Chapter 5
Incredulous—and I have to admit, a little fascinated—I watched the two thieves continue ripping through our “terrorist” room,
searching every item we’d carefully placed inside. Maps, notebooks, clothes, passports, they went through it all, making me
wonder if what they found would give them pause, because what they were seeing most definitely wasn’t from a typical tourist.
I thought the map with false bomb locations would at least cause them to think twice.
It did not.
Veep said, “You want me to call the front desk? Get security up there?”
If it had been my personal room—or the room of someone on my team—I would have immediately done that, but in this case I didn’t
want to involve the authorities. If any of those props entered into an investigation, we’d have some serious explaining to
do, because it all lined up to terrorist activity. Granted, it was fake terrorist activity that Creed’s team was supposed
to uncover, but the authorities wouldn’t know that. If that happened, I couldn’t come right out and confess it was all a fake,
because then I’d have to somehow explain why an upstanding archaeological firm in Charleston was practicing for terrorist
activity.
On a real exercise completely sanctioned by the Taskforce, I would be able to fall back on some official cover explanation
and a few high-powered individuals in DC to pull off the local authorities, but I’d convinced Wolffe none of that was needed.
Of course, if it had been my or my teammates’ room, we wouldn’t have a camera inside at all and we wouldn’t be seeing the crime in real time. Explaining the security feed alone would be a problem.
I said, “No. No security. We’ll end up in more trouble than the damn thieves.”
Knuckles glanced between his monitor and mine, saying, “What, we’re just going to let them walk out with that computer?”
I turned to Creed and said, “Hey, Amena’s about to pass your man the Grail. Does he know how to use it?”
Creed said, “Yeah? Why?”
I went to Knuckles and said, “Give me your headset. Veep, get some screenshots of both guys and pass it to Amena on her phone.”
Knuckles pulled off his headset and handed it to me, saying, “What are you about to do?”
“We’re going to do the exercise, but on a live target.”
The “terrorist safe house” was in the Embassy Suites right next to Marion Square, an expansive green space full of college
students throwing Frisbees, dog walkers, and tourists out for a stroll. It was also where Amena was about to conduct a personal
meet with one of the candidates. Her original purpose was to pass him an electronic surveillance device we called a Grail,
as in the Holy Grail.
It looked like an oversized smartphone or mini tablet, with a body that was about twice as thick, and its purpose was to penetrate
any device connected to the outside world via Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, NFC, or the cell network—which was just about every device
on earth now—and inject malware that would allow us to track it by slaving every cell phone nearby.
It worked exactly like Find My on Apple or Tile devices on Android, but it could leverage any cell phone that came within
range, slaving the unsuspecting handset for communication. That cell phone would in turn—unknown to the owner—report back
to our own servers the original device’s location.
Smartwatches, cell phones, tablets, or computers, if it talked to the outside world, we could attack it.
The Grail was still in a bit of a testing phase, which was why it was chosen for the exercise.
It wasn’t 100 percent against all targets, depending on the device it attacked, but the computer we were going to test it against—the fake “terrorist” computer—was purposely designed to be found.
The Grail most certainly would work against it.
I put on the headset and turned to Knuckles’ monitor, seeing what Amena was seeing. She was wearing a pair of sunglasses with
a built-in camera not unlike Meta’s smart glasses, scanning the open lawn for her contact. She knew what the candidate looked
like, but Knuckles was going to give her an assist if he saw the guy before she did.
Throwing on a backpack, Knuckles said, “I’ll get over there.”
I said, “You’ll never make it in time. It’s at least thirty minutes from here to downtown.”
He said, “So, what, you’re going to use one of Creed’s guys for a real-world clandestine operation? That’s insane. They aren’t
ready.”
“Yeah, that would be insane, and I’m not going to do it. I’m going to use Amena. She’s ready.”
His mouth dropped open and I said, “Veep, pictures?”
He said, “On the way.”
I said, “Status of the thieves?”
“Still digging around.”
“Okay. You go with Knuckles. Both of you get your ass on the road. Get downtown and I’ll vector you in to the action. You
can take over surveillance once you arrive.”
Knuckles said, “Amena’s probably not a great idea.”
“You got a better one? I can’t magic you there, and somebody’s got to get on them for us to take over.”
He shook his head and started moving to the door, Veep behind him, saying, “Jennifer’s going to have your ass.”
I ignored him and said, “Creed, get on Veep’s monitor. Tell me when the thieves leave.”
He’d heard the entire exchange, his eyes wide. He nodded his head and scurried over to Veep’s computer, saying, “I might agree
with Knuckles on this. My guys aren’t trained to conduct surveillance.”
I said, “Don’t worry about it. He only needs to be able to work the Grail.”
In my headset I heard, “Knuckles, Knuckles, this is Blackcat. Why did you guys send me pictures of gangster wannabes?”
I heard “Blackcat” and rolled my eyes, as Amena was making up callsigns because she thought the whole exercise was amusing.
I said, “Hey, it’s Pike, and we’ve got a change of mission.”
She said, “So now I’m working with the big man? The head commando? Did you fire Knuckles?”
Amena was my adopted daughter, and since I didn’t have any role-player support from the Taskforce, I’d decided to use her
for a simple meeting. It actually worked for the scenario, because there’s no way the guys meeting her would be ready to engage
a fifteen-year-old girl. It was one more way of throwing them out of their comfort zone.
I said, “Hey, doodlebug, this just got serious. I need your full attention.”
She heard “doodlebug,” a nickname I used to call her when she was younger, when we’d first met under very trying circumstances,
and her entire tone changed, realizing things weren’t right.
“What is it? Did something happen to Jennifer?”
Confused, I said, “What? No,” then I realized that what I’d said sure sounded like I was preparing her for bad news. Something
she was well versed in, having violently lost both of her parents and her brother.
I continued, “Everybody’s fine. Sorry that didn’t come out right, but we do have a change of mission.”
I saw the glasses move to the sky and realized she was breathing a sigh of relief, then I heard, “Pike, that’s not funny at
all. Don’t come on the radio saying that stuff.”
I looked at my watch, saw the candidate was going to be there in less than a minute and said, “I know, I know, but things
have changed, but in a good way for you. Instead of passing off the Grail and going for an ice cream, I need you to pass off
the Grail and follow a couple of thugs.”
I gave her a quick synopsis of what had occurred, telling her the meet would go as planned, only now he was going to have to use it to target our own computer, and she was going to facilitate that by getting him close enough.
She said, “And these guys on the phone are the guys who broke into the room?”
“Yeah. They’re still inside right now, but they’ll be coming down the elevators soon. You think you can do that?”
“Pike, I know I can do that. I was doing it when I was twelve. I don’t know about the candidate who’s about to show up. Why
don’t I just go by myself?”
Amena was a Syrian refugee, and when I’d first met her she was surviving as a pickpocket in Monaco, basically living on the
street. She’d learned at an early age how to blend into a crowd, conduct a theft, and exit without a trace, and she was very,
very good at it. She was like a feral cat with a sixth sense about danger, which is why the idea of using her in the exercise
had popped in my head at all.
I said, “Because you can’t work the Grail, and he won’t have time to teach you. Just get him close enough to hit it.”
She said, “He’s coming. He just crossed into the square.”
I whipped my head to the monitor and saw the candidate, a man named Bobby Tilly. He was a skinny guy wearing jeans that were
an inch too short, a plaid short sleeved shirt, and running shoes. If he’d have had a pocket protector and thick glasses,
it would have completed the image.
I said, “Just go through the meet first. If he screws it up, pull him aside and drop the pretense of correct procedures. The
exercise takes a back seat now.”
Amena was standing near an old concrete block from the original fortification of Charleston, a fence surrounding it and a
small brass plaque to the front. It was the only such historical marker on Marion Square and should be easy to find.
The candidate had no idea what she looked like. He only knew the time and place, and had a bona fides phrase to confirm the
contact. A phrase I’d made harder than it needed to be, and now wished I hadn’t. It had been all fun and games about an hour
ago.
Through Amena’s eyes I saw him approach, looking skittish. He glanced around, trying to find an adult, and then settled on Amena. I thought, That’s right, idiot. She’s at the designated place at the designated time.
She said, “Excuse me, do you have the time?”
The first part of the bona fides.
He stiffened, looked wildly around again, then said, “No, no. I don’t.”
Damn it.
I said, “Amena, just pull him aside and give him the Grail. Don’t worry about the bona fides.”
As one more thing he had to overcome, I’d made the second part of the bona fides something incredibly uncomfortable to say
to a child, and was now regretting it.
She ignored me, saying in a stronger tone, “I asked if you have the time. Do. You. Have. The. Time.”
In a rising, halting voice, as if he was asking a question, he said, “Time for you to buy a fucking watch?”
She handed him her backpack and said, “Very good. Power up the Grail and follow me.”