The Explorer stopped in front of the Quds Force Captain and Davari moved over to let him in. Davari noticed right away that Mondegari was pissed off.
“What’s on your mind, Captain?” Davari asked, once they were on their way.
“I’ve been on location for thirty-six hours, sir,” Mondegari started, adjusting the rear air vents of the SUV to force the cold air to hit him straight in the face. “And I took over five hundred pictures of the target building. I photographed it from different angles and heights, I constructed—”
“What’s your point, Captain?”
“We have a major problem.”
“Which is?” Davari asked without missing a beat. He didn’t fear problems. He embraced them. He was yet to meet a problem he couldn’t solve.
“It’s a fortress. There’s no way we can get in. Have you looked at the pictures I sent you?”
“I did—”
“Bring them up, sir. I’ll show you.”
For the next thirty minutes, Mondegari explained why he didn’t think they could gain access to the facility.
“Okay, Captain. Good job. Let’s head back to the safe house and think this through. We’ll find a way in.”
........
The safe house was on the first floor of a nondescript apartment building in Brooklyn. It was a small apartment with only one bathroom, but the refrigerator was full. Davari wasn’t sure why Mondegari had taken the time to do such a large grocery shop, but he was famished, and so were his men. Davari cooked four vegetable omelets for him and his men while he let them brainstorm new ways to access the facility. While the omelets were cooking in the hot pans, he took a wooden cutting board from under the sink and a long bread knife from one of the kitchen’s drawers. He sliced the baguette in thick slices and spread butter on them. Davari was at ease in a kitchen. A fact his wife enjoyed very much. Would he have the chance to cook again for her? It wasn’t his first time operating deep inside enemy territory. But this mission, which had started in Greece, was unusual. Operating in the United States wasn’t the same as running an operation in Iraq. The mindset was different, the risks greater and the rules of engagement more complex. The time constraint played against them too. And, finally, they were only four for an assignment that needed at least five times this number. That was the biggest drawback of operating so far from home base.
The pictures provided by Mondegari showed how difficult it would be to enter. The only point of entry was through a doublewide garage door. Only one vehicle could drive through the security gate at a time. Davari didn’t like the look of the men manning the security post. They were professionals. They had dogs, weapons and they checked the interior of every vehicle, no exceptions.
They had to find a way.
Davari brought the omelets to the dining tables and went back to the kitchen for plates and cutlery. He fetched four cans of coke from the refrigerator and sat at the dining table.
“Did you find a solution to our problem?” he asked between bites of omelet.
Mariwala and Malegam both had their eyes on Captain Mondegari, who was chewing on a piece of bread. He took a sip of coke to wash it down.
“I didn’t see any maritime defenses,” Mondegari said. “That’s option one.”
Davari opened his laptop and scoured through the pictures. “Continue.”
“Can I?” Mondegari pointed to the laptop.
Davari slid it toward him.
“We could get in from here,” Mondegari said, scrolling to a picture that displayed an aerial view of the building and its surroundings. “I took this picture from the Williamsburg Bridge.”
Davari examined the picture carefully. There was no visible fence protecting the building from an amphibious attack.
“But the NYPD regularly conduct patrols on the East River,” Mondegari added.
“The NYPD?”
“They call it the Harbor Unit.”
“What do we know about them?”
“They used to be a small unit but they’ve grown since 9/11. They’re in charge of patrolling the city’s one hundred and fifty miles of waterways. The unit has thirty boats ranging from forty-five to seventy feet. Most of them are bulletproof and eight of them have the equipment to detect radioactive material.”
“Weapons?”
“Yes, sir. Heavy weapons on all launches and sonar to check the river channels for explosive devices.”
“Frequency of the patrols?”
“I wasn’t here long enough to gather reliable intelligence about that, but I did notice they tended to escort the ferries a lot.”
Davari wasn’t trained in maritime warfare. Nor were his men. There were too many unknowns. The odds were that they’d never reach their target.
“The risks are too high,” Davari said, his decision made. “We need to find another way.”
“What about an air assault?” That came from Mariwala. He had spent the last two minutes looking at the pictures.
“You can’t be serious, Sergeant,” Mondegari said. “How—”
“Let him speak,” Davari snapped. He had come to trust Mariwala’s instincts.
“Sir, I think there’s an access door on the roof,” he said. “Look carefully, a few feet to the left of the antennas.”
Davari did see it. The roof was flat but there was definitely something that looked like a trap door. He couldn’t commit to a plan unless he was sure an access point existed on the roof. He turned to Mondegari. “Captain, do you have more pictures like this one? With a better resolution?”
Mondegari looked uncomfortable.
“What is it?” Davari asked.
“I flew a drone close by,” Mondegari said, his eyes to the floor. “It recorded a short video but—”
“But?”
“But the building was equipped with a DroneShield,” Mondegari explained. “I’m sorry, Colonel, I should have seen it. When I realized what it was, I had already lost control of the drone.”
Davari had no idea what his subordinate was talking about. Did he say a drone shield?
“What’s a drone shield?”
“It’s a drone countermeasure, sir. It uses a multi-sensor approach to analyze and identify potential drone threats,” Mondegari said, speaking with confidence. “There are three different components. The first is the radar. It tracks a moving object and separates it from the background clutter. The second is the radio frequency sensor. It provides the target’s bearing. And finally there’s the acoustic sensor that compares the audio it gets from the target to a large database of acoustic signatures.”
“I didn’t even know this existed,” Davari admitted. “So what happened to our drone?”
“I guess I flew it too close to the target location.”
“So it crashed in the East River?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. It was confiscated.”
“What are you talking about? How can it get confiscated?”
“It was actually brought down by a drone gun.”
Davari had never heard of this either and gestured Mondegari to continue.
“It is rifle shaped and jams signals between the two point four and five point eight gigahertz frequencies.”
“Meaning?”
“They were able to take over the control of the drone. I’ll show you.”
Mondegari clicked a few keys and spun the laptop around so Davari could see.
“What am I looking at?”
“This is the last thirty seconds of footage I was able to download from the drone.”
Davari watched with interest as the drone flew near the target building. “How far were you?”
“I was controlling it from the Williamsburg Bridge, but the drone was flying over the Navy Yard Basin and approximately one hundred and twenty-five yards away from the target.”
&nbs
p; “Here,” Davari said. “The trapdoor.”
Someone dressed all in black and holding some kind of long gun emerged from the trapdoor.
“Yes, this is when I realized I was in trouble. I didn’t recognize the threat for what it was in time. That’s on me.”
“I wouldn’t have known either, Piran.”
The next ten seconds showed the man in black pointing the rifle in the drone’s direction. Suddenly the screen became black.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Don’t be. We found our entry point.”
CHAPTER 80
Quds Force Safe House, Brooklyn, New York
“Any questions?” Davari asked his men.
The plan was simple. It had to be. But, to make it work, he had to place a call to General Kharazi and asked for a huge favor. Not something a colonel would usually do. But since Kharazi had named him second-in-command, it was worth a shot. And it worked.
After considering all the scenarios, Davari and his team had been unable to come up with a single tactical solution that would see them escape once they had completed their mission. Security was just too tight. Davari had promised mission success to Kharazi, but only if the commanding general of the Quds Force agreed to exchange them for Meir Yatom in the event the enemy captured them.
To the general’s credit, he had accepted.
“I still think the four of us should go in,” Captain Mondegari said. “What are our chances of getting away with the helicopter? Why waste twenty-five percent of our team babysitting the pilot?”
Davari understood Mondegari’s concerns. He respected his commitment, but Davari wasn’t the type of officer who sent his men on a suicide mission. It was true the odds were low they’d be able to escape, but his conscience forbad him from throwing in the towel. He needed an out.
“Babysitting the pilot isn’t his only duty, Captain. He has to secure the rooftop too,” Davari explained. Then he added, his finger touching the laptop’s screen, “Do you see this ladder?”
Mondegari nodded.
“There’s a chance the guards will try to climb on the rooftop.”
“And we need someone to protect our rear,” Mondegari concluded. “Understood, Colonel.”
Davari could feel the tension in the room. Elite soldiers or not, no one relishes the idea of attacking a well-defended enemy position without proper intelligence. His men didn’t need to voice their concerns. Davari had them too. This was going to be an ad-hoc operation with lots of moving parts. They were well armed, well trained and had the element of surprise. If the pilot was able to land the chopper on the rooftop on the first try, and if Mariwala was successful in breaching the trapdoor in less than a minute, they had a chance. There were too many “ifs” to Davari’s liking but they had to do this. They had to move forward. His country was counting on them.
He hoped they weren’t too late.
CHAPTER 81
IMSI Headquarters, New York
“When can I talk to her?” Mike asked his wife. Lisa had just come back from talking with Dr. Doocy—the IMSI emergency surgeon.
“If we’re lucky, maybe in an hour or two,” Lisa answered. “It depends how she feels. She’s resting now.”
“I don’t give a shit how she feels,” Mike said, exasperated. Things weren’t moving fast enough for him. And when they were moving, they were going the wrong way. “We need to get in her head, and we need to do it now.”
“Dr. Doocy won’t allow it. He won’t let anyone talk to her before she’s had time to recuperate.”
“Bullshit!”
“Talk to Mapother if you wish,” Lisa said, touching his arm. “But you’ll waste your time. He agrees with Dr. Doocy.”
“What the hell happened to her anyway?”
“We’re not absolutely sure, to tell the truth. Dr. Doocy thinks it’s a combination of different things. Fatigue, stress, pain, you name it.”
“This is ridiculous,” Mike said, frustration taking over. “I’ll talk to Mapother.”
Lisa nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
........
Mapother’s door was open. He was seated behind his desk with Jonathan Sanchez and Anna Caprini standing in front of him. Sanchez held what looked like a medium-sized drone. It was all white except its center, which was black.
“Where did you get this?” Mike asked.
“Security shot it down earlier today.”
“Really? With the new laser gun?”
Sanchez shook his head in disbelief, and Anna Caprini rolled her eyes. “How many times do I need to tell you this, Mike?” Sanchez asked. “They’re not laser guns, they’re—”
“I know, buddy, I’m pulling your leg.”
“No you’re not,” Sanchez replied.
Mike wasn’t known for his technological skills. Sanchez and Lisa never missed an opportunity to remind him.
“Why did security shoot it down?”
Mapother answered. “It was lurking a bit too close to our building.”
“I’m sure this isn’t the first time,” Mike said.
“Yes and no,” Mapother replied. “No it’s not the first drone we’ve taken down. It’s happened twice before. On both occasions, the drones belonged to recreational users. Not this time.”
“How do you know?”
Sanchez opened a laptop and plugged its USB cable into the belly of the drone. “Watch this.”
The video lasted just over thirty seconds and it was clear that the IMSI headquarters was its target.
“This was taken this afternoon?” Mike asked.
“Yep, and it was launched from the Williamsburg Bridge.”
“How do you know that?”
“You just have to—”
“Never mind, Jonathan, I’m kidding. I don’t want to know,” Mike said before turning his attention to Mapother. He wanted to get back to Sassani as soon as possible. “Charles, I was wondering if you’d authorized me to accelerate the process with Sassani. I’m afraid we won’t be—”
Mapother raised his hands, interrupting Mike in the process. “No. Dr. Doocy already warned me you’d come to me. He has my full support.”
Goddamnit! Didn’t Mapother understand every hour counted?
“Charles, listen—”
“No, you listen, Mike,” Mapother said. “I understand we have no time to waste. If I thought for one second that we could extract reliable intel out of her at this moment, I’d tell you to go and do whatever you feel is necessary. But this isn’t the case. If we spend our resources on intel we can’t verify, and that intel is bad, we’re screwed. You get that, right?”
Mapother had a point. Mike didn’t agree with him, but he understood Mapother’s point of view. “I do.”
“Okay, now that we’re clear on that, can we focus on what Jonathan learned about the drone?”
Mike saw his friend hadn’t appreciated being cut off. “Of course.”
“Thank you, Mike, you’re very kind,” Sanchez said. His sarcasm was evident. “Here’s what we know so far. The drone was purchased right here in New York City yesterday afternoon. It flew for nine minutes. Eight of those minutes were for a practice run over Central Park. We all know where it spent its final sixty seconds.”
“We need to find who’s watching us,” Mike said, concerned. It could be nothing, but they had to investigate.
“Already on it,” Caprini said, looking at her smartphone. “They know who made the purchase.”
CHAPTER 82
IMSI Headquarters, New York
Mike and Sanchez followed Caprini to the control room.
“What do you have for me?” she asked one of the analysts.
“We were able to access the traffic cameras on the Williamsburg Bridge. By using the timing from the drone’s hardware, we were able to pinpoint
exactly where and when the pilot was. Voilà!”
Mike was impressed. On the analyst’s flat screen was the drone’s pilot. “Are we sure it’s him?”
“One hundred percent, sir,” the analyst replied. “The timing matches perfectly. And look at his face when he loses control.”
There could be no doubt. This was the pilot. Mike watched the pilot as he tossed his joystick over the bridge’s ramp.
“Would we gain anything by getting the joystick back?” Sanchez asked.
“I doubt it,” the analyst replied. “And I’m pretty sure it didn’t sink right away. It would be impossible to recover.”
Caprini tapped the analyst on the shoulder. “Good job, Suzy. Did you get a match on the facial recognition software?”
“Nothing yet. I’ll let you know if I do.”
CHAPTER 83
Manhattan Heliport, Pier 6, New York City
The sixty-minute, five-thousand-dollar private helicopter tour included a hotel pickup and drop-off and a free Champagne toast. Not wanting to leave anything to chance, Davari insisted the whole team take two cabs to get to the New York Marriott Marquis where the charter company was to send their car to pick them up. They were going to play tourist until they were safely in the air.
Right on time, a black town car stopped outside the Marriott. The driver lowered the window.
“You guys are waiting for your ride to get to the heliport?”
“That’s us,” Davari said.
The driver—a tall, skinny man who seemed to have one leg shorter than the other—climbed out of the vehicle. Everybody shook hands.
“Who’s the groom?”
Since Sergeant Variyan Malegam was the youngest, it made sense he’d play the groom. He raised his hand. “I am.”
“Fantastic. And I presume all of you are his groomsmen?”
“We are,” Davari replied, making sure to put as much joy as he could behind his words.
“I’m Brian and I’ll be your host until we reach the heliport,” the driver said. “And when the tour’s over, I’ll drop you right back here.”
A Thick Crimson Line (Mike Walton Book 3) Page 22