The Lost Codex (OPSIG Team Black Series Book 3)

by Alan Jacobson

  “This man is a terrorist with al Humat. He’s responsible for the attacks in the US and just now on the Home Office and Thames House.”

  “And how do yeh know that?” Manning asked, his tone firmer, angrier. “Who are yeh?”

  This is the point where I turn and run. What happens to Ryan, or whatever the hell his name is, is no longer my main concern. She would do no one any good by getting arrested in the UK. Now associated in some capacity with terrorism, she would be handled differently and interrogated more vigorously. They would eventually discover her true identity, despite the covert nature of the op.

  So Vail did the only thing she could. She spun and took off, back the way she had come, pulling out her Samsung as she went.

  Behind her: Yelling. Running footsteps. Cursing.

  She pushed the countermeasure glasses up on her sweaty nose and waited for the call to connect. C’mon, Hector, answer the damn—

  “Being pursued by CO19, get the car, meet me in front of Caffè Ne—”

  “But you’ve got the keys.”

  Are you kidding me? “Hotwire the car, call Uzi. Do something. If they catch me—” She realized DeSantos had clicked off.

  Vail ran back into Bennett’s Yard and saw the parking garage she had passed earlier. She unwound her muffler as she approached and tossed it to her right, just past the entrance. If they followed her into the alley, they’d see her article of clothing and—hopefully—think she had turned in.

  Because the alley was hooked, they would not get a clear view of her, so at least one or more of them would have to pursue the scarf lead in case she had a vehicle inside and was attempting to escape by car.

  Vail ran through the curved lane, emerging on Marsham. Metropolitan Police cars lined the curb space in front of the Home Office and bobbies were milling about the entrances. Fire trucks and ambulances were onsite as well, blocking portions of the narrow road.

  The commotion would only help her. Regardless, she did not have much time before the officers who continued pursuit down Bennett would be upon her.

  She turned and headed back toward Caffè Nero, looking for a recessed doorway—or some other crevice where she could hide.

  As she approached the coffee shop, Uzi came speeding up to the curb ahead of her, at the far corner—Romney Street—going against the one-way traffic.

  Vail sprinted toward the vehicle and he popped open the door as she heard, “Stop!” along with several footsteps behind her. She jumped into the passenger seat, slamming the top of her head against the window frame. She grabbed the armrest as Uzi hung a hard left and burned rubber, leaving the pursuing officers behind.

  He made another quick turn onto Horseferry and then again onto Regency, where he pulled abruptly to the side of the road. He wiped down the wheel, gearshift, and door with a handkerchief, then handed it to Vail, who did the same. Just as she finished, DeSantos and Fahad drove up.

  Vail and Uzi swung their duffels out of the trunk and then got into DeSantos’s car. He drove away and put as much distance as he could between them and the crime scenes in the shortest amount of time without running traffic lights or drawing undue attention.

  “Keep your head down,” Fahad said to Vail.

  She leaned forward and dropped her face between her knees and wondered how long it would take before she could feel confident that they were in the clear.

  Vail dug out her phone and, keeping low, dialed Reid. He did not answer on the first attempt, but he picked up on the second.

  “Things are a little busy, can I ring yeh back?”

  “Would love to stick around but—well, you know how it goes. Before we leave, there are things you should know.”

  “Get on with it then.”

  “First—what happened? Did we call it right?”

  “Give yourselves a pat on the rump. At Thames there was a sniper but he never got the chance to take a shot. One of our own had him in his sights and almost took him down.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Don’t rightly know. He got away.”

  Are you serious?

  “Yeah, go ahead and say it: it was an arse fucking screw-up on our part.”

  “Surveillance video?”

  “Being reviewed from multiple cameras. Don’t have anything on the roof but they’re checking to see if we got a few frames of him on his way up or on the street on the way to the job. If he’s a professional, we won’t be so lucky.”

  “And the Home Office?”

  “Not looking as good. Took longer to convince them osmium tetroxide was a viable threat. I got it done but not everyone got out in time. Not sure yet how many were infected. But I got preliminary confirmation from our onsite hazardous materials people. You were right.”

  “A case where I wish we were wrong.”

  There was shouting in the background, then Reid’s voice, muffled slightly by a finger over the microphone: “Deploy the robot and check it out. I’ll be right there.” To Vail, he said, “You said there are things I need to know?”

  “You may have an infiltrator at MI5.” When she explained her reasoning, there was silence. “Reid, you there?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. We’ll look into it. Take a while to do it right, but I’ll let you know if we find anything. What else?”

  Vail closed her eyes. She did not want to have to tell him this, but she had no choice. “I, uh, I may’ve blown your cover.”

  “I’m up to my arse in a major investigation. No offense, but this is not the time for a joke.”

  I wish I were joking.

  “You are joking, right?”

  “I’m really, really sorry. I—I can’t go into it on the phone but just know that if I could take it back I would.”

  “Are yeh sure? I need to know the specifics.”

  She explained it as best she could without implicating herself as being the woman at Smith’s Square who had escaped from CO19.

  “I’ll see what I can find out. Damage control.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What’s the saying? Shite happens?”

  “It’s an American thing. And it’s just plain old shit. Shit happens.”

  “You Americans want to take credit for everything, eh?”

  “Take care of yourself, Reid. And give Carter my regards.”

  MINUTES AFTER VAIL HUNG UP WITH REID, when they had gotten outside the city limits and entered the motorway, she sat up and stretched out the kinks in her neck.

  “Where are we headed?”

  DeSantos, who was driving, looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Right now, back to RAF Mildenhall. Then we’ll reassess, connect with Knox, and figure out a plan of action.”

  Uzi was seated to her left in the backseat, working his laptop keyboard, for the most part silent, clearly intent on decrypting the remaining documents. “Uh—holy shit.”

  DeSantos glanced in the rearview mirror. “That’s a bit vague, Boychick. Can you be more specific? Find something?”

  Uzi continued to stare at the screen. “Get Knox on the phone.”

  Vail pulled out her cell and started dialing. A moment later, she had the director on the line. “On speaker, Uzi.”

  “Sir, I’ve found something you need to act on immediately. I’ve got a captured document that outlines a small-scale repeat of the 9/11 attacks. A single jet.”

  Vail watched as his eyes moved across, and down, the screen. It was in Arabic, so all she could do was wait.

  “Go on,” Knox said.

  “I’m translating the Arabic,” Uzi said. “Looks like it’s going down today—tonight—wait, New York is how many hours behind us? Five? Shit, it’s going down—” Uzi’s head whipped up. “Now.”

  “Details,” Knox said, urgency in his voice. “Give me something. A jet? That’s all you’ve got?”


  “Freedom Tower, commercial airliner,” Uzi said, skimming the document. “Refers to someone by name of Haydar. That’s it. If we’ve lost contact with any flight, or if anything out of the ordinary is—”

  “You’re sure of this intel?” Knox asked, the rapid clacking sound of a keyboard apparent over the phone’s speaker.

  “We’re not on a secure line, sir.”

  “No time. Give me what you’ve got.”

  “I’m reading encrypted documents we stole from a PC in the Greenwich cell’s flat. Yes, I believe it’s reliable intel.”

  “I’ll look into it.”

  Knox clicked off and the four of them glanced at one another. Uzi turned back to his laptop and continued working.

  Vail sat there, staring ahead, numb. Images of the planes hitting the Twin Towers played in her mind. She had seen it firsthand. Now, thousands of miles away, she had only her imagination as she pictured what was going down. She shut her eyes tight. Not again. How could it be happening again?

  “The dirty bomb wasn’t enough?” DeSantos said.

  Vail shook the memories from her thoughts. “Maybe this World Trade Center thing is a contingency plan, in case the dirty bomb attack failed—which it did. The tower’s a prime target, for obvious reasons.”

  A minute later, Uzi broke the silence. “Paris.”

  “What about Paris?” Fahad said.

  “That’s where these assholes are going. Which means that’s where we’re going.”

  “What’d you find?” DeSantos asked.

  “Instructions issued by someone in command. They’re not named, but they directed all fighters to report to a specific address in Paris after the London operation. I think it’s safe to assume that the two incidents we just witnessed were the London op.”

  “Unless we hear otherwise,” DeSantos said, slowing slightly on the motorway to keep his speed at the limit.

  “Do you think they’re gonna be able to stop that plane?” Vail asked.

  DeSantos glanced at her in the mirror but returned his gaze to the road without answering.

  “Got something,” Uzi said, his fingers suddenly stilled. “A reference to two manuscripts, one of which was transferred to the Louvre for safekeeping while awaiting transport.”

  “What manuscripts?” Fahad asked.

  He gave the document another read before answering. “Doesn’t say. And it doesn’t say where it’s going after it leaves the Louvre.”

  “When are they scheduled to leave?” Vail asked.

  “That’s not in here, either. I’ve got a couple more files to work on, so maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “I don’t believe in luck,” Vail said.

  “You may not believe in it, but you’d better hope we have some. The good kind.”

  THE VIDEOCONFERENCING ROOM at Mildenhall turned out to be a small office in an older hangar. They filed in, shut the door and locked it, then got ready to call Knox on an encrypted video line.

  “How secure is this?” Uzi asked.

  “Military grade,” said the major who ushered them inside. “We installed our own SIP proxy, and with a VPN and a variety of SIP clients, we made our own platform.”

  Uzi nodded. “Firewall? Is auto answer OFF?”

  “Of course. No one’s gonna tap in.”

  “You use AES 256 or AES 512 crypto?”

  “Five twelve,” the major said. “And yeah, we’ve got the high speed hardware to handle it.”

  Uzi shrugged. “Cool. Let’s do this.”

  “You really understood that?” DeSantos asked.

  “Didn’t you?” Uzi asked, knowing that DeSantos had no clue what the man had said.

  “All I care is that it works. Get Knox on the screen.”

  “Thanks, Major,” Uzi said, then waited for him to leave. He clicked “Start secure communication” and moments later Douglas Knox’s face appeared on the large LED flat panel mounted on the wall.

  “We found the jet. They’re using some kind of spoof on their transponder but satellites located it. A red-eye out of LAX. Since you were the ones to key us in on this, I’m patching you in.” He gestured to Rodman, who was seated to his right. A wide-angle view filled the screen.

  “What are we seeing?” Uzi asked.

  “We scrambled F-22s,” Rodman said. “This is the pilot’s forward camera.”

  On the left, the nose of a jumbo jet was barely visible. In the distance, the brilliant white lights and red spire of One World Trade Center was outlined against a dark but brightening sky.

  Vail’s stomach churned. Her heartrate increased. And she struggled to get air into her lungs.

  “We’re attempting to establish contact, but the two men flying the plane are not the pilots.”

  The F-22 pulled back and the full fuselage was visible.

  “How many aboard?” Uzi asked.

  “It’s a 757,” Rodman said, “with 199 passengers and crew.”

  So 199 versus—how many are in the building this time of morning? Restaurant workers, maintenance and security personnel, tenants burning the midnight oil to meet deadlines. Five hundred? A thousand?

  “Has the president given the order to shoot it down?” DeSantos asked.

  “If necessary, yes. The military’s taken over the operation.”

  “It’s not about the number of lives,” Vail said. “It’s symbolic. Demoralizing to destroy what we fought so long and hard to rebuild.”

  “They’re not gonna destroy anything,” DeSantos said, his right hand fisted.

  Uzi leaned forward. “Plane’s over the Hudson River. If they’re going to do it, now’s the—”

  Before he could finish, the bright flare of a missile launch filled the screen. A second later, the projectile struck the jet’s body. It erupted in flames, small shrapnel flying toward the camera. The 757 veered left, then right, then the nose pointed toward the sky and the burning fuselage plunged toward the water.

  The camera showed a black and deep blue sky, the F-22 continuing on its straight-ahead path, zooming past the World Trade Center to the west.

  Vail, Uzi, DeSantos, and Fahad continued to stare at the screen.

  Vail felt intense relief—but had to fight back tears. “What did we just do? I mean, there was no choice, but—I mean, two hundred innocent people …”

  The screen flickered and Knox was visible once again, a somber expression on his face. “I’ll keep you updated. It’ll probably be several days before we know how they pulled it off. I doubt it’ll be anything extravagant. We all know security on air travel is an illusion.”

  None of them spoke.

  The normally unflappable FBI director turned away from the webcam, took a deep breath, and composed himself. “Right before you called me about the plane, we got reports of an incident in Westminster. You know anything about that?”

  “We were there,” DeSantos said, “warned MI5 of the intel we pulled from a laptop we found in a flat in Greenwich. But there wasn’t enough ti—”

  “What do you mean you warned MI5? Not Buck—”

  “We utilized Karen’s contact, Clive Reid. We helped minimize the impact of the attack.”

  Knox frowned: he still was not pleased but he could not complain. “Some sort of chemical weapon. Sounds like they’re going to be looking at hundreds of casualties. Won’t know for a few hours, but it’s not going to be a good report.”

  “They used osmium tetroxide,” Uzi said.

  “Osmium tetroxide?” Knox’s jaw dropped as he processed that. “We’d discussed that a number of times over the years but our chemists told us it was not feasible.”

  Time to hire new chemists.

  “They aerosolized it in the ventilation system,” Uzi said. “That’s why they won’t have an accurate casualty count for a few hours. There’s a latency period.�
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  Knox clenched his jaw. “Status on your two targets, Yaseen and Aziz?”

  “We believe they were living in that flat,” DeSantos said, “but we’ve got a forensic guy looking over latents we lifted. We engaged three tangos as they left the building. Two were killed, two escaped.”

  “Are the two dead bodies going to cause a problem?”

  Vail turned to DeSantos, who answered. “Just a matter of time. I don’t think it’ll be traced back to me—or us—but it’s impossible to say.”

  “I’ll monitor it on my end. What about Yaseen and Aziz?”

  DeSantos glanced at Uzi, then said, “Paris.”

  “Paris,” Knox repeated. “Something I should know?”

  “Another one of the encrypted documents I got off that laptop,” Uzi said. “It directed all their fighters to an address in Paris after the London operation.”

  Knox sat back in his chair. “Mr. Fahad, you haven’t said a word. Anything to add?”

  He pursed his lips and shook his head. “No sir.”

  Vail’s phone vibrated. She rooted it out of her jacket pocket and read the message. Bingo.

  “Something you’d like to share, Agent Vail?”

  “Text from Clive Reid. There was a sniper on the roof of a building near MI5’s headquarters. We warned them about that, so they were prepared. The shooter escaped but the Met captured the guy’s face on a camera before the attack—including an accomplice. Man carrying the rifle case is—” she consulted the Samsung—“Samir Mohammed al Razi. Other one is Rahmatullah Nasrullah.”

  Knox leaned closer to the camera. “Say again?”

  Vail checked her device and repeated the names.

  Knox’s right eye narrowed. He swiveled a few degrees in his chair and started working the computer to the left of his desk. He looked up, exposing the deep furrows in his face. “As you all know, President Nunn has made closing Guantanamo Bay a major goal of his administration. Today he’s going to announce a plan to transfer all remaining detainees to the US by overriding a congressional ban that specifically prohibits doing just that.”

  “How many are left?” Vail asked.

  “Two years ago we released six hundred, leaving 149. Seventy-nine have been approved for transfer but nothing’s happened because there were problems repatriating them. Thirty-seven are going to remain in detention without trial.”