Trapping Zero

by Jack Mars

  Reid held back a thin smile. “You were eavesdropping, weren’t you?”

  “Little bit.” She shrugged. “Will you call us when you’re able? Let us know what’s happening.”

  “I will,” Reid promised.

  “And be careful.”

  This time Reid couldn’t help but smile. “This seems a bit backwards, doesn’t it?”

  She hugged him tightly. “I’m not going to say goodbye.”

  He thought of something that Maria had once told him. We don’t say goodbyes. Not now, not ever.

  “How about, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Reid offered.

  “Yeah,” she murmured. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Awad bin Saddam stood on the bow of the small freighter, peering out over the dark water. In the distance, no more than two to three miles away, he could see the bright lights of the Chemical Coast, the New Jersey industrial port at which they would make their first stop.

  He turned to the two men behind him. Both were dressed in the same gray jumpsuit as Awad was, zipped up the front from crotch to throat and emblazoned on the back with the orange logo of the freight company they were disguised as.

  “Anil. Dilshad. You two will disembark here.” He handed Anil a slip of paper, folded in half, on which he had written their instructions. “Go to the parking lot beyond the docks. There you will find a white truck bearing the license plate that is written on that paper. The keys are in the driver’s side wheel well.” Awad recited the instructions as they had been told to him by the Libyan. “The truck has a navigation system; take it to the address I’ve written there, and get the cargo in the water—discreetly. If you’re quick about it, you can get there before sunrise. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Awad,” said Anil.

  “Yes, brother,” Dilshad nodded.

  “When you are through, go to the second location I’ve written,” Awad continued. “Use the truck to block the flow of traffic. Disable it, if you must. It will ensure maximum loss of life. It is there you will meet your most glorious purpose.”

  He reached out with both hands and gently touched each of them in the back of their necks, forming a rough triangle with their heads bowed slightly. “We have come too far to fail now. We do this for the Brotherhood. We do this for Abdallah. We do this for the Prophet, and for Allah, praise be unto him.”

  “Praise be unto him,” the two brothers murmured in unison.

  Awad reached into a baggy pocket of his gray coveralls and pulled out a black pistol. He flipped it around in his hand and held the grip out to Anil. “If anyone tries to stop you—do what is necessary.”

  Anil took it and nodded.

  Awad said a short prayer for his two brothers, bid them goodbye, and headed below deck to the cabin where the other two of the Brotherhood waited for him. They would not fail him, he knew. They were as committed as he; the weak had been culled from their ranks, and though only five remained, they were stronger than ever.

  Or nearly so.

  “Are we not disembarking?” Hassan asked as he stood from his chair. “The sea turns my stomach.”

  “No,” Awad said brusquely, “we are not. Anil and Dilshad are going ashore to do what must be done. The three of us must remain here. We will be heading north, but not much farther. We are nearly there, brothers.” He reached beneath the melamine table and hauled up one of the three silver cases, setting it down heavily between them. “Hassan, Ahmed, gather around.” Awad unclasped the lock and lifted the lid to reveal the wide screen, the control panel and stick of the guidance system. “You must learn before we arrive.”

  Hassan exchanged a concerned glance with Ahmed. “Learn what, Awad?” asked the son of bin Mohammed.

  Awad smirked. “How to pilot a submarine.”

  *

  “I’ve got the parade route,” Strickland announced from the back seat, navigating a touch-screen tablet. Beside him, Watson leaned over to see for himself. “Looks like they’re starting from Madison Square Park, heading east, and crossing Park Avenue to Lexington. From there the procession will head north several blocks until they reach the Chrysler Building; then turning right and heading down to United Nations Headquarters.”

  “That’s where President Pierson will be giving his speech,” Maria noted from the driver’s seat. Her eyes were fixed to the dark highway, maintaining a cruising speed of about eighty. “In front of the UN building.”

  “Which means security will be tightest there,” said Watson. “It’s an attractive target, but also the most unlikely.”

  Reid nodded his agreement in the passenger seat beside Maria. The four of them had just dropped the girls off with Mitch, and were en route to New York. Reid had left his cell phone with Maya and put the satellite phone’s number in it, in case they ran into any trouble. “That’s assuming Pierson still shows up today. Besides, I don’t think it’s about heads of state. This parade wouldn’t even be happening if not for the embassy bombing. I think this is about maximum casualties.”

  “Then what’s the most viable target?” Strickland asked. “The Chrysler Building?”

  “The streets,” Maria replied simply. “That’s where people will be. With the parade route shut down there won’t be any traffic, but there will be a ton of bodies.”

  “But think about the mechanics of a general street-level attack against a localized strike on a vertical structure,” Strickland argued. “They stand a much higher success rate on a building—”

  “You’re thinking in terms of past attacks,” Maria countered. “This is new territory. Besides, the Brotherhood could have already placed explosives, just like they did with the embassy in Baghdad, but in more than one location…”

  “We can’t make an assumption either way,” Reid interjected. “We have to assume that the target could be anywhere along the parade route. However, there might be one educated guess we can make. We don’t know the weapon they’ll use, but we know their MO. With the embassy and on the tugboat, they used remote detonators. With the submarine drone, they used a remote guidance system. In all three cases, their weapons used high shortwave frequencies.”

  “Kent,” Watson muttered, “please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

  “Bixby gave us four RF jammers,” Reid said. Watson groaned behind him. “Top of the line, more powerful than anything on the commercial market. We carry them with us and find the most strategic places along the parade route, and activate them as it begins. They’ll disrupt any frequency a remote detonator might be on—not to mention that I’m not yet discounting the possibility of aerial drones…”

  “Sure,” said Watson. “They’ll also disrupt the radio of every cop, fed, and emergency personnel in a six-block radius. If the Brotherhood’s weapon doesn’t utilize high shortwave frequency, and the attack goes off, we’ll be crippling the entire communications system of everyone capable of doing something about it.”

  “That’s why we’ll have to split up,” Reid said. “Cover as much area as we can between us, and keep the satellite phones on in case we need to shut the jammers off quickly—”

  “Not to mention cell phones,” Watson added. “Any phone that’s not on a wifi network will be useless…”

  “That’s why we’re using the sat phones,” Reid said, growing irritated.

  “The feds will know in minutes that someone’s jamming frequencies…”

  He twisted around in his seat. “Do you have a better idea, John?”

  Watson stared back stoically. “No. I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I like this one.”

  Reid sighed. “It’s the best we’ve got to work with. Of course we’ll keep our eyes and ears open for anything suspicious, but in the meantime, I’m open to suggestion.”

  No one spoke for a long moment.

  Then Strickland said, “You know, the UN building is right on the shore of the East River. If that was the target—and I’m not saying it is—what are the odds the
y’ll try to use a submarine drone again?”

  Reid shook his head. “There’s no way. The wall of the river on that side is several feet of concrete, and the president will be speaking on the street side of the building. It’s not a bad thought, but I don’t think the Brotherhood would hinge their big plan on just the possibility of doing some damage and taking a few lives.”

  “Yeah,” Strickland agreed quietly. “You’re probably right. Just a thought.”

  *

  Maria took them into Manhattan through the Lincoln Tunnel, and then navigated 42nd Street to 5th Avenue. Traffic was surprisingly light, though Reid had to concede that he couldn’t recall the last time he drove Manhattan before sunup.

  They took 5th Avenue to Madison Square Park, the origin point for the military parade that would begin in roughly six hours, and then navigated another two blocks and pulled into a parking garage near the Flatiron Building. Maria guided the black sedan into a spot on the second level and cut the engine.

  “Alright,” Reid said, checking his watch. “Let’s sync time, and then scout the parade route. Leave the gear in the car for now. We’ll reconvene here and determine the best positions for the RF jammers.”

  They got out of the car and stretched their limbs. Over the roof of the sedan, Maria smiled at Reid.

  “What’s that for?” he asked.

  She shrugged one shoulder. “You asked me earlier if I thought we could do this.” She glanced back at Watson and Strickland. “I think we can.”

  “Good.” Reid returned her smile. “Because I think we’re going to need that optimism.” He stepped out in front of their car.

  Tires squealed, and Reid leapt backward as a black SUV with its headlights off came to a screeching halt right in the space he had just occupied. A second truck came from the other direction and stopped just as abruptly, their bumpers nearly touching and effectively blocking in Maria’s car.

  Reid’s instincts kicked in as his hand wrapped around the hilt of the Glock hanging from a holster in his jacket. But Maria sharply held up a hand, signaling him to hold. He paused; if it was the FBI or NYPD, drawing on them might result in a firefight that he definitely did not want.

  But it was neither. The doors of the two SUVs swung open, and Reid found himself on the wrong end of an AR-15 pointed at his nose.

  He couldn’t tell if these were the same people that were on his op back in the desert outside Albaghdadi. Each of them was practically indistinguishable from the next, dressed in black with tactical vests and guns strapped to every available body part. Despite the dim lighting of the parking garage, they wore sunglasses and black caps on their heads.

  And if the silver triangular emblem on their shoulder with the coiled black snake didn’t say enough, their leader’s lopsided smirk certainly did.

  “Well, well,” said Fitzpatrick as he grinned at them. “Ain’t this my lucky day. Looks like we get to watch the sunrise together, Agent Zero.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  “Let’s see those hands,” said the leader of the Division, his automatic rifle pointed directly at Reid. “Come on now, nice and high.”

  Reid glanced over at Maria and he could see she was thinking the same thing he was. How did they get to us? His fingers twitched as he wondered how fast he could draw on them. Maria shook her head slightly, almost imperceptibly. He read her clearly; she was telling him not to try anything. The Division had the drop on them. It would be over in seconds and theirs would be the losing side.

  He put his hands up over his head.

  “Good,” Fitzpatrick said. “Real good. Now then, let’s—”

  “How?” Maria demanded. “We left everything behind. How did you find us?”

  Fitzpatrick’s grin widened. “You didn’t leave everything behind, did you? You brought him.” He gestured with the barrel of his gun towards Strickland.

  “Me?” The young agent’s eyes widened in shock.

  “That’s right, Mr. Ranger.” Fitzpatrick, Reid realized, could not seem to pass up an opportunity to gloat over a victory. “Seems you’re not as good an actor as you think you are. You tried to kiss ass to the wrong people and they figured you out.”

  Strickland’s arms lowered as he patted himself down, running his hands along his shirt, his pockets, and his jeans.

  “Hey now,” Fitzpatrick growled. “Hands up. Besides, you’d have to dig deeper than that to find it.”

  Strickland’s mouth fell open slightly as one hand absently moved to his left bicep. He looked sharply at Reid. “I didn’t know,” he insisted. “I got cut in the helicopter crash… they must have slipped it in when they were cleaning the wound.”

  “It’s okay, Todd,” Reid murmured. Riker. She had Strickland implanted with a tracking device, just like both his daughters had. This is my fault. He was the one who told Strickland to distance himself outwardly. Share in Riker’s disdain for me, if you can. Complain about me. Try to get me off your op. See if she tries to get you into her little inner circle. That’s what he had told Strickland. But Riker was apparently savvier than he expected.

  “Fitzpatrick, something big is going down soon,” Reid said slowly. “I’m talking major loss of life. That’s why we’re here, to stop it…”

  “They told me you’d say that,” the mercenary replied.

  Reid’s nostrils flared in frustration. “Of course they would. They’re in on it.”

  “They told me you’d say that too.” Fitzpatrick grinned wider. “But here’s the thing, Agent Zero. I’m getting paid a whole lot of money to babysit you for the next couple of hours. So the eight of us, we’re just going to sit tight for a while.”

  Reid’s brow furrowed deeply. The next couple of hours? The military procession didn’t start for several more hours. Why would Fitzpatrick be ordered to hold us here for such a specific amount of time?

  “And then,” the mercenary continued, “we’re going to head back down to Langley, and you’re going to explain the trunk full of stolen gear you’ve got in your car.”

  Maria glanced sharply at Reid. They knew. The agency knew that they had “borrowed” the equipment from Bixby—and they had let it happen so they had something to pin on him later.

  “Now,” Fitzpatrick sighed, “we can’t exactly sit out in the open like this, so let’s have you two—”

  Fitzpatrick was interrupted by a sharp monophonic tone… coming from Reid’s own pocket.

  “You got a phone on you?” The leader of the Division turned to one of his men. “Keep on him.” He stepped forward and tugged the black satellite phone loose from Reid’s pocket as it continued to ring. “Let’s just see who this is, hmm?” Fitzpatrick pressed the button to answer. “Hello, you’ve reached Agent Zero,” he said in a mocking approximation of Reid’s voice. “He can’t come to the phone right now… Hello? Hello?” He shrugged as he ended the call. “Dead air.” He tucked the phone into a pocket of his tac vest. “Alright, your four turn around.” Fitzpatrick tugged a long thick zip tie from his vest. “Don’t want you trying anything brash now.”

  Reid thought desperately for a way out, but nothing came to him. There were four guns on them. There was nothing they could do. Even if he could subdue Fitzpatrick, he’d be risking the other members of his team.

  He started to turn in place when the satellite phone rang again from Fitzpatrick’s vest.

  “Oh, what the hell is this?” the mercenary griped. He tore the phone from the pocket and held it up for Reid to see. “Who is this?” he demanded.

  Reid shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Answer it.” Fitzpatrick tossed him the phone. “And make it sound convincing.”

  Reid pressed the button and held it to his ear. All eyes were on him as he said, “This is Zero.” There was a small hiss of static, but no answer. “Dead again,” he told Fitzpatrick.

  “Hey!” shouted one of the other the Division mercenaries. “Where’s the black guy?”

  Reid turned sharply to see that Watson,
who had been standing behind Maria a moment ago, was gone.

  Fitzpatrick grunted angrily and grabbed his guy by the collar of his tac vest, shaking him roughly. “You were supposed to keep eyes on him!” he bellowed. “Go find him, now!” The mercenary nodded frantically and hurried off down the parking deck.

  “Give me that phone,” Fitzpatrick growled as he snatched the satellite phone from Reid’s hand. “Now turn around, all three of you, and—” The phone rang a third time in his hand. “Son of a bitch!”

  Fitzpatrick was losing his cool quickly. He reared back, threatening to smash the phone to the concrete floor of the parking deck.

  The barrel of the AR-15 tracked left, off of Reid.

  He didn’t hesitate. Reid rushed forward and grabbed the barrel with one hand, keeping it pointed downward. With his other he swept upward, disarming the mercenary just as he had before back at the Brotherhood’s compound—but this time, he swung the stock up and directly into Fitzpatrick’s chin.

  The black metal stock of the gun cracked against the mercenary’s face and Fitzpatrick fell backwards. At nearly the same time, the other two Division members swung their rifles to level at Reid. He ignored them and aimed the AR-15 down at Fitzpatrick, prostrate on the ground.

  The mercenary grunted and rolled over. He wiped blood from his lips with the back of his gloved hand. “What are you waiting for?” he hissed at his men. “Shoot him!”

  “Shoot him and all three of you die,” Maria said succinctly. Reid hazarded a glance over his shoulder; with the automatic rifles off of them, both she and Strickland had Glocks out, aimed at each of the mercenaries tracking Reid.

  The two Division members glanced nervously between Reid, Fitzpatrick, and the guns pointed at them. But Fitzpatrick only chuckled. “Got ourselves into yet another standoff, huh?” He spat more blood on the cement. “You, Agent Zero… you’re trouble. Three times now I’ve had the chance to kill you. Trust me; I won’t be making that mistake again.”