Foreign Influence_A Thriller

by Brad Thor

  “We’ll leave that for the bomb technicians.”

  “Affirm—” began Casey but then her voice broke off.

  “You’re breaking up. Repeat, please.”

  “The bags are hot,” she said. “All of them.”

  “Are you talking about the beacons?” replied Harvath.

  “Negative. Each bag has a chicken switch. They’re wired to cell phones and the cell phones are powered up.”

  Harvath looked at Ashford and Marx sitting in the van next to him listening in. “Any way we can jam cell phone signals from entering that mosque?”

  “We don’t have any jamming equipment with us,” replied the MI5 agent.

  “How quickly could we get it?”

  Marx looked at her watch. “Ours would probably take at least an hour.”

  “How about MI5?” Harvath asked Ashford.

  “Probably the same amount of time depending on where the nearest gear is.”

  Casey’s voice came back over the radio. “What do you want us to do?”

  It was clear the jammer route was closed. They’d have to do something else. “Can you describe the setup to me?” Harvath replied.

  “It looks like the phone from the undetonated device in the 2004 Madrid bombings. Same stuff they have been using in Iraq. There are two wires protruding from the interior of the phone to a small circuit board taped to the front of the phone with clear plastic tape.”

  “How’s the signal strength?”

  “Three bars.”

  That was not good news.

  “The circuit board appears to be wired to two detonating caps,” she continued. “I’m assuming the entire set-up leads back to the phone’s ringer. As long as that’s not a booby trap, we should be able to snip the wires and deactivate that secondary trigger.”

  “Was Rafiq Wadi injured in the assault?”

  “No, he just rode the bull.”

  Turning his attention back to Casey, Harvath said, “Get him away from the others and ask him what he knows about the bombs. After that, I want you to verify the primary and secondary targets.”

  “Roger that.”

  The terrorists had been bound hands and feet with EZ Cuffs, gagged with duct tape, and made to lie facedown on the floor. The barbed Taser probes were then pulled from them as they each had their pockets emptied and the contents placed in piles so that the Athena members could ID what belonged to whom.

  Next to the bombs’ being detonated, Casey’s biggest concern was that there could be more terrorists upstairs who might be on their way down now that the service was over. She dispatched Rodriguez and Cooper to make sure the upper door was locked and to cover the stairs. Ericsson was left to watch the prisoners. The two men who were bleeding out would not be given medical attention until the situation was completely under control.

  Casey walked over to the terrorists. They looked up at her as she pretended to decide which one of them to select. Finally, she grabbed Rafiq Wadi and yanked him to his feet. The man next to him began mumbling something from behind the duct tape across his mouth and Casey kicked him in the ribs, hard.

  She shoved Wadi out the door and closed it behind them. In the hall, she pushed him up against the wall, drew her knife, and placed it against his throat. She held her fingers to her lips and motioned for him to be quiet. His eyes reflected how frightened he was. He nodded once, very slowly, and Casey peeled the duct tape back from his mouth.

  “We have Saud,” she said before Rafiq could speak. “He will remain safe, only as long as you cooperate. If you understand, nod your head once.”

  Rafiq nodded.

  “Good. I know everything about what is going on here. If you lie to me, I will gut you like a pig and let you watch your insides spill out. Do you understand me?”

  Again, Rafiq nodded.

  “Are there any more bombs?”

  The man nodded and flicked his eyes across the hallway.

  “The bicycles?”

  Rafiq nodded.

  “Are the bombs armed?”

  The man nodded, but then shook his head.

  “Which is it?” demanded Casey.

  “The bags, yes. The bicycles, no.”

  “How are the bags armed?”

  “Each one has an electronic light.”

  The woman studied his face and then said, “I’m sorry Saud will have to die because his brother lied.”

  Rafiq became even more panicked. “I am not lying. They’re beacons that flash. Twenty seconds after they are activated the bombs detonate.”

  “Tell me about the cell phone triggers. How do you defuse them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re still lying to me.”

  “I’m not lying. Why would they want us to know? The cell phone is their guarantee. If we don’t go through with it or our primary detonator doesn’t work, this is how they make sure the mission goes forward.”

  The cell phone detonators were a fail-safe. These Rafiq would not have been taught how to deactivate. Casey moved on to her next question.

  “What’s your target?”

  “Piccadilly Circus.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight, during the evening rush hour.”

  “What is your secondary target?”

  “I don’t know. We surveyed many targets. It could be any of them. The London Eye, Covent Garden, several of the theaters.”

  “Who’s in charge of your cell?”

  Rafiq Wadi seemed reluctant to answer and Casey applied pressure to her knife.

  “The man who was shot in the neck,” he said finally.

  “And who does he report to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How do they contact each other?”

  “I don’t know. Please.”

  Casey placed the tape back across his mouth. They’d have to interrogate all of them.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when Julie Ericsson’s voice came over her earpiece. “You need to get back in here.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “One of the cell phones just began vibrating.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Gretchen Casey quickly steered Rafiq Wadi back into the room and had him lie facedown with the other prisoners.

  “Which one?”

  Ericsson pointed to the cell phone in question. It was in a pile of pocket litter belonging to the terrorist who had been shot in the neck; the man Rafiq Wadi had identified as the cell leader. She could tell by looking at him that he wasn’t going to make it. He’d already lost too much blood. There wasn’t anything they could do for him. Casey picked up his phone and stepped to the back of the room where she radioed Harvath.

  “One of these guys just received a text message.”

  “What did it say?” Harvath replied.

  “Someone wants an update.”

  “What did Rafiq say about the bombs?”

  “He said the cell phone triggers are a fail-safe in case one of the devices fails to detonate.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “I do.”

  “What about the secondary target?”

  “He doesn’t know. They surveilled several potentials.”

  “Do we know who the cell leader is?” asked Harvath.

  “The guy with the neck wound. He’s not going to make it. Right now, though, we need to focus on these bombs. What do you want to do?”

  Harvath knew what he wanted done, but it was up to Casey whether she wanted to do it. “How do you feel about deactivating the cell phones?”

  “As long as they’re not booby traps, we’ve done these before, so I’ve got no problem with it.”

  She was a brave woman. “Good. Grab one of the prisoners and make him stand with you when you do it. They may know more than they are letting on.”

  “They might still also want to go to Paradise, in which case—”

  “In which case,” Harvath interjected, “it should be written all over each of their faces. Watch for them to
start sweating or rocking back and forth, mumbling their prayers. Now, do you see any wire clippers there?”

  “I’m already ahead of you,” replied Casey as she picked up a pair off the table. She walked back to the prisoners and pulled one of the men to his feet. She jerked him over to the table with all the messenger bags and panniers assembled on it. She could feel his body tense beneath hergrasp.

  Opening the first bag, she pointed at the cell phone and the wires leading from it. The man stared at it and then back at her. Casey made a clipping motion with the cutters. The man didn’t respond.

  “This guy doesn’t like that we’re standing near the bombs,” she said to Harvath, “but other than that, he’s not giving me any other signals. I’m going to cut the wires coming out of the phone to the circuit board. Everybody get ready.”

  Casey paused, took a deep breath, and then let it out. As she did, she gritted her teeth, placed the wires in the mouth of the cutter, and clipped them both at the same time.

  Harvath was anxious to know what happened, but he remained quiet, ready for whatever the outcome might be, but hoping for the absolute best. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until Gretchen Casey’s voice came back over the radio.

  “Chicken switch number one deactivated,” she said. “Moving to number two.”

  “Roger that,” replied Harvath. “Good job.”

  When all of the cell phone detonators had been deactivated, Harvath had Casey remove them from the bags and place them in the order she had retrieved them. She then took care of the beacons.

  With the bombs deactivated, Ashford and Marx were eager to send the tactical teams into the mosque. Harvath wasn’t so sure that was a good idea.

  “Why not?” said Ashford.

  “There are two men dying in there,” added Marx.

  “With all due respect,” Harvath replied. “I don’t care about two dying terrorists.”

  “What if they have intelligence we can use?”

  “The cell leader isn’t going to make it. And if the second one dies, that’s two trials the British taxpayers have been spared. I’m more concerned with finding out who’s behind this attack.”

  Ashford looked at him. “So then why not secure the mosque and begin interrogating these men?”

  “Because we’d lose our advantage,” explained Harvath.

  “Which is what?”

  “That nobody knows we’re in there.”

  “Except the terrorists,” clarified Marx.

  “Correct. And we’ve cut them off from whoever their controller is. That’s the person we need to get to.”

  “Let’s try to trace the number that text message came through on.”

  “I guarantee you it’ll be a throw-away phone. If the right text response doesn’t come back soon, whoever originated that message is going to abandon that phone.”

  “Then we check the cell phone detonators. Whoever selected them would have tested them to make sure they received incoming traffic without any problems.”

  “I can have Casey pull off the tape and circuit boards to see if there’s a list of previous activity,” said Harvath, “but if it was me, I’d have deleted all the logs.”

  Ashford thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “You’re probably right.”

  “How about the six men we have in the mosque?” asked Marx. “In addition to interrogating them, shouldn’t we check their phones for any common numbers?”

  “I can ask Casey to do that, but I don’t think that’ll provide much either.”

  “Then what do you want to do?”

  “I want to force their hand.”

  “How?”

  “I want whoever is running this cell to think the operation is in jeopardy and I want them to expose themselves. If we do this right, when they do, we’ll be able to nail them.”

  CHAPTER 49

  Word of a major gas leak in East London was in reality a heavy release of mercaptan, the substance added to natural gas to make it smell like rotten eggs. Residents in a four-block radius surrounding the Darul Uloom Mosque were evacuated. Shortly after the evacuations began, the reporters showed up.

  A cordon had been established and the news crews, as well as onlookers, were kept a safe distance away.

  With Ashford’s approval, Harvath had decided that the BBC should be allowed the “scoop.”

  When the time was right, the BBC news team on site was tipped off about some strange activity only a block from their location. Hot for a story, the reporter ran for it with her cameraman in tow. They arrived just in time to see teams of heavily equipped, black-clad, balaclava-wearing anti-terrorism police piling into four gas company vans. The cameraman was able to capture all of it.

  Rushing back to their own van, they uploaded the footage to the BBC, who broke into their morning news programming for a “strange development” in the East London gas leak story. Within seconds of the footage being received, the BBC’s helicopter was diverted to East London and the completely predictable speculation began. Was the gas leak terrorism? Was it a cover for an anti-terrorism raid? Why was the British government keeping its people in the dark? Don’t the people have a right to know? Should the prime minister resign? They played right into Harvath’s plan. Moments later, the other networks had picked up on the story.

  Anyone watching TV now knew that there was a lot more happening in East London than a gas leak. Anti-terrorism units were not normally sent in to handle utility problems. Harvath was hoping that whoever controlled the cell at the Darul Uloom Mosque was watching TV as well.

  The architecture of any human network, whether it was created for gathering intelligence or committing acts of terror, was pretty easy to understand. As you climbed the food chain, each layer was designed to protect the operative positioned above it. Those layers were people, and they were known as “cutouts.”

  At the ground level was the cell itself. The number of people in that cell was dependent upon their specific assignment and the overall goal of the network.

  The cell had a leader whose job it was to make sure that the cell operated efficiently and to communicate up the food chain. The next rung on the ladder was the controller. He or she might control only that one cell or he or she might control many cells, but that person’s primary job was to act as a go-between and protect the identity of the regional controller.

  The regional controller could be limited to controlling all of the network’s activity in a particular region, in a particular country, or even a group of countries. The regional controller then reported to a figure known as “tight control.”

  “Tight control” was in charge of the entire network worldwide. Despite site 243 being a Chinese project, Harvath doubted that any of the controllers were Chinese. Most likely, they were all Muslim men who totally believed they were operating within a true Islamic terror network. That was the brilliance of the operation.

  Whoever “tight control” was, Harvath was confident he didn’t live anywhere near China. He very likely operated similarly to bin Laden prior to 9/11, as the guest of a country sympathetic to the Islamist agenda. Pulling his strings would have been achieved through coded communications. For all intents and purposes, the man could very well have believed he was working directly for the al-Qaeda hierarchy, even though he’d probably never met any of its members face-to-face.

  It was the perfect turnkey operation. Why go through the trouble of building your own Muslim network when you could hijack one from the Chinese? What Harvath couldn’t figure out, though, was why they had done it. Why unleash the carnage? What was the point?

  To figure that out, they were going to need to get to “tight control”; and to get to him, they were going to need to work their way up the food chain one bite at a time.

  They all agreed that the terrorist who had received the text was most likely the cell leader and the sender of the message had been the cell controller. While Harvath would have liked to have applied “pressure” to the terrori
st, he was barely clinging to life as it was and would not have withstood interrogation.

  What’s more, reverse engineering a network was very delicate work. Members were taught distress codes and could easily relay to their controllers that the cell had been compromised. They didn’t even need to send the message themselves. Often they could trick their captors into doing it for them. It could be as simple as a chalk mark in the wrong place, a window shade at the wrong height, or the wrong color or style of font in a chat room.

  Knowing full well the pitfalls, Harvath decided it best to force the controller out into the open. But to do it, Robert Ashford and Rita Marx had to call in nearly every favor they had ever accrued. For the first time in Britain’s modern history, its entire electronic surveillance apparatus was focused on one objective and one objective only—locating a single phone somewhere within the United Kingdom.

  When everyone was in place, Marx radioed for the tactical teams to move in on the mosque, whose morning worshippers had already departed.

  High above, television helicopters were broadcasting the entire thing. All the rest of the team could do was wait and hope that the cell’s controller would expose himself.

  The gas company trucks converged on the mosque from opposite ends of the street. When the officers poured out, they were all heavily armed, armored, and wearing gas masks.

  Rounds and rounds of tear gas were fired through windows as the officers rapidly advanced on the mosque. Across the country, viewers were undoubtedly glued to their sets. If the cell’s controller was watching, which Harvath prayed he was, all he would be able to surmise was that the mosque his men had been using for their headquarters was compromised and was now under a full-scale assault.

  The fact that he hadn’t been able to reach any of his cell members would only heighten his anxiety. Very likely, the only question greater in his mind than how the cell had been discovered, was why his men hadn’t yet detonated their explosives. That was what their training would have dictated.

  The only thing the controller would have been able to attribute the delay to was that the cell members were trying to draw more police officers into the mosque before blowing it up.