Getting closer was a risk. Because if he was spotted, they’d call in False Prophets, and it was possible he’d end up arrested, or have to take extreme evasive measures. And given that The Zahir needed him tomorrow, this was tantamount to running the ultimate risk, that of letting down The Zahir.
But he’d be careful. He wouldn’t get caught.
Resh made off towards the house, then started down its left-hand side towards the illuminated windows. And though the room beyond the glass was partially obscured from view by a tree which had grown up right by the outer-wall, as Resh drew nearer, he began to make out a kitchen. Then, all at once, when he came within about five yards, he was able to clearly see the scene beyond: the mother frying eggs at the stove; the son playing on a gameboy at the kitchen table.
But then, the next thing Resh knew, he was struck by a crippling sense of impotence – struck so suddenly that he quickly had to find his footing to stop himself falling into the branches and blowing his cover. Immediately he understood the cause. The scene before him so closely resembled his youth that it induced in him the helplessness that had pervaded his young life. This boy, with his drawn, unhappy face, was just like how he used to be when he was Samuel: a completely powerless entity, whose fate resided in the hands of others. That was how Resh had felt throughout his childhood – like he was someone who others could just forsake or abandon or adopt or readopt as they pleased.
Then, when Resh had gotten a bit older, he’d come to understand that the world was split into two: a minority that dictates how things are run; and a majority that’s dictated to. And as far as he was concerned, the people calling the shots had grown corrupt and immoral.
Ultimately, it was this sense of helplessness that had driven Resh from home. And it was only once he’d found The Zahir – the man who’d been sent by God to bring about a new world order – that this feeling had died away, to be replaced with purpose and empowerment.
But now, as he stood watching this ghost of his mother serve up eggs on toast, and the unhappy child prod them with a fork, this feeling had returned for the first time in years. And Resh knew that it wasn’t simply inspired by sympathy for this child. He was also feeling this way because peering into the house felt like peering into his own past and he knew that while he might be able to sever himself from his past through The Order, he was powerless to change his past. That was something he could never change.
Yet barely had Resh thought this when he broke free of the spell. After all, he reminded himself, he was no longer powerless; and this scene unfolding before him wasn’t in the past: it was happening right now, and he could do something about it. He looked again at the child, and his slim white neck. He had a blade in his pocket, and he could break in and mercifully cut this child’s throat, mercifully save him from the impotence he himself had had to face. And, suddenly, with this thought, Resh was filled with a powerful urge to act, mingled with an anger that this was a world in which it was more merciful to kill this child.
But of course he couldn’t, because this wasn’t part of the plan. In fact, acting in this way would almost certainly endanger The Zahir’s plan.
And then, as suddenly as his urge to act had come on, he felt himself calm. Because he remembered that after The Zahir’s plan was complete – once Euphrates had been wrought – this would no longer be such a world. He remembered that by acting together with The Zahir he was acting on a much greater scale – to bring about a revolution – and this was infinitely more important than a small act of mercy.
Resh laid a hand on the tree-trunk, and reflected on the worthiness of his cause.
Almost in the same moment, the boy looked up and out the window; looked Resh directly in the eye.
A cold panic seized Resh. He’d acted against The Zahir’s wishes. And now, as a result of his degraded behavior, he’d endangered Euphrates. He’d endangered everything. And for what?
His chest ached like a heart attack.
But then, to Resh’s surprise, the child didn’t scream. He simply looked back to his plate and continued eating. He hadn’t seen Resh. He’d just been gazing into the distance.
Resh exhaled hard. He’d been lucky – very lucky. And as the relief washed over him, he turned, and retreated through the night.
Euphrates was calling louder than ever.
Chapter 44
Monday, March 4, 2013, 12:05 a.m. CST – 6451, South Racine Avenue, Englewood, Chicago.
We arrived at our destination – 6451 South Racine Avenue, Chicago – at about five past midnight. And the moment the landlord turned over the keys and left, Mort went for a power nap, while I found my way to the living room, and began unpacking our weapons and the laptop onto a low table. Then, when I was done, I sat and tried to clear my head. I didn’t want to start planning our assault without Mort, but nor did I want to start fretting, either. Yet despite my best efforts, there was a thought I couldn’t shake: it was now less than twenty-four hours till Samuel and Vann were due to be executed…
At about half one, Mort finally joined me in the living room and in the process he not only dispelled my fretting, but also galvanized me with the energy the sleep had given him. As a result, it was in a mood not dissimilar to the one we were in after our revelation in the motel that we then set about poring over satellite images and floor-plans, planning our assault. Soon enough, we’d devised a plan – one which, given that we didn’t know who or what exactly was inside the warehouse, was simple and flexible enough that it could be adapted on the spot to a host of situations.
Not long after we finished, at just gone 4:30 a.m., the first party – consisting of Rand Dotman, an old boy who’d been retired for a couple of years now, and Chris Burnett, a short, squat, powerful field agent – arrived in the white surveillance van. Immediately, Mort and I went out to inspect the vehicle, and we weren’t disappointed. For one thing, it looked perfectly innocuous, like any white panel van you’d see in a warehouse context. For another, the surveillance suite in the back was comprehensive: there was a computer linked to the FBI’s database; four monitors, linked to cameras on the front, back, and either side of the van, so you could see everything going on outside; and a number of further monitors which could be linked to any one of the small wireless cameras stacked in the corner. Satisfied with what we’d seen, we helped Dotman and Burnett carry the valises containing the silenced Glocks and walkie-talkies into the house.
Scarcely had we done so when the second party – consisting of Adrian Sayle and Henry Childs, two tall, lean, eminently handy young agents, plus Fabio Rodriguez, a deadpan Hispanic agent, and an old friend of Mort’s – pulled up in a suitably unmemorable grey sedan. After Mort and I once again came out and offered our greetings, Mort made a start on fitting the Illinois number plates they’d brought with them to all three of our vehicles.
Before long, Mort had finished the job, and all seven of us were assembled in the living room. As I sat there, I was struck by the atmosphere: it was, though serious, tinged with an excitement; an electricity. But really, this was unsurprising. After all, while these agents had been told only the bare-bones, they knew enough to know that what they were doing was taboo. For starters, they knew this operation was completely out of their jurisdiction. Secondly, they were working with Saul Marshall. And although it was unlikely that they knew about Counterterrorism’s suspicions that I was behind The Order, they almost certainly knew I was wanted by the Bureau for withholding information.
A moment later, Mort stood, and addressed the room in his trademark growl:
‘First off, I’d like to thank you all for coming. Although I dare say that many of you are relishing this chance to beat Counterterrorism at its own game, I’m under no illusions about the risks you’re taking. I know you’re not only risking the dangers of the field, but also your professional careers. So thank you.
‘Now, as you already know, the reason we need your help and the reason we haven’t gone through the usual channels is because Saul Mar
shall is on hostile terms with FBI Counterterrorism: he’s wanted for withholding information. However, the situation is more complex than this. So let me explain…
‘Over this past week America’s been under attack by a cult called The Order of Babylon – this much is all over the news. But what isn’t on the news is that the mastermind behind The Order is a man called Ivan Drexler. Earlier this week, Drexler targeted Saul: he took his son, Samuel, and his close friend, agent Vannevar Yeung, hostage, then he put Saul in a bind by disclosing to him sensitive information and threatening to execute the hostages if Saul passed on what he knew. It’s for this reason that Saul withheld information.
‘However, three days ago, Saul’s situation went from bad to worse: Drexler attempted to frame him as the leader of The Order. And though his attempt failed to convince a majority, enough high-powered people have been swayed to cause Saul serious problems. In fact, two days ago Saul had to fend off an assassin who we believe was sent by the CIA. As you can see, Saul has his fair share of souvenirs from the encounter.
‘But after this assassination attempt, we had a stroke of luck: we found one of Drexler’s secret locations – a warehouse where, we believe, Drexler could be residing. And it’s imperative we follow up this lead and ambush this warehouse because we know Drexler plans to do more damage. We know at midnight tonight, EST, he intends to execute Samuel and Vannevar. And we know, also, that he’s planning at least one further terrorist attack.
‘So we’ve assembled this off-the-books team to storm this warehouse. And it’s true: we’ve rejected the usual channels because of Counterterrorism’s stance towards Saul. However, there’s another reason – one that’s equally important…’
Mort paused. I knew what was coming.
‘The other reason we’ve solicited your help is because, shortly after the atrocity in Manhattan, Saul discovered that Samuel has, in fact, been converted to The Order. We’ve good reason to believe this won’t stop Drexler executing Samuel as he’s already sacrificed a number of his loyalists. But what we’re hoping is that this team will be less hasty to pull the trigger than a counterterrorism team would be if it encounters Samuel in the course of this mission… We’d like to take him alive.’
Again, Mort paused. I looked around the room, anxious to see their reaction. And I was relieved. There was understanding in their faces.
Mort continued: ‘It must be said at this point that we don’t know who or what exactly is inside this warehouse. Yes, we know it’s a secret Order location, but we haven’t had an opportunity to put it under observation. Now obviously, we’re hoping that Drexler’s inside, and we believe there’s a realistic chance he is. And it’s worthwhile saying that if he is there, then he’s probably got backup; though, given the size of the property and their need for discretion, I can’t imagine he’d have more than maybe ten men.
‘But bear in mind: we have to be prepared for all kinds of eventualities, because all sorts of things are possible. If there are cultists there, then perhaps Samuel is among them. Perhaps there are hostages there, and if there are, then perhaps Vannevar is one of them. And maybe there are cultists there, but not Drexler himself. You get the picture. We have to be prepared for a number of possibilities.
‘However, what I can say with some confidence is: if there are cultists there, they will be armed – it seems that Order members are ubiquitously equipped with Beretta 92Fs. But despite the fact any hostiles we encounter will be armed and dangerous, we must try to take them alive. It may be that the only way we can stop the final terrorist attack, or find Vannevar and Samuel, is through information they have. And I should add that just because you have a cultists in your sights doesn’t mean they’re likely to surrender. On the contrary, they seem happy to die for their cause; so you may have to incapacitate them.
‘But of course, if your life’s on the line, and you have no choice, shoot to kill. No matter who it is.’
At that, I nodded to the room. I meant it, too. Yes, I wanted Samuel back alive. But I couldn’t ask these guys – who were already taking such huge risks on my behalf – to give up their lives for that end.
‘But on the plus side,’ Mort went on, ‘they’re probably also using sound suppressors, since it’s in their interest to keep a low profile. So even if gunfire’s exchanged, it’s unlikely anyone’ll hear it, meaning we shouldn’t have to worry about local law-enforcement turning up and making a mess of things.’
Mort paused, as though contemplating if he’d covered everything; then, with a look of satisfaction, he said:
‘Now I’ll hand you over to Saul, who’ll brief you on our assault plans.’
I got to my feet, and, dispensing of formalities, jumped straight in:
‘The first phase of our plan, which we’ll put into action as soon as this briefing is over, is to put the warehouse under observation, because if we can find out more about what’s going on inside, it could radically improve our chances.
‘Now, before I go on, I’d like to show you satellite images of the warehouse.’
I picked up the laptop, which was already pre-loaded with satellite images, and handed it to the nearest agent. Once it’d been round the room, I continued:
‘As you just saw, the warehouse in question, 7505 South Laflin Street, is at the far end of a cul-de-sac. Also on this cul-de-sac is one other warehouse, directly next-door, which contains a metal-cutting business called Lakeside Metals. And when you enter the cul-de-sac, there’s a right turn, just before Lakeside, leading to a large parking area which caters to the backend of both warehouses.
‘I suggest for this observational phase we place our main surveillance van on the far side of this parking lot, in an intermediate point between the warehouses. That way, the men inside will be able to monitor the back of Drexler’s warehouse via the van’s camera system and people at both warehouses will hopefully assume the van belongs to the other.
‘At the same time, I suggest we have a second party of three parked on South Laflin Street itself. But I don’t think this team should be parked directly in front of the warehouse: while our images show there are no windows on the warehouse’s front, I think this is pushing our luck. Rather, I suggest that someone in this party plants a wireless camera opposite the warehouse’s front, so that we get a live stream of the vicinity fed to the surveillance van and that this second party parks in front of Lakeside Metals instead.
‘Finally, I suggest we have a single man parked on West 76th Street – the road adjacent to South Laflin – so that if at any point someone leaves the warehouse, we have a man ready to tail them.
‘So by taking up these positions in the first instance, we can put the place under observation, and in doing so we may learn something that’ll change the game. However, 11 a.m. will be the cut-off. If by then we’ve seen nothing that either, a) forces us to act, or b) gives us cause to rethink our approach, then we will storm the warehouse… Because there’s only so long we can hang around.
‘Now, at this point, I’d like to show you the floor-plan of the warehouse.’
At that, I loaded the image of the floor-plan onto the laptop. After everyone had seen it, I continued:
‘As you can see, the warehouse consists of one floor. Beyond the front door is a large main office. This office leads onto a long corridor, which is divided into two by a partitioning door. The first half of the corridor has seven rooms – five offices, one kitchen, one bathroom – whereas the second half has five rooms, all offices. At the end of this second corridor is a door leading to the warehouse space. And at the back of this warehouse space is the rear-door, leading onto the parking lot.
‘I reckon the best method of attack is simply to have the two teams of three enter via the front and rear entrance simultaneously, then work their way through the building from either end. I’m hoping the element of surprise will make it a quick, easy operation.’
I paused, then said: ‘Any questions?’
‘Who’ll be in the surveillance va
n, and who’ll be on South Laflin Street?’ asked Burnett pragmatically.
‘Let’s have Giles, Burnett and myself in the van; Sayle, Childs, and Rodriguez on South Laflin; and Dotman on West 76th. That sound okay?’
There were nods all round.
‘Any more queries?’ I probed.
The men shook their heads. But in their faces, there was a confidence, a belief we could actually pull this off. It gave me hope.
‘Right,’ I said, with all the bravado I could muster. ‘Let’s go earn ourselves a parade.’
Chapter 45
Monday, March 4, 2013. 5:50 a.m. CST.
As soon as we finished the briefing, we began preparing to leave. Silenced Glock semi-automatics were passed around. Each team, as well as the lone Dotman, was given a walkie-talkie. And Childs went and retrieved one of the wireless cameras from the van – the one which was to be planted opposite the warehouse’s front. My personal perpetrations, however, also included a large dose of ibuprofen, because my liver was aching worse than ever. But while I was able to do something about my liver, even if it was only taking over-the-counter painkillers, there was unfortunately nothing I could do about my left arm, which still hung limp and useless in its sling.
I decided to supplement my Glock with the assassin’s Ka-bar to compensate.
When we were ready to leave, at about five past six, we staggered our exit. Sayle, Rodriguez and Childs were first to go, taking Mort’s rental. Three minutes later, Dotman followed suit in the grey sedan. Then, after a further three minutes, Burnett, Mort and I finally got in the white van – Mort and I getting in back, Burnett getting behind the wheel. And as Burnett peeled away from the curb, I found myself thinking: this could be the beginning of the end – my chance to bring this nightmare to a close.
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