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.”
56
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.
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.
I strained my ears, trying to determine if he’d entered or not. He said the same thing in Arabic again, clearly suspicious. Then I heard what sounded like a piece of lumber hitting a wall.
I breached the doorway and saw Decoy dragging an unconscious Arab into the room from the landing.
He said, “He was about to leave. I clocked him with the door. I didn’t think it would knock him out, but it did. Lucky he didn’t fall down the damn stairs.”
I closed the entrance door while Knuckles and Decoy searched him, finding key cards and identification for the Burj Khalifa but little else. I radioed Brett and gave him a status, asking him to check out any reaction on the lower landings.
He came back moments later. “You’re good to go, but I’m claiming this fake watch. Had to buy it to support my reason for being in the stairwell a second time.”
“Let me guess. You got the gold Submariner.”
“Hell no. Omega Seamaster. That’s what James Bond wears.”
Chuckling, Decoy and Knuckles tied up then gagged the unconscious man. I filled a glass with water from the bathroom sink and splashed it in his face. He woke up instantly, whipping his head left and right. Seeing white boys, he attempted to leap to his feet and found he was trussed like a pig for slaughter. His eyes grew wide, the terror clearly evident. His hands began to tremble in the flex-cuffs like a man with Parkinson’s disease. It wasn’t the reaction of a master terrorist.
It changed my approach. I had planned on using the information we knew to try to elicit more data from him, tripping him up with my supposed omniscience. I figured there was no way he would freely give me anything, and I would have to outwit him using trickery. He had no idea what I did or didn’t know, and I hoped for him to give me something new because he thought I already had it, as a stalling tactic.
That interrogation plan had been based on a hardened terrorist. Someone who understood the risks and the pain that would come if he were captured. A terrorist like that could resist pressure for a great while. We only had about an hour to figure out what was going on, not nearly enough time for any sort of physical threat or action to sway a man who’s prepared and has the strength of will to resist. Now, seeing the man cower, I decided to go full bore as the mean guy, see if he would crack.
I put on my best Shrek face and leaned in close. “Tell me you don’t speak English and I’ll rip out your tongue. Understand?”
He nodded his head vigorously.
“We’ve been hired by Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid to track a man called the Ghost. He’s here to kill an American. We know he’s using the Burj Khalifa for the attack. We’ve watched you for days and know you are also
