Brad Taylor - Enemy of Mine

He found twelve that were duplicated in each cycle. Undoubtedly, one or two were from the receptionist or even security, but that didn’t matter. He needed only one number associated with the entourage. One cell phone to seek out his IMSI grabber in the elevator and trigger the alarm. He’d simply plug in all twelve, knowing that somewhere in the batch lay the envoy’s own phone. The only way it would fail was if the receptionist or some other false number took a trip to the Burj Khalifa observation deck before the envoy, and that was a small chance.

He packed the grabber, seating it next to the WiFi repeater, then changed into his borrowed Burj Khalifa maintenance uniform. He patted the pocket to ensure he hadn’t lost the key card for the basement entrance. Now that he was at an endgame, he didn’t want to rely on anyone else, even his close friend Hamid.

He checked himself in the mirror, seeing the same frail man that others discounted, his thick glasses adding to the disarming effect. The reflection brought the start of a smile.

He was invisible to most people looking, a person not worth a second glance. A wisp of a man who others ignored, he had found his calling in not existing at all. In becoming a wraith without substance. The talent had allowed him unprecedented success in the past.

And so it would be here.

As Knuckles and I walked into the spice souk, I could see we were going to have a tough time trying to get anyone out of there in flex-cuffs. Especially since it would more than likely be a brown guy carried by a bunch of white guys. Well, three white guys and a black guy who spoke English.

Decoy came through my earpiece. “Got the bed-down, and you’re not going to like it. Third-floor room, only entrance is a very narrow stairwell. Rooms on each landing with people selling fake Rolexes and Coach bags on the first floor.”

“So we can’t get in without being seen?”

“No way. We can’t get in without being accosted to buy something.”

Figures.

After exhausting every option he could think of, Blaine had finally blessed off on letting us crack the bed-down site. I have to admit, I was impressed, because he would eventually have to brief Kurt, and it would cost him his job, if not something more permanent. He had, of course, demanded a SITREP after the fact before giving authority for anything else.

We’d flex-cuffed Lucas to an anchor point in the van, purchased a set of noise cancelation headphones and taped them to his ears, gagged him, then put the hood back on. Finally, Knuckles had used a rear naked choke to render him unconscious. I didn’t want to leave him alone, but I only had four people and needed everyone for the bed-down site.

While Knuckles and I came up with a half-baked plan, I’d sent Brett and Decoy to pinpoint the location using the beacon Lucas had emplaced, which was still pinging strongly.

I said, “Give me a grid.”

Seconds later, a text message came with a photo attached. I loaded it into the GPS software of my phone and started walking in the direction of the arrow. After winding through the souk for a couple of minutes, I spotted the stairwell from the photo Decoy had sent. He was right-it was very narrow and sandwiched between two different shops selling handmade tourist crap.

I pulled up short and called him back, looking at Knuckles as I spoke.

“Got any ideas?”

Decoy said, “Not really. I’m thinking we blow off the clandestine side of things and just go on up there like we own the place.”

“Yeah, but if the guy hawking the Rolexes is friends with whoever lives there, he’ll know we don’t belong.”

Knuckles interjected, “Send Brett up first. He engages the Rolex guy and gets inside the apartment where they’re selling the stuff. Once we have that guy out of the way, then we walk up like we own the place.”

Even though he was standing right next to me, he had said it on the radio. I nodded my head, liking the plan. “You guys copy that?”

“Yeah, we got it.”

“Let’s execute. Decoy, you got the lock, Knuckles, first in. Brett, when you’re done, take up early warning at the bottom.”

“This is Brett. Roger all. I’m moving. I’ll key the mike when I’m inside.”

I saw him turn the corner, then advance up the stairs. We waited for about thirty seconds, then heard Brett saying “Do you have a gold Submariner?” followed by a muffled response.

Knuckles and I walked straight to the stairwell, meeting Decoy at the entrance. We sprinted lightly up the stairs, taking them two at a time, no weapons drawn yet. The landing to the apartment was just as narrow as the stairwell, with room for only one person. Decoy took a knee and began working the lock manually to prevent anyone from hearing the noise of the electric gun.

Three minutes later he looked over his shoulder and gave an exaggerated nod. Knuckles and I pulled our Glocks from their concealed holsters and nodded back. Decoy turned the tension wrench, then pulled down on the door handle, swinging it open. He leaned over backward and we went by him into the room.

The first room was tiny, about ten feet by twenty feet, with a desk holding a thirteen-inch television and a makeshift pallet on the floor. It was empty. Knuckles continued on into the second room, and I followed, bumping into him because the room was even smaller than the first. It contained a bed and a sliding-door closet, but no human beings.

I backed out and found Decoy.

He said, “Bathroom’s behind the entrance door. Clear.”

“Start searching. See what you can find.”

Five minutes later we had all we were going to get. There was very little to exploit-no computers, cell phones, or other electronic devices-but we found enough evidence to say that Lucas hadn’t been lying about the bed-down location.

Knuckles had discovered several maintenance uniforms for the Burj Khalifa building, and Decoy, spraying an aerosol can on various items in the room, had turned a backpack splotchy pink. The can held an explosive residue reagent, and the color meant the backpack had contained plastique of some type.

I was coming up with how I could use what little evidence we had to convince Blaine to let us continue fishing when Brett called.

“Man entered stairwell. Unknown on the way up.”

The radio call caused everyone to perk up.

I remembered where the tenant worked and said, “What’s he wearing? Traditional dress?”

“No. He’s wearing some sort of maintenance uniform.”

The words hung in the air as we each stared around the tiny room for a place to hide in ambush, looking like we were in a seventies sitcom. There wasn’t even a lampshade to put on our heads.

“Decoy, bathroom. Let the door open, then close it behind him. Knuckles, other room. When he enters, let’s get on him quickly. No Tasers. The threat is him screaming. Don’t let him make any noise.”

Just as we got situated, with Knuckles facing me on the opposite side of the bedroom entrance, I remembered a potential giveaway and whispered into my radio, “Decoy, lock the door. I say again, lock the door.”

I heard a whispered “Roger,” then the distinct click of the old lock, hoping the man in the stairwell was either deaf or too stupid to recognize the sound.

Thirty seconds later the lock snicked again, then I heard the door creak open. What I didn’t hear were any footsteps entering the room. No shuffle, no keys thrown on a desk, nothing. I gave Knuckles a quizzical look. He just shrugged, both hands on his weapon.

The man spoke up in Arabic. I didn’t understand the words, but it wasn’t too hard to figure out what he was saying. Anyone in there?

We’d left the room a mess, and he’d seen evidence of our search. I held my breath. All we needed were three small steps. Just enough to clear the door.