Operation Barracuda (2005)

"Are you in danger?"

"No. Katia, go back to sleep. I'll be back when it's time to get up."

Her brow wrinkles and there's a moment when I fear there might be a conflict of interests. But instead she smiles, reaches out, pulls my head toward hers, and kisses me.

"Just be careful," she whispers. She then lays her head back onto the pillow and closes her eyes. She adjusts her body beneath the sheets and snuggles over onto the warm spot I left on my side of the bed.

I get dressed in my uniform and leave the hotel in the Murano.

25

Ifind GyroTechnics easily enough. It's an odd place to stick a technology development company--isolated in the hills, surrounded by trees, standing at the end of an unmarked gravel road--but then again it's a firm doing illegal shit. If what the FBI discovered is true, and I don't doubt it for a minute, the place is financed and run by a Triad. It just goes to show that these criminal organizations like Triads, Yakuzas, and Mafias are branching out beyond their normal expected enterprises like drugs, arms, prostitution, and gambling. Now they're in the global crime market and that means sponsoring and developing technology to use in committing offenses.

I park the Murano on Norman Place and walk to the gravel road. I stay off of it, though, electing to make my way through the dense growth of trees. With my night vision activated, it's not a problem. I come to the wire fence and can now see the futuristically designed building that is GyroTechnics. A couple of floodlights illuminate the empty parking lot but otherwise the place appears deserted. I draw my Five-seveN, attach the noise and flash suppressor, and aim at the floodlights.

Bing, bing.

Now the grounds are pitch-black, dimly lit only by the hazy night sky. I climb the fence, dart to the employee entrance, and find a code access keypad next to the door.

Pressing my implant, I say, "Hey, A

"Hold on, Sam," she answers. "I thought I'd have it for you by morning and didn't know you'd be ordered to infiltrate the place at this hour."

"Well, I'm standing out here in the dark. Hurry."

I suppose I could blast the damned thing but it would probably set off all sorts of alarms and the police would show up before I could say "Oops." Instead I circle the building and look for another entrance. The really odd thing about this place is that there's no front door for Joe Public. The only people that go in and out of GyroTechnics are employees. UPS must bring deliveries to the back door and the postman shoots the mail through a slot. I guess the management doesn't do much in the way of entertaining clients.

Before Grimsdottir comes back with the access code, a pair of headlights swings toward the building. Uh-oh. I make a run for the fence but have no time to climb it. I hit the dirt and lie facedown as the car pulls into the parking lot and stops. It's a Corvette. The driver extinguishes the lights and gets out. He's alone. It's too dark to discern who it is, even with my night vision. He's Asian, I can tell that much.

The guy goes to the employee entrance and punches in the code. The door opens and he's inside. I quickly get up and run to the door, switch my goggles to thermal vision, and note the keys that are still warm from his touch--9, 7, 2, 0, and *. I have no idea in what order they're supposed to be. I snap a shot of the keypad with my OPSAT camera and adjust the controls so the thermal readings are indicated on the screen. Usually I can make an educated guess as to which keys were pressed first and last--the first one will be the dimmest and the last one will be the brightest. The difficulty is if a key is pressed more than once.

I take the chance and press the combination I think might be the one. It's like playing roulette in Vegas--the odds are outrageously against me. Of course, nothing happens. I try a slightly different combination and again come up with zilch. Sometimes these keypads are rigged to set off an alarm if someone tries incorrect codes more than three times. Should I risk it? As far I know, there's only one guy in the joint. I imagine I can take him, but it's possible the alarm could bring others.

Before I take the risk, another pair of headlights swings toward the building from the gravel road. Damn! Once again I move around the corner of the structure, where I figure it's safe to wait. The new car, a Porsche, parks next to the Corvette. Again, the driver is alone. He extinguishes the lights, gets out, and goes to the door. I watch as he punches in the access code but the door doesn't open. He knocks. After a moment, a voice on the intercom answers.

The new guy can't remember the code. I quickly draw the Five-seveN and activate the T.A.K. Aiming it at the door, I hear the following conversation in Chinese:INSIDE GUY: What do you mean, you don't remember the code?OUTSIDE GUY: So sue me. What is it?INSIDE GUY: Nine-nine-seven-two-two-zero and star.OUTSIDE GUY: Thanks.

He punches the correct numbers and the door opens. Once he's inside, I hear Grimsdottir in my ear. "Sam? We have that code for you now."

"Never mind. I have it," I say.

"It's 9-9-7-2-2-0 star."

"I saidI have it. Thanks."

"Oh. You're welcome."

Brother.

I wait a minute and then go to the door. I punch in the code and hear the lock disengage. I peer inside and see an empty corridor illuminated by overhead fluorescent lighting. Slipping inside, I'm aware of voices at the end of the hall. The two men are speaking in Chinese and it's difficult for me to understand them at this distance. I move farther down the corridor and slide into what appears to be a break room. There are vending machines, a couple of tables and chairs, a microwave and kitchen fixtures, and an employee bulletin board. Tacked onto the board are a couple of dozen color snapshots depicting a company picnic. A hand-printed ba

The two men move deeper into the building. I creep along the corridor, moving from corner to corner, until the duo go inside a couple of swinging doors marked, in Chinese and English, DEVELOPMENT. Each door has a square window and through one I can see one of the men, his back to me, fiddling with something on a worktable. It's not a leap in logic to assume that the room they're in is the lab--the place where the GyroTechnics employees build all their crap.

I remove the optic cable from my backpack, switch it on, and slowly feed it along the floor and underneath the swinging doors. The headpiece just fits so I slide it through about an inch. I then open up the lens to a fish-eye and adjust the focus on my OPSAT. I now have a fairly clear picture of what's going on in there. A flick of a switch turns on the audio, which is transmitted to my implants.