The asset drove down the side road from the park and entered the airport expressway for a fifteen-minute drive into downtown. There was mild traffic this late at night, and what traffic did exist was from late commuters going the opposite direction.
The asset’s eyes were more fixed on the rear view, keeping an eye on the curious package in the back of his van. McCreary and Baldo ran through the check list, prepping Ghost One on the drive. The asset wasn’t on McCreary’s radio channel, but could hear the faint back and forth over his earbud to Trest’s channel.
The China Post van reached the downtown area of Fuzhou and pulled into a dark alley between towering buildings. The asset pulled in far enough to be unseen from the road. He scanned the alley for people before stopping. It was empty. He pulled in close to the building and brought the van to a halt. The asset got out, looked all around, and up high for potential dangers, the same way Secret Service cleared any urban area. He rounded to the back of the van, pulled open the double doors and froze. The SF operator was gone. Or so he thought.
“Do your thing,” Trest said to the asset. “Unload the papers and get out of there!” The asset looked all around the alley, wondering where the operator went. He grabbed bundles of tied newspapers and hurled them out. Tossing them at dank doorways lining the alley.
Ghost One trod deeper into the alley. Following the flashing target light in his HMD. The light appeared in augmented reality. Showing up as an outline behind buildings and solid red in line of sight. It grew in size the closer a ghost approached.
McCreary’s voice sounded over the bone phone implant… “In one hundred meters, go left.” Ghost One reached the next street, and the Fuzhou Railway Building appeared on his left. “Avoid the guards and proceed to the northern side of the building.”
Ghost One passed through a security checkpoint, avoiding direct contact with guards. He stooped under a heavy arm barrier, and easily side-stepped staggered rows of concrete barricades. He reached the north end of the building. “Ascend the building,” McCreary ordered. “Climb!”
The Geckskin pads on his fingertips, kneepads and toes allowed him to firmly grip the building’s concrete surface. He easily scaled the ten-story building. Mechanically raising a hand, knee and toe on one side to pull up the other side where he placed the other hand, knee and toe against the wall. He climbed so fast it was like there was a built-in ladder on the surface of the wall. Never once pausing to look below him. Eyes focused and climbing toward the AR target. He reached the top of the building, grasping a metal railing to pull himself over. The handrail jiggled in his grip. Loose. He hoisted himself onto the roof with caution and was blasted by gust of wind from the Taiwan Strait, pushing a soup of industrial pollution from the nearby hills back into the city where it formed. A cacophony of horns from di-ski — Chinese taxis, could now be heard on all sides of the building, creating an un-ending hum in the city.
“Approach the satellite dishes. Look for drop target.”
Ghost One silently stalked toward the forest of satellite dishes on the roof of the cyberwar facility. McCreary’s voice cracked again over the radio. “Look for the cable box.” It flashed in his HMD and he moved toward the box colored in night vision green.
A mass of insulated wires and metal tubes ran from the satellite dishes and radio towers into a central box, then merged into a few thick pipes that burrowed down through the roof. Baldo could see the entire roof on an IR monitor from MISTY hundreds of miles up. He watched for guards that would glow white in the IR view. “The roof is clear.” Baldo said.
“Beacon to Ghost One… Deploy the device and retreat to the extraction zone.”
Ghost One opened a pouch above his belt, removing a black box. He set it on the graveled roof and slid it snug against the pipes of cables running down to the building. He flipped a switch on the box, activating an infrared digital timer that could only be seen through night vision. It counted down from thirty seconds.
“What is that?” Baldo stood up, leaning to the large screen for a close view. Seeing the timer in green night vision through Ghost One’s helmet cam. Douglas tilted over from his seat, curious. Trest and McCreary were both silent. Keenly aware of the timer on the box.
“Beacon to Ghost One. Double time to exfil! Move!”
Ghost One back-tracked to the corner of the roof where he climbed up. The time on the black box reached zero, triggering an eruption of sparks that sprayed outward in all directions. The magnesium lining of the box burned white hot — igniting a core of thermite. It glowed a brilliant orange-white, heating up to four-thousand degrees Fahrenheit. Twice as hot as molten lava. The box melted clean through the steel pipes insulating the satellite cables and their plastic coatings. Bursting in flames.
Ghost One gripped the handrail and climbed over, positioning his body for a Geckskin descent. The loose hand rail broke free from its anchors. Ghost One slipped from the edge, dangling over the building, clinging to the loose hand rail. Putting strain on its support bolts. The thick handrail tube bent, lowering Ghost One even more, not designed to hold his weight. The railing creaked and the bolts broke free, dropping him another five feet. He clung to the handrail, swinging back and forth, putting even more strain on the metal rail. It started to crack.
In the box, Ghost One’s helmet cam was a wild blur of images. “What’s going on?” Trest asked.
“Put MISTY IR on the main monitor,” McCreary ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Baldo replied. Typing a command that moved the satellite feed to the largest flat screen in the box. It showed a bright ball of fire blooming in the center of the roof. The fireball grew whiter and hotter as the incendiary device melted downward through the roof. Dropping inside and sparking an inferno on the top floor.
Baldo’s head snapped to McCreary. “I thought this was recon only, sir?” McCreary ignored him, watching the helmet cam monitor of Ghost One.
“Swing to the window,” McCreary ordered. “Grab the windowsill.”
Ghost One looked below to a large window frame within his reach. The bending rail swung him near window. He reached out to grab it and the rail broke free in his hand. Ghost One plummeted — passing that window and catching the bottom lip of the next windowsill down with his fingertips. The Geckskin gloves gripped tight. He released the broken rail in his other hand and it plummeted eight stories, clanging to the ground. A piercing sound heard blocks away. Ghost One gripped the wall with his other hand, and started to descend.
“Here they come!” Baldo shouted. Noticing guards move in from all directions at the base of the building. Drawn by the sound of fire alarms and the thundering steel handrail hitting concrete.
“Climb around the building!” McCreary ordered. “Move to the south side.”
MISTY revealed guards surrounding the fallen handrail in infrared. Ghost One climbed laterally. Traversing a corner to a side of the building with no guards. “There. Descend now. Proceed to exfil.”
The fire alarms blared. Surrounding apartment buildings lit up like Christmas trees with onlookers peering out. A convoy of fire trucks stormed through the main gate of the Fuzhou Railway building. Across the street, the asset sat in the China Post van, watching the entire top of the building go up in flames. The burning building resembling a lit torch.
Ghost One released the wall ten feet from the bottom and hit the ground in a sprint. Racing away from the burning building. The flashing exfil target appeared in his HMD. He darted toward it, dashing past fire trucks zipping in from the gate, which was now heavily guarded with men wielding Type 85 submachine guns. Members of the Special Police Unit — China’s version of a SWAT team.