Lucas arrived at the Qatar Airways counter a full three hours before the flight was due to depart, not knowing what time his targets would check in. He had no idea what they looked like, but he was confident he could pick them out when they approached the counter.
His plan was fairly simple: Like he had with the investigator, he would use an RFID tag to trigger an explosive device that would eliminate the targets, only this time it would be the men alone killed, leaving their luggage untouched. Unlike the other hit, he wouldn’t be using the baggage tag. Instead, he’d use the electronic tag built into the passports the men used.
The idea came to him when he had tried to get another passport in Lebanon and had been told the modern ones were too hard to forge. Precisely because they were now embedded with an RFID tag that contained all of the information inside the passport. It was an electronic fingerprint that could be fed to his explosive device.
The plan posed some significant challenges, not the least being stealing the information in the first place. To allay security concerns, each U.S. passport had a mesh shield embedded in the cover, preventing anyone from gleaning data when the passport was closed. This was the primary problem Lucas would have to overcome; the targeted identities could only be stolen, and the explosive device could only be triggered, if the passports were opened in the respective RFID reader’s presence.
He checked his watch and saw the flight was only an hour and a half from takeoff. SAD boys like pushing it. Probably hungover. A second later, he watched two men in suits glancing at the airline names displayed above each counter. They were both dressed like businessmen, but they couldn’t hide a bluntness. An edge that didn’t fit in with the attire.
When they walked past him, he saw both pulling ordinary suitcases and one toting a Zero Halliburton aluminum briefcase in his other hand. It was swathed in a tangerine colored fabric and had a self-locking zip-tie sealing the container closed. Very smart.
The consulate had prepared the money as a classified diplomatic pouch, and now these two muscleheads would pose as simple State Department couriers, delivering it to the destination. Given the peace summit, the pouch would appear completely natural.
Dip-pouches, by international convention, were inviolate. No security post or government official could inspect the contents; provided the couriers produced the correct paperwork. What puzzled Lucas was the size of the pouch. No way could there be a hell of a lot of money inside a briefcase. The largest denomination the United States currently issued was the hundred dollar bill, and that would fill the available space fairly rapidly.
This had better be fucking worth it. Go through all the trouble only to get a hundred grand and I’ll be pissed.
The men finally committed to the Qatar Airways flight, and Lucas pulled his luggage up behind them, flipping the switch in his carry-on backpack. He watched each man present his passport, praying the lady behind the counter would hold it above the counter. She didn’t.
He stuck with them, continuing the procedure through immigration and security, finally getting a chance to check the reader at the gate. He saw he had both identities.
He raised his head, a grin slipping out. He found himself looking into the eyes of a passenger across the room. The man glanced away, now studying a blank wall. The guy’s demeanor triggered an alarm. He looked vaguely familiar, an indistinct tickle saying Lucas had seen him before. Lucas bent down and pretended to dig through his bag, giving no outward indication that the man had caught his attention, but he was now a person of interest.
An hour later, he was above ten thousand feet and allowed to use his computer, the two “State Department” personnel directly behind him, the unknown across the aisle and one row up.
He connected to the in-flight Internet and dialed the ISP of the device, holding his breath. He’d checked it at the Internet cafe, and it had worked, giving him a shot of confidence that his hotel contact had emplaced the device correctly, but now was the moment of truth. If he couldn’t input the data, the IED might as well really be a flower vase.
The reader went through a self-test, connected to the Internet, then the ISP. He hit send and waited while the two readers talked. He saw the bar for the upload moving agonizingly slow, like an anchor pulled from the mud. He was about to reload, convinced the system had locked up, when it whipped to the end in the span of ten seconds. The data was gone.
He relaxed for the first time in days. It was out of his hands now. In six hours, the two men with the diplomatic pouch would either be vaporized, or he’d be flying to the Far East empty-handed, looking for a job.