by Brad Taylor
She pulled down all four towels from the bathroom and spread them on the bed. Putting on a pair of elbow-length dish gloves, she liberally sprayed each towel with the squeeze bottle, first one side, then the other.
Called the Third Eye by the R & D team, the bottle contained a radioactive isotope that could be tracked once on the skin of the target. The constant with any beacon was that it had to be concealed, using something to mask its location. A shoe, a belt, a hat. Something. This was fine if the target knew he was wearing the beacon. The problem with an unwitting target was that he might not wear the concealment device, instead deciding to put on a different pair of shoes.
The Taskforce had researched forever trying to develop what they called the “Naked Man Tag,” a mythical beacon that could be emplaced on a naked man without his knowing, but the closest they’d come was the Third Eye, which was really nothing more than a throwback to the spy dust used by the East German Stasi during the Cold War.
All it did was send an alarm to a device that recognized the isotope, letting someone know the target was in the area. Since they all knew what the general looked like, it would be enough information to position themselves on his line of march for the start of the surveillance.
The difference between the Taskforce isotope and the old Stasi one was theirs would wash off easily, meaning that a shower would render it useless, which was why she was placing it on the towels. Well, that and the Taskforce isotope wouldn’t cause cancer like the one the Stasi used. At least that’s what the R & D folks said. Pike had told her it wasn’t called the Third Eye because of its surveillance applications, but because the target’s kids would be born with an eye in the middle of their foreheads after use.
She hoped he was kidding.
She folded the towels, placing them exactly as she’d found them, then turned to leave. Getting to the door, something tickled her brain, and she surveyed the room again.
She didn’t know what it was. The room looked like any hotel room. Any expensive five-star room, that is. Bed made with chocolate on the pillow, flowers set up, everything in its place. Then it hit her.
There’s no luggage. No clothes, computers, or anything else.
She went to the bathroom and found a toothbrush, used; some shaving gear; and a tube of toothpaste. That was it.
She left swiftly, closing the door and zipping up her butt pack. She called Pike.
“Mission complete. I’m setting the wireless receptors where we discussed, then coming home.”
“Any issues?”
“Not with the mission, but something’s not right. There was nothing in the room. No signs of life besides a wet toothbrush. No luggage or anything else.”
“Maybe he travels light.”
She thought about the frequent-flyer number she had found, the convenience now rattling her.
She said, “Maybe he’s ahead of us on this thing.”
30
Dr. Nakarat finished drying off and dressed in the clothes he had purchased the night before. Much fancier garments than he was used to wearing, but the mall attached to the Marina Bay Sands had no thrift shopping.
The store had been right next to a wireless carrier, and he’d toyed with the idea of buying a new phone, using his credit card. In the end, he didn’t have the courage. Someone could be watching his credit card usage, and he’d been told to only charge to the room. It wasn’t worth the life of his son.
He sat on the bed, watching the time drip by. He thought about getting breakfast, but he had no appetite. In truth, he felt nauseous.
On the counter next to the wide-screen television was a box of gauze. Inside was death. Something he wished he’d never created, but he had, and now it would haunt him forever.
Although he’d been frightened to the point of incapacity, he’d managed to get into his office and back out again with little trouble. The guard manning the front entrance had said nothing at all, clearly unaware of the police visit earlier.
He’d grabbed the virus and vaccine samples and come straight back to the Marina Bay Sands, only to spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling of his darkened room.
He knew the man planned nothing good with the virus. This wasn’t industrial espionage. It was something more, and that fact tore at him. Made him question his choices. His oath.
First, do no harm.
At four in the morning, he’d come close to calling the authorities. Telling them everything and, he knew, killing his son. The pressure had been incredible. He’d sat in the darkness and wept, all alone with his thoughts.
In the end, he’d left the phone on the hook. He’d lost his wife to cancer a year and a half ago, the wound still open and as raw as if it had been raked with a wire brush. He couldn’t lose his son, especially at his own hand.
He opened the instructions he’d been given, making sure he had memorized everything exactly. He felt certain he’d be watched and didn’t want to give any indication he was doing anything other than what he’d been told. A simple mistake could be catastrophic if the man thought he was trying to trick him. For this reason he’d discarded the idea of passing a vial of water. He was sure the kidnapper would have some method of testing what he brought. Would be able to see through any ruse.
His watch alarm chirped, sending a shock down his spine. It was time.
He slowly stood. Moving robotically, he placed the box of gauze in a small shopping bag. He put the untested vaccine sample in his shirt pocket, then wrapped the tested, failed vaccine into a rag and placed it in the shopping bag. The man had said he didn’t want the untested vaccine, but he was bringing it just in case. He’d have given the man his vital organs if he so asked.
He took one last look around the room and exited.
* * *
My “iPod” vibrated and I looked at the screen: Receptor one had been triggered, meaning the target had left the room.
I made sure everyone had received the alert and that their equipment was functioning, then simply waited on a direction, staring at the screen for the next trigger.
The false iPod was nothing more than a wireless device that received the signal from the receptors Jennifer had placed on all available exits, telling us where to focus our efforts. It looked like a fifth-generation Nano and would even play music — albeit just enough to “prove” what it was.
The receptors were the key. Basically minuscule Geiger counters, they received the gamma projection from the isotope the general had toweled on his body, then sent a signal, alerting us that he had passed. In addition to the ones Jennifer had placed about the hotel, we each had a larger one with more functionality that also showed signal strength. It wasn’t perfect, but it would give us a little edge on how far or close the target was — which would only be necessary in a large crowd, since we could all ID the general by sight.
We were staged in a cloverleaf and not positioned to cover any specific exit, but instead were able to react to multiple points. The formation did little to start initial surveillance, since we were spread way too thin, but did allow us to collapse together once we knew which way he was headed. We’d have been dead in the water without the Third Eye tag, and I didn’t like trusting it. Technology had let me down too many times.
I felt the iPod vibrate again and saw that receptor five had been triggered.
He’s coming through the lobby. Which wasn’t much help. All that did was eliminate the street exits from tower three. The lobby was huge, and from there, he could travel to the mall, casino, or any of the other street exits.
I checked my smartphone’s moving map and saw Knuckles’s position. “Knuckles, Pike.”
“Yeah, I got it. I’m on him. Moving now.”
“All others, collapse. Knuckles has the lead. Let him trigger, then someone pick up the eye.”
It might have sounded strange asking “someone” to identify and start the surveillance, but surveillance operations were fluid. The worst thing a surveillance chief could do was try to order eve
ryone around like soldiers on a map. I needed them to be thinking and executing on their own, not waiting on my call. I would never have the correct situational awareness and had seen plenty of surveillance operations go to hell because the SC thought he knew better.
The first signs of trouble came quickly.
“Pike, Knuckles. I’ve got a major signal but no rabbit.”
“You mean he got by you before you could PID?”
“No, I mean he’s standing within fifteen feet of me. The iPod is going crazy, but he’s not here.”
What? I ran through the possibilities and came up with the only one that made sense.
“Look for an Arab. We have two other unknowns here from Thailand. That’ll be the key.”
“Signal’s now fading. I lost him.”
Shit.
Decoy came on. “I got a weak signal. He’s on the escalator headed down.”
Down meant the promenade underneath the hotel. A moving mass of people all headed to the casino, mall, or metro. A surveillance nightmare. We needed to get a handle quickly, or we’d lose it completely. I checked the map on my phone.
“Koko and Retro, take the tunnel leading up to the mall. Blood and Knuckles, get down to the metro. See if you can pick him up. I’m right behind you. Decoy, start fishing, see if you can get a stronger signal. Everyone ignore the casino. I doubt that’s a destination.”
I started moving fast, getting to the escalator headed down underneath the street. I reached the promenade and was met by a mass of people all swirling around with different destinations.
He’s gone. We’ll never get him in here.
Decoy said, “Got a signal. It’s weak as shit.”
“Where? What direction?”
“Metro. It’s past the mall tunnel.”
I started jogging, hoping to jump ahead of the target. “Koko and Retro, collapse on the metro.”
Knuckles came on. “I got a signal now too. I’m in the hallway leading to the Bayfront metro stop.”
“What do you see? Have you identified?”
“No way. There are hundreds of people here.”
“Everyone get to the Bayfront stop. Get an ID. Send any pictures of possibles, I don’t care how tenuous.”
The Bayfront was on the yellow line, which meant a north-and-south route. North took him to the green line. South to the red.
Either way, we were about to be split.
31
Dr. Nakarat boarded the train and took a seat, glancing nervously at the people around him. All he saw were Asians. Packed around him like sardines, which did nothing but make him more suspicious.
One stop later, he exited and moved to the red line headed north. He nervously paced in a three-foot circle. When the train arrived, he watched everyone getting off, convinced some magical technology had allowed the man to meet him here.
When no one approached, he boarded and found one of the last seats available. He rode through the Raffles Place and City Hall stops, staring at everyone who entered. Nobody paid him the least bit of attention. His heart started to race when the train moved again.
The next stop was his.
* * *
Jennifer called after the City Hall stop and said she still had a signal but no identity. Which, given the number of people inside the train, wasn’t that big of a problem. I was two cars back, and they were so full I was beginning to wonder if Singapore had a load limit. It reminded me of an old Army saying: How many Rangers can you get on a deuce and a half? Answer: One more.
We’d lost Decoy and Blood to the northbound line, but they would be only one train behind. I had Knuckles with me, and Retro was with Jennifer in the car with the signal, so we should have been able to sort it out once we were out of the crowds. The only thing that was concerning me now was that nobody had spotted anyone remotely Arabic. Well, Decoy had sent a picture of an Arab woman, but that was it.
I started second-guessing the entire operation. Maybe the frequent-flyer number was confused, or the hotel room was nothing but a false plant, or the whole thing was a setup to get us going the wrong way. You name it, they were all running through my mind. But at the end of the day there were too many things that lined up.
It was an Iranian carpet company. With the same number as in Thailand. Keep pulling the thread. Something’s here.
I looked at the metro map and took a breath. The next stop, Dhoby Ghaut, was a transfer for three different lines. Disaster.
“Everyone listen up. I think he’s getting off at Dhoby. We’ll have about fifteen seconds to identify where he’s going or we’ll lose him forever. Forget the ID. Focus on the signal. Keep it in play.”
I got a roger, and the train pulled into the station.
* * *
Dr. Nakarat exited the train at a slow pace, unconsciously not wanting to begin the final walk to the meeting. He was jostled harshly by the torrent of people moving through the station, all intent on getting on or getting off. He got his bearings and headed to the Penang Road exit, feeling like he was walking to his doom. He broke into the sunlight and saw the signs for the park across the street, just as it had been described.
He crossed Penang and walked up a stairwell that zigzagged back and forth, traversing the hill. He didn’t notice the young man sitting on the bench staring at him intently.
He reached the top of the stairs, momentarily confused. There were more roads than he’d expected, along with a hotel to his right he hadn’t been told about. He saw a sign for the museum and followed it, walking steadily uphill, the heat sparking the first beads of sweat.
* * *
I waited on the call from Retro or Jennifer, pissing everyone off in the car because I didn’t exit when the door opened. I stood like a statue, just inside the entrance, letting the mass of people flow around me.
If they don’t call, it’s not this stop. Everyone else on this train can kiss my ass.
“Dropped signal. I say again, dropped signal. He’s off.”
I immediately exited, now in a rush that confused the people around me. Knuckles followed, grinning his meth-addict smile and scaring the hell out of the smaller Asians exiting.
I said, “Koko, Retro, head to the connector lines. Knuckles and I will take street level.”
We started moving at a slight jog, and my receptor pinged for the first time. I glanced at Knuckles, and he nodded. He was getting it too.
We kept the pace, and the signal got stronger and stronger. We broke out into the sunlight and I paused, trying to figure out which direction the target was going.
Knuckles immediately went left and I went right, paralleling Penang Road. My iPod display continued to get weaker and weaker.
“Knuckles, it’s not this way. What do you have?”
“I’ve lost signal. He didn’t come this direction.”
Which meant he’d crossed the street.
I saw the last pedestrians jogging toward the station from across Penang, men in suits and women skipping, ungainly in heels, and knew I’d miss the light. I sprinted anyway, meeting Knuckles just as the cars started moving, blocking our way.
“Damn it! We’re going to lose him here.”
Without being told, Knuckles alerted the rest of the team. “Everyone, target entered Fort Canning Park off of the Dhoby Ghaut stop. Lost contact. I say again, lost contact.”
Which would cause a rehearsed battle drill to be performed, with all teams starting a search pattern to pick up the signal again, focused on the park.
I pulled up a map of Fort Canning on my phone, the time slipping away. It was fairly large, crisscrossed with multiple roads that could be used for pickup, along with a hotel and some bunker from the loss of Singapore to the Japanese in World War II, now a museum.
I was formulating a plan of attack when Knuckles elbowed me.
“Pike. Take a look directly across the street. There’s an Arabic-looking guy on a bench, and he’s swiveling his head around like crazy. Looking for something.”
I focused on him and saw Knuckles was right. He was all by himself at the base of a set of stairs, and he wasn’t acting relaxed at all, like someone who’d decided to take a seat for a break. He was twitching around like he was on crack.
I ran through the possibilities, spinning what I knew around in my mind, looking for connections. Like staring at the spot on a 3D poster, the truth sprang out of the mishmash.
“Jesus. He’s one of the Iranians, and he’s pulling countersurveillance. Contact the Taskforce. Get a picture of Dr. Sakchai Nakarat. We’re following the wrong guy.”
32
Inside the bunker at Fort Canning Park, once the final British holdout in the fight for Singapore and now known as the Battle Box museum, Malik wandered about, looking at the various exhibits. It reminded him of the bunkers he had fought in during the Iran-Iraq War. He couldn’t help but be intrigued by the displays, a soldier again, and like all soldiers, he was interested in a way that others would never understand.
The rooms were frozen in time, with some walls even bearing the Morse code marks of the Japanese from after they had assumed control. He entered a chamber full of mannequins, incredibly lifelike in the gloom, peering at maps in an effort to stave off the inevitable defeat. He found it prophetic. No amount of military might would halt what he was about to unleash. Just like the British depicted in this room, the West would not be able to stop the onslaught.
He glanced at his watch and saw the next tour was a mere five minutes away. The tour with the doctor in tow.
He meandered through the maze of various displays, having seen them all before on his reconnaissance. Eventually, he reached a hallway that was not illuminated, with the arrows painted on the floor directing him to continue on past. He did not.
He walked down the length of the hallway until it dead-ended into a ladder. It was the escape corridor for the bunker. Created in World War II to allow the command to flee if the enemy breached the entrance, it would serve the same purpose here.