Andrew Britton Bundle

by Andrew Britton

  The German chancery, the brainchild of famed architect Egon Eiermann, had clearly been designed with diplomacy in mind. Located far from the tumultuous rhythm of downtown Washington, the building was a true aesthetic achievement, a six-story amalgamation of glass, delicate wooden sunshades, and tubular steel support beams. The grounds, which encompassed 9 acres of prime real estate, were as un-obtrusive as the building itself, marked only by the occasional poplar or oak. It was this very lack of vegetation that was troubling Kealey as he turned right on Foxhall Road and followed it north, adjacent to the chancery grounds. Garden lights were strewn about the grass, but from where he was standing, the narrow building was nothing more than a dark haze against the blue-black sky. To reach his objective, he would be forced to cross a great deal of open ground.

  Kealey turned away from the fence, adjusted the straps of his backpack, and continued walking. A small SUV swept past on the indistinct road, followed by a D.C. Metro police car. At the sight of the cruiser, Kealey made an effort not to visibly react. The vehicle slowed but continued on. Once it faded from view, he breathed an audible sigh of relief. On foot he was vulnerable. His dark clothes and pack, combined with the early hour, made him stand out in this affluent neighborhood, where the heavy police presence was designed to intimidate people just like him, or at least what he appeared to be: a transient of dubious means. He was extremely fortunate the officer had not stopped to investigate further, but given what was at stake, he couldn’t count on that kind of luck; he had to get off the street as soon as possible.

  The black-iron fence was waist high and did not present much of a challenge. He scaled it quickly and began making his way through the grounds. He had crossed several hundred feet when his earpiece came to life, and Naomi’s voice sounded clear. “Ryan, I’m in position. Where are you?”

  He keyed his mic and said, “I’m in the grounds, approaching from the northeast.”

  “How far are you from the building?”

  “About two hundred fifty meters.”

  “Okay. Hold on a second.”

  From the front seat of the Taurus, Naomi found the appropriate document and spread it across her lap, trying to pinpoint his location. The satellite photographs that supplemented the ORACLE file were shot with half-meter resolution, which made it easy to determine distance and spot specific landmarks. She had parked the car beneath a street-lamp on Hoban Road, directly opposite the embassy grounds, but the light was weak—weak enough to make her task more difficult than it should have been. Squinting into the semi-dark, she finally managed to pick out his approximate location on the creased paper.

  “Ryan, you should see a group of trees to the west, about thirty meters from your position.”

  A brief pause, then, “I see them.”

  “Stay on your side of those trees, and follow them southwest. They give way to a hedge that will lead you right up to the building.” She grabbed for another sheet of paper and scanned it quickly. “The cameras are beneath the first balcony, above the door. The second balcony extends from the edge of the building to the spot right over the cameras, so that’s your point of access, the northwestern corner.”

  “Got it.”

  “Remember, the cameras can pick you up from fifty meters out, so make sure you stay below the hedgeline.”

  “Right. I’ll get back to you when I’m in position.”

  She nodded to herself and took her thumb off the PTT

  (PRESS TO TALK) switch, then began leafing through the hefty manila file, searching for the diagram of the chancery’s ground-floor interior layout. All of it, except for the satellite photographs, had been supplied by the source recruited through ORACLE. The source—a senior assistant to the third secretary, responsible for administration—had been promoted and moved to the embassy in France nearly two months earlier. Unfortunately, he had been killed in a car accident less than a week after arriving in-country, a fact that Naomi had confirmed just five hours earlier. If he had still been in place, he would have had complete access to the information they were after. The second option, of course, was to cultivate a new agent within the embassy, but convincing foreign diplomats to switch sides was a sensitive business, and not something that could be accomplished in the space of twenty-four hours.

  Not for the first time, Naomi’s eyes flickered up to the rearview mirror. She was parked in a residential neighborhood and knew that she would look extremely suspicious to anyone who happened to glance out their windows. It couldn’t be helped, though, and they needed less than an hour, perhaps as little as forty minutes. All she could do was hope that their luck would hold.

  Come on, Ryan, she thought, anxiously fingering the radio hooked to her belt. Hurry.

  After scaling the fence, Kealey had paused to pull down his black balaclava. Now, leaning against the exterior wall, just out of sight of the cameras, he looked down at his dark clothes. They were soaked through from the morning dew, which covered every square inch of the manicured lawn. He had crawled the last 70 meters to reach the building, and as he shrugged off the backpack, he tried to shake off the exhaustion that threatened to overtake him. He had not slept in nearly twenty-four hours, and while he had carried out dozens of missions under similar duress during his military career, he knew that what he was about to do would require all of his strength, both mental and physical. He could not afford to lose focus for even a second.

  The Radionics V1160N cameras were just around the corner, mounted 8 feet over the concrete walkway. From there, they were wired to a multiplexer in the control room, which split the monitor into four screens, representing these cameras and two others. The multiplexer, in turn, was routed to a Bosch VMD01, and from there to the tower. Despite its modest appearance, the VMD01 represented the cutting edge of motion-sensing technology. It was capable of adjusting automatically to changing environmental conditions, as well as correcting for camera vibration, thereby reducing false alarms. From head-on, the system was almost impossible to beat.

  Kealey thought back to the file that he’d studied for hours on end. Naomi had been the one to point out the obvious problems. For one thing, the cameras were too high to reach without a ladder of some type, which was clearly impractical, considering the distance from the fence to the building. If he was compromised or otherwise forced to leave in a hurry, he could not be slowed by unnecessary weight. Besides, the local insomniacs would be quick to pick out a person carrying a ladder around the neighborhood at 4:00 a.m.

  With decreasing enthusiasm, she had also pointed out that the cameras had overlapping detection envelopes. Due to the VMD01 they could not only detect, but analyze motion in an arc of 180 degrees, which encompassed the only possible angles of horizontal approach.

  And that, Kealey had realized, was the key word: horizontal. The cameras could not be defeated from ground level; to take them out of the equation, he’d have to go in from above.

  Placing the pack on the ground, he opened the main compartment and pulled out the first of two ½-inch climbing ropes. It took several attempts, but he managed to sling the free end over the railing of the second balcony. Then he played out the rope until he had both ends back in his hands, after which he tied a hitch knot with an adjustable grip, something he recalled from his days at the Air Assault School in Fort Campbell, Kentucky. By pulling on the base line, he was able to work the knot up to the railing. He took a moment to listen to the environment. There was the distant sound of a siren, but it seemed to be moving away. Otherwise, there was nothing.

  He zipped up and shouldered the pack once more, then began to climb. Once he reached the second balcony, he climbed over the railing and pulled up the rope, then untied it and slung it over his shoulder. Walking to the other end of the balcony, he peered over the side, carefully examining the next challenge. The cameras were directly beneath him, about 20 feet down, level with each other and spaced a foot apart. The service door, in turn, was located beneath the cameras.

  Straightening, he turned to h
is right and checked out the windows. It was as he expected: the windows opened only from inside the building. If he tried to force one, there was a good chance the pane would give way. Clearly, the door below was the best option, although that wasn’t saying much.

  Dropping the rope from his shoulder, he tied a knot at one end to prevent him from sliding all the way to the ground. The other end of the rope was secured to the railing with an anchor bend, which, once pulled taut, was almost impossible to untie. Loosely coiling the free end of the rope, he dropped it onto the floor of the balcony and opened the pack, pulling out a handful of nonlocking caribiners. He was already wearing a Petzl rappelling harness, which was nothing more than a waist strap attached to fabric loops that encircled the thighs. Kealey hooked a few caribiners to the gear loops on either side of the harness, then selected another object from the pack. The small metal device was known as a shunt. Once clamped around the rope and linked—with the help of a caribiner—to the main attachment point on the harness, the shunt could be used to arrest an uncontrolled rappel. More importantly, it could be locked at any point, giving him free use of both hands.

  Finding the gear had been a challenge in itself. It had taken a number of calls, but he’d finally managed to get through to an instructor at Camp Peary, otherwise known as The Farm, the CIA’s main training facility, near Williamsburg, Virginia. By chance, the instructor had left most of the necessary equipment at Langley a week earlier. Kealey had made the drive to headquarters just after midnight, stopping along the way at a twenty-four-hour Wal-Mart. There, he had collected the rest of what was needed: a battery-operated screwdriver, a Mini Maglite with an assortment of colored filters, and a pair of thick leather gloves. He’d also picked up a Gerber multi-tool. Favored by military personnel, the Gerber was similar to a Swiss Army knife in form and function. The Maglite remained in the pack, which he left on the balcony. The screwdriver was hooked to his harness, dangling from one of the gear loops, as was the Gerber.

  Having secured the shunt to the rope and his harness in turn, he pulled on the pair of thick leather gloves, adjusted his lip mic slightly, and said, “Naomi, I’m about to take care of the cameras. Ready on your end?”

  “Yes. I’m making the call now.”

  In the Taurus, Kharmai pulled out her cell phone and speed-dialed a number. The other end was picked up after the first ring. A brisk voice announced, “German Embassy.”

  “Yes, hello?” She was nearly shouting into the phone. “I can hardly…I can’t hear you. Hello?”

  “Yes, this is the German Embassy. How can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Gunter. Is he…Is he there? Sorry, can you hear me? This phone is…”

  She allowed herself to trail off and held her breath, waiting for the reply.

  “Yes, he’s right here. One moment please…”

  Naomi hung up immediately. The file contained the names and positions of nearly everyone who worked at the chancery, including the guards on the night shift. Anything could have changed over the past couple of months, but their luck seemed to be holding. She wasn’t sure if the guard on the phone had bought her act, but it didn’t really matter. There were only two men on duty from 8:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m., and she’d just verified their locations. Both were in the security booth, which was on the other end of the building. Ryan would not get a better chance.

  She keyed her mic and said, “They’re in the booth. You’re free to move.”

  On the second-floor balcony, Kealey acknowledged her transmission and started to move. First, he slipped the rope over the side of the railing and began lowering it carefully. It was going to go too far, he realized; if he descended, he’d overshoot his target and end up in full view of the cameras. Pulling the rope back up, he looped it around the railing a few times, tied a second knot, and lowered it once more. This time, the rope stopped right where he wanted it to.

  He performed a quick check of his clothing, looking for anything loose, something that might snare in the shunt’s pulley. Satisfied with his preparations, he climbed over the railing and stood with his heels between the bars, facing out into space.

  Inverted rappelling basically amounted to descending a rope face-first. It was a dangerous proposition under the best of circumstances, but here in the dark, with the bare minimum of equipment, it was nearly suicidal. Kealey knew this as well as anyone, but he was completely calm as he leaned forward and loosened his grip on the rope. It all came down to timing.

  Kneeling, he dropped forward over the railing. He fell with startling speed for the first 10 feet before pulling the rope hard over his chest. At the same time, he pinched the trailing end between his feet. Although he was using every ounce of strength he possessed to slow his fall, he was unable to stop in time. His hands bounced over the knot in the end of the rope, and he slammed to a halt a split second later. Looking up at his harness, he could see that the shunt was jammed into the anchor knot; it was the only thing that had stopped him from tumbling headfirst to the cement footpath.

  The heart-stopping descent had left him shaken, but there was no time to waste. Stripping off his gloves, he examined the cameras, both of which were in arm’s reach. Each was covered by a weatherproof plastic housing. The housings were screwed into place; four screws on each, he could see, and beneath that, another four screws to remove the access panels.

  He hooked his leg around the rope to stabilize his body, then felt back to his side for the screwdriver, unhooking it from the caribiner. He moved slowly; if he dropped the screwdriver, he would have no choice but to abort. Once the cameras went off-line, one of the guards would surely come to investigate. If he were to find a screwdriver beneath the disabled units, the embassy would be locked down immediately, and reinforcements called in. If, on the other hand, the cameras did not appear to be tampered with, the security guard might simply ensure the door was locked, head back to finish his shift, and report the incident in the morning. Kealey was not sure of any of this, but given the situation, there was no other alternative.

  He managed to get both housings off in less than a minute, propping them on the mounts drilled into the walls. The access panels came next. Although the cameras were set to ignore a certain amount of vibration, he was careful to avoid bumping them. He felt sure that the slight vibration generated by the screwdriver would set off the alarm. If that happened, he would not know until the door was opened below; the alarm wired to the cameras was only audible inside the security booth. The process was nerve-wracking, and by the time he was down to the last two screws, his face was bathed in sweat, despite the cool air.

  The last one came free. He pinched it between his fingers, but it slipped free, rattling off the front of the camera.

  Shit. Kealey looked down to the cement. The screw was clearly visible, impossibly bright in the weak light. There was no way the guard would miss it when he came to investigate. No way.

  He swore under his breath, shaking his head. There was nothing he could do now; he just had to carry on in the hope that the guard was too tired or ignorant to notice. Snapping the screwdriver’s fabric loop back into the caribiner, he reached next for the Gerber. Unfolding the wire cutters, he found the appropriate bundle of wires in the exposed circuitry of the first camera. He would have preferred to simply short out the cameras, thereby creating the illusion of an electronic malfunction, but he couldn’t be sure of success. Cutting the wires was the only way to guarantee the feed would go down. He snipped the wires quickly, then did the same to the second unit. The cameras were off-line.

  Now there was not a moment to lose; the guard would arrive in less than a minute. Most of the embassy’s security measures were external. Inside the building, the doors were secured by cipher locks, each of which could be opened with a simple four-digit code. The guard would have access to every door on the ground floor, and it wouldn’t take him long to reach the back of the chancery.

  Kealey hooked the Gerber back to the harness and retrieved the screwdriver. Ten
seconds had elapsed. Moving fast, he slipped the metal covers back into place, covering the access panels, then began screwing them down. Thirty seconds gone.

  He reached for the weatherproof housings. One came free right away, but the other started to slide off the opposite side of the mount. Lunging out with his left hand, he caught it at the last possible second, the plastic material pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Breathing hard, he set the housings over the cameras and checked his watch for the third time, lighting up the digital face: forty-five seconds.

  No time to screw in the housings. Unhooking his leg, he shifted so his body was horizontal with the ground, then reached for the rope and started to climb. The shunt, still jammed into the knot at the end of the rope, followed him up. Naomi’s voice was loud in his ear, but he couldn’t make sense of her words; all he could hear was his own ragged breath and the sound of his blood, which was hissing in his ears.

  Five feet to go. He was climbing fast, hand over hand, the coarse rope stripping his fingers bare. Beneath him, he heard the door snap open, and his heart nearly stopped; he was in plain view. If the guard looked up, it would all be over, and how could he not? The cameras were right there, right in the line of sight. There was no choice. Kealey kept climbing and flung himself over the railing, willing the iron to absorb the sound of his falling body. At the same time, he yanked the wires out of the radio, unsure if Kharmai’s transmission could be heard on the ground.

  He lay still for a long moment, trying to silence his breathing. Below, he could hear cautious feet on cement as the guard moved around. It sounded like one man, which meant that the other guard was probably still in the booth. He was tempted to look over the side of the railing, but common sense kept him in place; there was nothing to gain by exposing himself. If the guard had spotted the screw on the footpath—or if he’d seen some other sign that things were amiss—Kealey would know soon enough.