sitting either side. The speaker ended his presentation and announced that coffee and tea were available at the back of the room. Maria got up and hurried down between the rows of chairs before it filled with attendees. She kept her eye on the two people she wanted to talk to and planned to approach them when they entered the space between the two blocks of chairs. The man looked maybe in his mid-40s and had olive skin. He was dressed in a smart pair of casual pants and a short-sleeved, coloured shirt worn outside the pants. He talked with the woman as they edged their way from between the chairs. The woman appeared to be much younger—maybe early 30s—and had her blonde hair tied in a bun on top of her head. She was Caucasian and wore a taupe blouse tucked into a brown skirt that barely covered her knees. The deep vee in the neck of the blouse showed ample cleavage that caught the eye of the man talking to her. Mid-height heels allowed her to talk to the man without looking up at his face, but she mostly saw the top of his head. As they entered the walkway, Maria politely addressed them.

  “Hi, my name is Maria,” she said as she proffered her hand. They shared an apprehensive look, as one would when approached by a stranger, then shook her hand. “I am Khalil bin Alkour’s personal assistant. He has fallen ill and he asked me to gather the conference material for him.”

  “Who is Khalil bin Alkour?” asked the man.

  “He sat between the two of you. Did you speak to him at all?”

  “No,” said the man. The women also shook her head.

  “We are trying to determine if he contracted anything from someone at the conference. Did you see him speaking to anyone?”

  The women considered the question for a moment. “Two men were talking to him immediately before the session started yesterday. I haven’t seen him since then.”

  “Did he leave with the men?”

  “Not sure,” she said. “He didn’t come back to his seat.”

  “Can you describe the men?”

  “They looked Asian to me,” she said.

  “Chinese? Japanese?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know. I hate to say it but they all look the same. Probably not Japanese. I have a Japanese girlfriend and they didn’t look like her or her boyfriend. Maybe more Vietnamese or Korean.”

  “Were they tall or short?” Maria asked.

  “About average size. Not short like many Asians seem to be.”

  “Thank you very much,” Maria said as she turned to walk away. “I really appreciate your help.”

  “What is going on?” the woman asked.

  “Nothing. We’re just trying to track down where he may have contracted anything. Just a precaution.”

  “I hope your guy feels better,” the woman said. “Hope I don’t catch it, whatever it is. ”

  With that, Maria left the room and texted Alberto, I am finished here .

  * * * *

  Alberto pressed the PH button and the high-speed elevator rose to the penthouse level, the doors opening to an expansive lobby. Khalil had all four suites on this level rented. He approached the suite that the Emir’s guards were in and tapped on the door. It cracked open, and a dark-faced head peeked through the crack.

  “Alberto Caporales,” he said to the disembodied head. “The sheikh said you would expect me.” The door opened fully, and the man beckoned him to enter. As he did so, he saw the other guard holstering his gun. The man held out his hand, “Hussein Abdullah.” Alberto shook the hand and turned to the other man. “… And this is Fairuz Hamid.” He gestured to the other man who came forward, his hand extended.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Alberto said as he shook his hand. “What can you tell me about Khalil’s abduction?”

  “Very little,” Hussein said as he sat in one of the plush sofas and gestured to Alberto to do likewise. Fairuz sat in an armchair facing them. “Khalil went into the conference room at the start of yesterday’s session, and that was the last we saw of him.”

  “Are you supposed to tag him at all times?” Alberto asked.

  “In the UAE, yes,” Fairuz said. “But Khalil objected to the constant shadowing of his movements when out of town. He liked the independence he felt when away from home and wanted to be free to set his own agenda. We escort him to and from the conference and when he leaves the hotel. But he is a young man with much admiration for the ladies. A desire he has to curb when at home. Even though we work for the sheikh, we try to accommodate his independence while abroad. Obviously, it wasn’t a good idea.”

  “Did you notice any suspicious characters milling around the conference rooms that morning?”

  “Not really,” said Hussein. “We left him at the entrance door where he picked up his registration kit, then he bade us goodbye.”

  “Has there been any recent threats against him or the sheikh? ”

  “There are always threats, but I do not consider most worthy of any action. We cannot take all threats seriously and regrettably, some may pass under the radar.”

  “So, you have no idea who may have abducted Khalil.”

  “None whatever,” said Hussein.

  “OK,” said Alberto, handing each a business card. “Thanks for your help. I may need to talk to you again.”

  “No problem,” said Fairuz, handing him a card. “You can call me anytime on that number.”

  Alberto bade his farewell and exited the room. His ‘phone buzzed as he reached the elevator. It was Maria. I am finished here . Alberto texted back. On my way down.

  * * * *

  “Did you learn anything?” Alberto asked Maria.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Apparently people saw him talking to two Asian-looking men before he disappeared.”

  “The guards have no information,” offered Alberto. “Khalil likes his privacy and freedom when he is away from the Emirates, so they didn’t see him after they escorted him to the conference yesterday morning.”

  They exited the hotel and into the light drizzle. Maria wrapped her arms around herself as she hurried to the car where Alberto held t
he door for her. They drove back to the office in silence.

  * * * *

  Miguel sat with Maria, Alberto, and Alex discussing the ransom demand.

  “The demand is for 5,000 Bitcoins, which amounts to about US$35m,” said Miguel. “So, how do we handle the ransom transaction? It’s not as if we can write the bastard a cheque.”

  “To handle Bitcoins, you need a Bitcoin wallet,” said Alex. “There are two kinds of wallets: one that is online and one that isn’t. You can only make transfers through online wallets. The reason for not keeping coins in online wallets is the risk of having them hacked. So, for security, many people keep their Bitcoins in offline wallets.”

  “So, we will have to transfer coins to an online wallet?” Miguel asked .

  “The sheikh has no Bitcoins now, so he will have to buy them and set up a wallet.”

  “And how does he do that?” Alberto asked.

  “Each wallet has a public and private key. The private key is essentially a password. Similar to how PayPal works: you give someone your email address, i.e. your public key, and they can send money to your account. However, you can only access the account using your password or private key. I’m sure the sheikh will trust us to handle the transaction, so we go to one of the Bitcoin exchanges and make the transactions for him. All he has to do is link a bank account with the exchange, so that when he makes any purchase, the money is withdrawn from his bank account, and deposited in his Bitcoin wallet. Naturally, for the large sum of money involved here, several transactions will be needed.”

  “I think we’ll let you handle that Alex,” said Miguel.

  “No problem. I’ll set up a Bitcoin wallet for the sheikh, and you can get a bank account number from him.”

  Miguel opened his laptop and emailed Sheikh Muhammad, explaining the process.

  THREE

  Alex loaded the recorded telephone conversation into the voice analyzer. He hoped that the caller used a basic voice changer, so it would be invertible. Normally, if concealing vocal identity is paramount, then one would not use a voice recording, using instead a method that obfuscates the original vocal signal, and the only way to do that is by using speech-to-text and text-to-speech tools. But to do this you prerecord the message and play it over the telephone; unlikely in this scenario.