The Insider Threat

by Brad Taylor

  He said, “Before you put them inside, you have to cock the device. That’s the only drawback, really. Once they’re in, the thing is armed, and it really hasn’t been drop tested or anything. By cocking it, you’re basically drawing back that little section of steel with rubber bands, which is held by a dual check.”

  He moved the lever on the side from top to bottom. He let go, and it flew back to the top. He shook his head and said, “That’s what I mean. Sometimes it doesn’t catch.” He did it again, more forcefully, and the lever stayed down. “Be sure you lock it in.”

  He then slid the vials into the tube and closed the lid. Omar said, “Does it matter which one goes in what tube?”

  “No. You’re going to smash the tubes and mix up the chemicals. It doesn’t matter the order.”

  He closed the lid and said, “Now it’s armed. All you need to do is connect the nonelectric firing tubes to the bottom, then press this button. It will release the metal breaker, and the chemicals will mix.”

  “How soon? How long does it take?”

  “It’s not instant. Maybe a second before the chemicals react, but when they do, it’s a miniature explosion, with the jet of flame directed down the valves at the bottom. The man holding it will lose his hand.”

  Omar said, “That’s of no consequence. What about the explosives? And I was supposed to get three detonators.”

  “Yes, yes. First, there’s one more thing you need to know. The button is a dead man’s switch. You push it in, and the breaker releases from one catch, but is still held by another. That catch releases when the button is released.”

  Omar smiled, “Dead man’s switch. So once it’s pressed, the only thing keeping it from going off is the man holding the device. Killing him does no good.”

  Gap-tooth flashed his tobacco-stained molars in what passed for a smile and said, “Precisely.”

  “And the explosives?”

  The other man came forward and handed Omar what looked like a luggage retrieval receipt. “All of it is packed and ready to go at the Tirana airport, in the lost luggage section. It’s safeguarded, and the men watching it have been paid handsomely, don’t worry. They have no idea what it is, but we’ve done business with them many, many times. You present this, along with your flight information, and the bags will be loaded with the appropriate luggage tags for your final destination.”

  Omar felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Having purchased it this morning, only two people knew the number. The two he had for security outside.

  He held up a finger and said, “I must take this.”

  He turned away from the men, jamming his hand into the pocket with the pistol. He said, “Yes?”

  “Omar, there are people outside of the amphitheater. We’ve watched them for a while, and they’re not acting like they’re here for the sunshine. One, a woman, has passed back and forth three times.”

  He glanced at the men in the room and said, “You are positive?”

  “Yes. She’s not Albanian. She’s foreign. Her dress is off, and she’s constantly talking into a cell phone. What do you want to do?”

  He withdrew the gun and pointed it at the men. They took a step back in shock, raising their hands. He said, “Take her out of play, but I want her alive. Get her to your place. Do not go to mine. I’ll meet you there.”

  He hung up and said, “I was told to come here alone, as were you. Who is outside of this building? Who’s the woman?”

  As if he’d been in such situations many times, Gap-tooth calmly said, “Yes, you were told to come alone, and clearly you didn’t. We have done the same. We only have some security. You must understand. But we have no women. It’s not us.”

  There was a crack from outside. It could have been a car backfiring, or maybe some children playing with fireworks, but nobody in the room believed it.

  The other man jammed his hand into his leather jacket, got a pistol halfway out, and Omar fired, catching him in the right cheek, the left half of his face exploding outward. He fell, and Omar dove at Gap-tooth, preventing him from drawing his own weapon. He slammed the man into the concrete, ripping the detonator from Gap-tooth’s hand and twisting his arm ferociously. He felt the tendons snap, and the man screamed, his fetid dental work wide-open. Omar jammed the end of the detonator in his mouth and punched the button.

  He held it and said, “I am not some criminal to be trifled with. I am the Islamic State. I will meet Allah. You will not.”

  Eyes rolling wild, Gap-tooth shook his head, trying to talk, drool running freely. Omar pushed the detonator deeper, breaking Gap-tooth’s jaw and wedging it in the soft palate at the back of his throat. He let go of the button, then leapt up, backing toward the door. Gap-tooth frantically sat up, and even managed to get his hands on the device before there was a flash, then a pop, like a large firecracker had gone off. His lower jaw exploded downward, and a jet of molten flame severed his spinal cord at the neck.

  59

  Relaxing on the marble, watching the children play, and getting regular updates from his two men, Rashid heard the first gunshot and bolted upright. Everyone around him was looking left and right, just as confused as he was. He tried to identify where the shot had come from, but it was impossible. It reverberated off of the hills, confusing his ears. He knew it was close, though.

  He stood, bringing his phone up and straining to hear something that would tell him what was happening. He dialed, getting Hashim. “What was that?”

  “I don’t know . . . I don’t know. It wasn’t here, at the amphitheater. It’s farther away.”

  “What’s going on at the amphitheater?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. The meeting’s still going on.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than another crack split the air. From the amphitheater.

  Hashim shouted, “Shooting! Shooting from inside the building!”

  Rashid whipped his head, but saw the door was still closed. Hashim said, “Two men just came forward. Both have pistols drawn. They’re running toward the building.”

  Rashid started walking toward the theater, torn between fleeing and his need to kill Omar. He saw the door open, and Omar came spilling out, leaping down the stairs and disappearing from view because of the slope of the hill.

  Then gunfire erupted: multiple snaps of noise from at least four shooters.

  While the locals began running away, he sprinted toward the firefight, drawing his own weapon. He reached the top of the hill, the bowl of the amphitheater below him, full of children ducking and screaming. He saw Omar rapidly shooting, hitting two men within five feet of him. He scanned the stage area, and saw Hashim rise up from between the concrete seats, squeezing the trigger. He saw a child go down, blood spraying from his back, the mother screaming maniacally. Omar ducked, then returned fire.

  Rashid knelt down, getting a bead along the sights of his pistol, Omar right below him, the blood lust raging, then a bullet smacked the concrete pillar next to his head, spraying him with spall. He fell flat, searching for the shooter, confused because he’d heard no sound. He saw a black man deeper in the bowl, behind the stage, and he held a rifle with a fat barrel, pointed right at him.

  He saw the muzzle flash, then felt rounds driving around his head. He ducked down, panting. He heard Omar’s pistol spit fire, then another burst of gunfire from multiple locations, sounding like firecrackers on a patio. He peeked over and saw Hashim shooting at Omar. The black man swung his weapon as if it were on rails, then surgically put two rounds into Hashim. He saw the light leave Hashim’s eyes as he fell face-first into the concrete seats, his arms splayed forward as if he were trying to catch himself.

  There was a flash of movement from the other side of the amphitheater, and Rashid heard a yell. Kamal leapt onto the stage, screaming and shooting. He took two steps before his body jerked, hit from bullets that made no noise. Rashid looked at the black man, but he wasn’t firing. He was aiming his weapon dead center on him, without squeezing the trigge
r. Someone else was shooting. Someone with the same skill. The sight of Kamal sliding, lifeless, onto the concrete stage made up his mind for him. Omar would live another day. All that remained now was escape.

  He snapped two hasty rounds toward the black man, getting nothing but a small duck in return. He saw Omar sprinting, running away from the amphitheater to the east, and rolled into a small hollow in the ground, preparing to do the same.

  He heard stomping feet and turned, seeing Albanian police swarming down the flagstone path. He jammed his weapon into his waistband and lay flat, screaming for help.

  They went past him without pause. He lay still for a split second more, then jumped up and began running the way he’d come, passing the monuments. He crested the hill, diving behind the concrete wall and trying to maintain his balance as he tumbled through the woods downhill.

  * * *

  My radio crackled. “Shots fired, shots fired,” then nothing else. I rolled down my window, straining to hear and wanting like hell to break into the net, but not wanting to step on any of my team’s radio transmissions. I waited for an eternity, which was really probably five seconds, then Knuckles came on.

  “Pike, Pike, we have a situation. I don’t know what it is, but I heard a shot at the amphitheater. Rashid’s on the move that way. We’ve got him in sight.”

  An attack? Was I wrong?

  Brett came on. “Pike, this is Blood. Two new guys to my west with pistols, running to a concrete blockhouse here at the amphitheater. UNSUB one still in sight, and he’s got a pistol out as well.”

  “Is this an attack?”

  “No, I say again, no. It looks like they’re all confused. The place is full of kids, but the gunmen aren’t shooting targets of opportunity.”

  “If you’ve got the UNSUB in sight, who’re the guys with weapons?”

  “Don’t know. . . . A man just broke out of the building. He’s firing on the run, and he’s good. Just took out the two runners. UNSUB one is firing at him. What’s the call?”

  I needed more information. “Knuckles, what’s the target doing?”

  “He’s headed towards the gunfight. He’s got something to do with it, but when he left, he looked as confused as I am.”

  “You still got eyes on?”

  “Yeah, well, no, he’s below the crest, but I know where he is.”

  “Koko, Koko, what’s the status with UNSUB two?”

  “Break, break, Pike, this is Blood. We’ve got a shootout going on. Kids are everywhere. Someone’s going to get hurt.”

  Shit.

  “Break out. Leave the area. Break contact and return to the hotel. Knuckles, can you maintain eyes on?”

  “I think so. He’s out of sight now, but Blood’s right. It sounds like Fallujah now.”

  Brett: “Pike, they just hit a kid. He’s down. These guys can’t shoot worth shit. They’re spraying lead all over the place. I got eyes on Rashid. He’s on the high ground, and he’s got a weapon. He’s going to start shooting too. Let me do something.”

  I paused, knowing what the right answer for the mission was. But, fuck, they were killing kids. I said, “Okay, okay. For the record, it’s my call. Blood, discourage Rashid, but remove anyone else with a gun.”

  His voice grim, I heard, “Roger all.”

  60

  I sat in the car with my fists clenched, wanting more than anything to be up on the hill, directing the fight. I waited, knowing the team would give me a call when they felt it necessary. Which didn’t make it easier, I’ll tell you that.

  I pulled out a small set of binoculars and focused on the entrance to the park, seeing uniformed police running about, with many headed up the path.

  Won’t be long now. Clock’s ticking.

  Finally, Knuckles came on. “Target is fleeing. Back the way he came. He’s avoiding the path and the police. He’s coming down through the trees.”

  I said, “Straight north?”

  “Yeah. Straight north.”

  He’s going to hit Jennifer’s path.

  “Can you keep eyes on?”

  “Not without compromise. And he’s got a weapon.”

  The unspoken command being, I’ll have to kill him. I said, “Let him go. I think he’s going to end up right in front of me. All elements, all elements, give me an up.”

  I heard from Retro, Blood, and Knuckles. All had successfully avoided the police and were now working their way back. But no Jennifer. I called again, “Koko, Koko, status?”

  At the crest of the hill, I saw a figure appear. Running down the hill. I put my glass on him and recognized Rashid. I said, “All elements, all elements, I’ve got eyes on. He’s coming down the hill. My van is in the square across from the university. I’m going to leave the keys on the right front tire. Retro, you got the van. Stage until I call. Knuckles, Blood, you guys get down the hill and vector in on me. He’s coming fast.”

  I got a roger from all, then said, “Koko, Koko, what is your status?”

  I got nothing again, which gave me pause. A little tendril of dread. I saw the figure halfway down and knew I had to make a decision quickly. I said, “Knuckles, I’m now going Foxtrot. You are surveillance chief. Blood, redirect. I need you to find out what’s up with Koko.”

  He knew the unspoken emotion behind that call. She was a teammate to all of them, but he knew she was something more to me. He said, “Roger. Headed back to the amphitheater. Don’t worry. Probably just a bad mic.”

  Then, “This is Koko. This is Koko. I’m okay. I monitor all.”

  I wanted to explode at her, in between the relief I felt. I saw Rashid reach the goat pen.

  I left the vehicle, locking the doors and surreptitiously putting the keys on the front tire. All clinical, I said, “Roger. What’s your status?”

  “Got caught up in the police response. I couldn’t talk. I’m on the way.”

  Rashid passed through the fence, glanced left and right, then began walking at a hurried pace, headed north one road over from where I was. I said, “I got the eye. He’s going into the Block.”

  Rashid went north, moving deeper into the area once reserved for communist royalty, but now full of bars and kitschy boutiques. I intersected his line of march at an angle, losing sight of him for a panicky two minutes, but finding him again soon enough. He kept glancing back, and was clearly shaken. His tradecraft earlier had been pretty good. Better than any of the usual goat herders I tracked—which, given his training with DGSE, was to be expected—but now he was moving as fast as he could without drawing attention by simply running. He was scared.

  He went about a quarter mile, then hung a left, and I alerted the team. “Now on Abdyl Frashen Street, headed west. He’s afraid, looking for the bad man. Get a team ahead of him; my heat state’s getting bad.”

  Knuckles said, “Roger. Got Blood and Koko headed that way. Give me the pass when you have to.” Meaning, give him a call when I had to pull off or get compromised.

  He then said, “Pike, what’s your feel? Is he going to run?”

  I said, “Yeah, if I was going to call it now, he’s running. Whatever happened back there was probably the reason he was here, and it clearly went to shit. Would you stay? He can’t know what the police are going to find, and he sure as shit isn’t going to wait to find out.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Uhh . . . you think it’s time to call Showboat?”

  Which was something I’d chosen to forget. I’d kept LTC Alexander in the loop for the surveillance today—before the last bit of high adventure—and I wasn’t sure where Knuckles was going. I didn’t need his approval to continue surveillance, and I wasn’t going to waste my time telling him about the gunfight because it would just lead to a giant list of questions I couldn’t answer. I said, “For what?”

  “For in-extremis assault. If he’s going to flee, this is it. You find his bed-down, and the clock’s ticking. We’ve probably got enough time for him to get on the Internet and buy plane tickets, then get to the ai
rport. We can’t take him down in a cab. We have to hit that site before he leaves.”

  Everything he said was true. I saw Rashid cross the street, running to a drugstore. He disappeared into a side door, and I caught a quick glimpse of stairs. This was it. I couldn’t follow him inside, and he’d disappeared.

  I said, “All elements, all elements, I’m at the bed-down. You got my location?”

  Knuckles said, “Yeah. Signal’s strong. We got you on the map. Moving now. Look for Blood and Jennifer. Find a place to stage with all of us, including the vehicle Retro’s bringing.”

  I said, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Still got to make that call to higher.”

  I heard, “Yeah, yeah. Like that’s ever stopped you.”

  I felt good that Knuckles was pushing the issue. I thought he was right, but if he believed this was critical, it meant a lot. You read books about the great leader making decisions that bucked the odds, or was proved right when “everyone” said it was wrong, but in my experience, it was never one guy. It was one guy in power backed by a small minority who felt as he did, giving encouragement from the background. Unfortunately, for every one guy who went down as the stalwart defender of freedom, there was another who went down as a goat.

  But this wasn’t a decision that would make me a goat. As long as forty-two thousand things didn’t go wrong. I said, “Going off the net. Calling Showboat.”

  I dialed, waiting on the encryption to catch up. A commo guy answered and said, “Send it,” as if I was going to give another sitrep. I said, “Put on Showboat.”

  He said, “He’s engaged. Send it to me.”

  I snarled, “Put him on the line right now, or I’ll rip your throat out. I don’t care if he’s taking a shit. I need to talk to him.”

  I heard some fumbling, then, “Jesus, Pike, what did you say to the guy? You know your reputation, and I don’t need them afraid of you.”

  “Nothing. Just that I needed to talk.”

  And I gave it to him: the good, the bad, and the ugly.