Daniel Suarez - Kill Decision

McKinney heard Smokey’s voice in her radio earpiece. “We’re arriving at Mantoori Industries. I see Azeem at the gate with two other men-both armed. He’s giving the all-clear signal.”

Odin nodded and examined the Rover video tablet to see a raven’s-eye view from Huginn and Muninn, who were covering them from overhead. “I don’t see anything suspicious in the work yard. It looks aban- doned. Keep weapons at the ready, and let’s go in.” Odin looked up at McKinney. “The presence of women here is unusual, Professor, but I need your expertise. So please don’t speak or look any of these men in the eye. Basically, act like you don’t exist. You and I will confer in private, like man and wife.”

McKinney winced.

“We’re undercover. Goes with the territory.”

The engine of the truck slowed, and soon the Bedford truck turned to drive through a battered rolling gate painted in bright colors. The truck came to a stop. Odin and Foxy immediately opened the tailgate and leapt down, weapons held casually but at the ready.

Several Pashtun men, also in shalwar kameez, approached, weapons slung over their shoulders. A young, neatly groomed Arab man in his late twenties flashed a bright white smile and straight teeth. “Odin…” The two men shook hands and kissed each other on the cheek.

Odin nodded, “As-salaam alaikum, Azeem. Kayf haalak?”

Azeem nodded. “Fine, praise God. We should speak English. My friends here do not know it.”

Odin gestured to his own companions. “You remember Foxy.”

“Of course, my friend…” They also exchanged handshakes and cheek kisses.

Ripper, Mooch, and Smokey emerged from the front cab. Ripper was likewise covered head-to-toe, but in a light blue burka. At least McKinney had company in this indignity. Azeem shook hands with the men but completely ignored the two women.

Odin was already studying the wide scrapyard, littered with rusting pieces of steel and derelict equipment. “How long has it been abandoned?”

“The security guard says the landlord is owed rent for two months now, but the tenant is gone. They paid cash.”

One of Azeem’s companions, a Pashtun man in his fifties, was speaking in what McKinney assumed was Pashto to an elderly man with a timeworn AK-47 slung over his back. Azeem listened intently to their conversation.

“He says the men who came here wore black-their faces always concealed with shemagh. Much like you, and they spoke through translators.”

Odin exchanged looks with Foxy. “Does he know what nationality they were? Were they tall? Short?”

Azeem shook his head. “The workers in neighboring plots stayed away because they thought they were either extremists or a drug gang. You must understand, the workers here are of the lowest social rank. They want no trouble. So they kept their distance.” He gestured to the rusting hulk on the beach behind the place. “That’s why no one’s touched the salvage ship left behind. They’re afraid these men will return.” Azeem listened again to the old man talking. “He says container trucks made deliveries at all hours, and these people did not observe Salah-or any of the Five Pillars.”

McKinney had noticed that Odin was listening to the old man himself, and she suspected he didn’t need Azeem’s translation.

Odin studied the cinder-block warehouse in front of them. “You’ve checked the place out?”

Azeem nodded. “Whatever they did here was very strange, Odin. It doesn’t look like any drug-processing lab I’ve seen. The old man says they cut ship steel but only at night.”

“Wait here, Azeem.” Odin nodded to his team as he moved toward the warehouse.

McKinney followed, surreptitiously producing the jury-rigged chemical detection device Tegu had made for them in Mexico. She unfolded the severed drone antenna that had been connected to the old voltmeter housing and powered up the LED display.

As they walked into a wide, almost empty warehouse, perhaps two hundred feet on a side, the faint peppery aroma of oleoresin capsicum immediately came to her. The entire group exchanged looks.

“That smells familiar.”

“Colony pheromone.” The detection wand in McKinney’s hand started displaying parts per billion of perfluorocarbons as well-the odorless, colorless taggant chemicals that did not occur in nature.

McKinney showed Odin the red LED readout. “It lit up the minute we entered.”

Foxy moved to the nearest wall, where empty plastic barrels were piled haphazardly. “Hey! Look here.” He brought his face near to it but then turned away. “Empty barrels of ‘anger juice.’ From the looks of it. And probably some of the other chemicals too.”

Odin was moving toward a forty-foot orange storage container sitting with its doors open at the far wall. McKinney walked alongside him, checking the readout occasionally. Odin readied his carbine and motioned for Smokey and Mooch to approach from other angles.

Odin peered weapon-first into the opening of the container.

Foxy called out. “What’s in it?”

“Empty metal racks.” Odin stepped inside, examining what looked to be built-in metal shelving. They looked like purpose-built storage racks, with odd dimensions and metal rollers built in.

McKinney scanned the container with the wand, getting only middling readings on her meter. “Not much residue here. Do you think these racks were made for drones?”

“Hard to say.” Odin noticed something and moved to the container wall. He slung his weapon and grabbed what looked to be a sliding panel with handles built into the side of the container. With some effort he slid it down to open a five-foot-wide, two-foot-tall hatch. He was now staring at Foxy, who approached across the warehouse floor.

“Hidden panel.”

Odin nodded as he examined the edge of one rack. “Doesn’t look like this one was finished.”

“Maybe they left in a hurry.”

McKinney was already walking toward the far wall, watching the chemical readings going up again. “Hey! It increases in this direction…”

Odin and the others followed her, weapons ready. “Stay alert, people.” He made a circling motion in the air with his hand, and the team spread out in a skirmish line. They were moving toward a metal overhead door that faced the beach. The door was closed.

As they reached it, Foxy noticed a cracked tan fiberglass mold about ten feet long leaning against the wall nearby. The mold had a wing-shaped depression in it. He tipped it over with the barrel of his gun, and it rolled back and forth for a while on its rounded aerodynamic shape.

“Carbon fiber mold?”

Odin studied it while McKinney scanned with the detector. She looked up. “That’s not where my readings are coming from.”

“Let’s get this door open. Move clear.” Odin watched as the team took up positions to either side of the loading bay door, and then he pressed a worn button mounted on the wall. With a hum and a rattle the metal door started to ascend. The din of distant blowtorch cutting and diesel winches came to their ears as fresh air blew into the warehouse. Looming a hundred meters away was the rear half of a rusted cargo freighter, standing five stories tall in the water, its near end closed off by corrugated interior bulkheads.

The team moved out onto the debris-strewn beach, weapons ready, and taking different paths around piles of detritus. Inch-thick pieces of rusted steel were everywhere, cut cleanly into squares.

Even with the breeze, McKinney was suddenly getting a hundred and fifty parts per billion of perfluorocarbon-nearly three times what she was getting inside the warehouse. “It’s going up dramatically now…” She ignored the constricting black bag she was wearing and focused on the detector as she walked on sandals across the beach toward the grounded freighter. “It’s coming from the ship.”