A Vicious Balance: A Mystery Thriller

by Jolyon Hallows

  “Sabotage weapons? That’s a stretch.”

  “Not really. Automatic rifles, like the AK-47 or M16, were easy. They all have some mechanism that ejects the spent cartridge so the next one can be inserted. We learned to weaken it just enough so it would stand up to a few rounds, enough for a test. But get it into battle, and within seconds it would break, and the gun would jam. We also rigged grenades. Modern ones use an electronic timer. We figured out how to dismantle the grenade and reset the timer to zero so as soon as you pull the pin, the grenade goes off. The great thing about that is the terrorists would think their people froze or miscounted.”

  Travathan grunted. “It’s a good thing for me they got functioning weapons from other sources. Otherwise, I’d be dead.”

  Sanderson nodded. “That kind of sabotage was easy, but it wouldn’t work for weapons like detonators or explosives. Take a detonator. When it receives a signal from a transmitter, it sends an electric current through a set of leads to a blasting cap. Stick the leads into a brick of C-4 or Semtex, attach it to whatever you want to blow up, press the button, and boom.”

  Travathan said, “So you disabled the detonators?”

  “Yes. We removed the explosive charge from the blasting cap. A terrorist might test the triggering device, but he couldn’t test the blasting cap because that destroys it. So imagine some terrorist about to blow something up. He plugs the detonator into an explosive and straps the whole thing around the torso of some fanatic who gets on a bus or goes into a restaurant and presses the button. But nothing happens. It’s marvelous.”

  “So you could prevent a bombing. But some attacks use a single transmitter for several detonators.”

  “Yes, so we also modified the transmitters so that the signal they send isn’t compatible with the detonators. You can press the button, but the detonator doesn’t respond.”

  Meyer asked, “How long have you been doing this?”

  “Before Ed and Marie were killed, about four years.” Sanderson became more animated, the rhythm of his voice accelerating. “We shipped over fifty million dollars of our weapons to terrorist groups all over the world. We know of at least a hundred incidents where an attack failed. We figure we saved hundreds of lives and drained millions of dollars from the bank accounts of terrorist groups they would otherwise have spent on weapons that worked and that killed people.”

  “Sabaqira,” Meyer muttered.

  Sanderson nodded. “That was us.”

  Travathan said, “What happened?”

  Meyer said, “About four years ago, security forces learned that Hamas was planning an attack on the Palestinian Authority Police Force in the West Bank town of Sabaqira. We got the word too late. Four Hamas terrorists strolled into the building ready to blow themselves up. If they had succeeded, it would have brought down the building and killed dozens of Palestinian police officers. Worse, the terrorists had planted Israeli symbols on themselves. The attack would have been blamed on Israel just at the start of a major peace process. You can guess what the consequences would have been.”

  “But they didn’t succeed?”

  Meyer shook his head. “There was only one transmitter. The signal would have carried to all the men. But when the leader pushed his button, nothing happened. In fact, if the terrorists had just walked away, the Palestinians would never even have known there had been an attack. But the leader yelled Allahu Akbar as he triggered the transmitter. When the Palestinians came up from under their desks and realized they were still alive, they slammed the doors shut and seized the terrorists. Unfortunately, they destroyed everything except the C-4, so we were never able to figure out why the raid went wrong. Until now.”

  Kagan stared at Sanderson. “This is all great, but what did you think would happen when the terrorists figured this out? After all, they’d know it was you and at the very least, they’d try to get back at you.”

  “How would they know it was us? Do you think these terrorists have inventory control systems with quality assurance? Hell, they buy weapons from a bunch of shady sources, and they hand them out to their cannon fodder. They do minimal testing, and they sure don’t keep records. Besides, weapons break down. It would take them a couple of years or more to begin to suspect they were being conned. Even then, it would take a concerted, cooperative effort among all the terrorist groups, or at least those who were our customers, to track down the source. Remember, our weapons were going to groups all over the world.”

  “But they did find out.”

  Sanderson nodded. “Yes, they did, and I guess we underestimated their ability to crack our system. Sex. We should have thought of it.”

  Travathan frowned and said, “Hold on. If they had gone to all of this effort to identify who had stiffed them, why would they be happy with just killing the principals? If I were them, I’d have followed Ed Handley, found his warehouse, watched to see who came and went, and killed them all. After all, there was no connection among them to attract the attention of the police, and Ed wouldn’t have known that his operation had been uncovered. There would have been time to be thorough.”

  “But Ed did know there was a problem, or at least, he suspected it. When Linda Cramer, the kid in the wheelchair, committed suicide, it set off alarm bells because it happened at the address we were using for the letters. What are the chances of that? Ed suspended our operations until he could figure out whether this was nothing but a coincidence or the first salvo in some kind of action. We still got orders in the mail, but we told our guys to stay away from the warehouse until further notice. That’s why the terrorists couldn’t have identified anyone else.

  “Then when Sherry Galina was killed—at the same address—that sealed it for us. We had to assume we were under attack. Ed and I went to the warehouse that night, piled what weapons we had into the middle, and torched the place. Burned it to the ground. Ed had signed the lease using a shell company, so there was no connection between him and the warehouse or the fire, which is why it escaped police notice.”

  Travathan said, “Do you think the terrorists knew of the warehouse before Ed burned it down?”

  Sanderson nodded. “I’d guess once they found out Ed was the man who ran the scheme, they tailed him to the warehouse to find out who else was involved before they killed him. Since I was there, they’d have seen my car and figured out I was part of the operation. That’s how they knew to come after me and to threaten me if I talked.”

  Kagan said, “I still don’t get it. Even if they found out they were being conned, why not just stop buying from you. Why go to this risk of exposing several sleepers just to get revenge?”

  “I can answer that,” Meyer said. “Your problem was that you crossed the Hammer of Vengeance. Had it been Hezbollah or Hamas or the IRA, they might have made a cursory attempt to find you, but dropped it when they figured out the risks were too great. Hell, they probably would just have introduced tighter testing controls. Not only that, but they’re local. They may have sympathizers in other countries, but they don’t have networks of sleepers and weapons. Tracking you down would be a major problem for them. But the Hammer of Vengeance, like al-Qaeda, is world-wide. Its only purpose is to kill. And if you’re going to kill, why not kill someone who cheated you?”

  Travathan shook his head. “What a great idea. Arm the world’s thugs with weapons that don’t work. It’s too bad it’s over.”

  “Well, I’m not sure about that,” Kagan said. “According to Larry, Ed Handley got a small group together. How many, Larry? Half a dozen?”

  Sanderson was silent.

  Kagan continued. “If that’s so, take away Larry and Ed. That still leaves three or four people who were involved in the sabotage. I’ll bet they’re still at it. Is that right, Larry?”

  Agent Meyer said, “I need to know who and where they are. I can protect them.”

  Sanderson shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to talk about the others.”

  “Larry, I need to know this. Whate
ver it takes, you have to tell me whatever you know.”

  “Really? I’ve spent the last three years of my life under a death threat not to tell. I was willing to spend the rest of my life not telling. What makes you think I’d change my mind now?”

  Meyer scowled. “Maybe because I’ve demonstrated my good faith? With the lives of two of my men?”

  “That’s the reason I won’t talk.” His voice softened. “When we got into this, we knew the risks, and we were willing to take them, but we’re not—I’m not—willing to endanger anyone else. Besides, the more people who know a secret, the harder it is to keep it. No, I’ll die before I say anything else. I’ve gotten used to the idea of dying.”

  Meyer turned to Jake Handley and said, “How about you? Do you know anything about the others?”

  “Me? I’ve been in prison since these maniacs broke my dad’s operation and killed him and my mom. How would I know anything? And even if I did, I’m with Uncle Larry. I wouldn’t say anything.”

  Sanderson nodded. “We’re ready for that re-location you promised.”

  Meyer sighed. “Don’t think I’m giving up trying to get you to talk, but we’ll process you as soon as we get back.” He looked around at the group. “All of you.”

  Kagan let out a deep breath. “You know, I’ve spent a lot of years getting used to my name. Had it since I was a kid. I can’t see going through all the work of learning a new signature. I’d have to get my credit cards changed, my driver’s license. Get a new e-mail address. Find a new apartment. I may even have to get a job. What a hassle. I think I’ll pass.”

  Travathan smiled at his friend. “Me too.” He turned to the others. “Look, these fanatics were after the people who had conned them. They know your names, they have your pictures, and they won’t stop just because of this setback. But they weren’t after Max or me. As far as you are concerned, you’d better take Agent Meyer’s offer of protective custody, but as for me, I’m willing to take my chances with this face and name.”

  Meyer shook his head. “You have a short memory. These terrorists tried to blow up your car. If you don’t think they were after you, you’re crazy. They were.”

  “That was when they thought we were getting too close and might find out what was going on. Remember, Ruth Janner was their contact, and she was probably keeping them up to date on our progress. Yes, we were targets but only because they wanted to derail our investigation. Now that it’s over, there’s no reason to kill us.”

  “No reason?” Meyer yelled. “Look around you. These maniacs don’t need a reason. You got in their way. You’re responsible for their deaths. If you don’t think you’re a target for their buddies, you’re a bigger fool than I would ever have thought.”

  “Agent Meyer, I doubt their buddies even know we exist. What happened here tonight has all the markings of a rogue response, a lashing out at their failure to get Jake or the Sandersons, never mind rage at the death of Ruth Janner. This was sheer brute force, not a carefully planned and executed operation like the cracking of Ed Handley’s letter drop. Besides, we didn’t kill these terrorists, you and your agents did. Are you going into hiding?”

  “Me? Of course not, but this is my job.”

  “And you do it well. You know, between your agency and other intelligence and counter-terrorism groups, the Hammer of Vengeance is about to undergo the kind of pressure it hasn’t experienced before. I’d like to be a cheerleader.”

  Meyer growled, “I’m surrounded by fools.” In the distance, a rhythmic beating heralded the approach of helicopters.

  Epilog

  Half a dozen men and women clustered in a warehouse around a wooden frame that gripped a rocket launcher. Opposite the launcher, a steel wall, ten feet on a side, sat upright on welded struts. Low steel barriers surrounded the center of the warehouse where a man pointed to the launcher.

  “This is an RPG-7, favored by terrorists around the world because of its simplicity and destructive power.”

  The man held up a rocket, a bulbous end with a long cylinder trailing behind. “This is a rocket-propelled grenade. This long piece at the rear is the booster. It contains an explosive charge. When the operator pulls the trigger, the charge detonates and propels the grenade, which explodes when it hits something. This device has been used to bring down helicopters and destroy buildings.”

  The man pointed to the section in the middle. “This is the sustainer motor. When the grenade is fired, it deploys fins that cause it to rotate. That rotation primes the grenade. Now watch.”

  He inserted the grenade into the launcher. “Take cover. This will be spectacular.” He crouched down behind a barrier and pressed a button. A roar echoed off the walls of the warehouse. A path of fire shot from the launcher and shattered against the steel wall. The smash of the impact deafened them. A shower of debris rattled against the ceiling and the barriers. The smell of explosives assailed their noses.

  The man stood up from his shelter and picked up a second rocket. “This rocket has been modified. We’ve replaced the sustainer motor and the grenade itself with powerful explosives that will detonate even before the grenade leaves the launcher. Also, keep in mind that although I’m using a remote to trigger the rocket, in battle, the operator has it on his shoulder with other men nearby to help re-load it.” The man slid the rocket inside the launcher and scurried back to his shelter, signaling to the others to resume their cover.

  The man pressed the button a second time. Almost instantaneously, A fireball consumed the rocket and the launcher, destroying the frame. Shards of metal exploded outward, battering against the steel barriers and the walls of the warehouse.

  The group stood up from behind their shelters, gaped at the ruins of the frame, and cheered. Behind them sat crates of grenades. Around the warehouse were workstations with tools, cylinders, and explosives. The man who had fired the rocket said, “Let’s get to work. Jim Shanahan has received an order for a gross of these to be delivered to the Taliban. Jim, the order is to be delivered next month, isn’t it?”

  One of the men nodded. He was young, barely twenty, but he knew this business as if he’d grown up in it.