Hughes got out and held the door open. The driver leaped out and opened the door for Merrick. There was an awkward pause as Hughes seemed to be holding it for no one. He started to close it, and it was momentarily blocked by an unseen force. Ghost Two wasn’t all the way out.
Hughes held the Secretariat door for Merrick and his invisible brother in arms. “Okay, proceed straight ahead,” McCreary said over the radio. “You gotta’ move. Most of security is outside for the flag-raising.”
Hughes and Merrick passed satchels, phones and computer tablets through the metal detector. Scooping them up with haste on the other side. Headed down the main corridor of the building.
“Turn right and go about a hundred feet,” McCreary said over their headsets. “Then left into the South Annex. Look for the elevators and take them to the top floor.”
“Roger.” They walked as fast as they could without drawing attention.
“The guards are moving to the flags,” McCreary said. “Double-time it!”
“Yes, sir.”
In the brief, McCreary informed them of the UN Security Forces morning ritual — raising the 193 flags of UN member countries lining the front of the campus. This was the UN’s most vulnerable time — the best time for the men to get their gear in the building as many guards left their posts for flag duty.
The trio exited the elevator and found the small office rented in advance, courtesy of the government of Taiwan. Or that’s how it would look on the books. They locked the door behind them and went to work. Merrick pulled a diamond-tipped tactical pen from his jacket and cut a three-foot square in the window. The window facing a courtyard between the South Annex and the large conference building. Hughes removed the tablet device from his jacket and powered up the quadcopter drone on the roof above them. “Dragonfly is skis up.”
Merrick completed the square and the glass piece broke free from the window. It seemed to hover in mid-air as Ghost Two carefully lowered it to the floor nearby. Moments later, the quadcopter drone descended, carrying the cargo of the heavy-duty Storm case. Hughes guided the drone through the hole in the window and Merrick grabbed it and the case from mid-air.
Hughes cut the rotor power, saying, “Package received” over his microphone. Merrick removed the case from the drone and popped the lid. Revealing a suppressed compact MP5 machine gun, night vision headbands and odd steel components that Hughes quickly transferred to an inconspicuous briefcase.
“Radio check,” Hal said. His own voice reverberating off the inside of his helmet. “Are you hearing this?”
A crackled reply came back from Jenny in the bunkhouse. “Yes, I hear you. Loud and clear. I don’t see your tracker though.”
“Copy that.” Hal deactivated the camouflage stealth mode of the suit, appearing in an armored limousine, sitting across the wide seat from Weng. Their car trailed the presidential car with a motorcade behind them — all parked in front of their Manhattan hotel.
Hal peeled back the flap on his sleeve and typed into the pad. The controls appeared on his HMD visor. He navigated through the menu to GPS and activated the tracker, set to the new frequency of the Chinese spy satellite. “How copy?”
“We see you, leaving the Westin.”
The snaking motorcade of the Chinese President’s vehicle along with those of the ambassadors and their staff rolled out. Escorted toward the UN by a cadre of New York’s finest.
Hal reactivated the suit, seeming to vanish from the seat. He gazed out the dark black windows at a motorcycle cop unable to see in. He thought about flagging the cop down and telling him to lock down the UN from the threat of an active shooter. Hal recommended notifying authorities or the FBI that the Chinese President may be in danger. Weng wasn’t on board. The Chinese President would never throw in the towel. He had complete faith in his own version of secret service — the “Zhongnanhai Baobiao”—The Bodyguards of the Red Palace. He also trusted the Security Forces of the UN, which are independent from official United States government security.
The Westin was three blocks from the UN Headquarters. Even with an official escort, it only took a few minutes to arrive. Weng led the team of delegates and ambassadors into the General Assembly entrance. All of whom were unaware of the Ghost following behind.
Weng, in a suit and tie with a delegate badge, passed a briefcase and iPad through the security screeners. Hal easily climbed over the barricades, unseen in stealth mode. Once past security, the presidential entourage proceeded down the corridor. Entering the cavernous General Assembly building.
Hal kept to the right of the President. Scanning the lighting grid and ceiling on one side of the assembly while Weng scanned the other — searching for potential snipers. All clear. Weng escorted the President and ambassadors to their seats at the designated section for China. Hal stood off to the side, out of the way of anyone passing by who might accidentally bump into him.
Hal diligently scanned the area for threats. Unlike the Secret Service clearing areas prior to events for potential threats, Hal knew a threat was imminent. An assassin or team of assassins were somewhere in the building.
Weng continued through the General Assembly to an exit on the opposite side, carrying a thick briefcase. He left the lofty General Assembly, passing through a narrow walkway toward a more common looking four-storied Conference Building. He spoke into a concealed microphone clipped to the inside of his shirt, saying “En route” in Chinese.
A reply came back over a concealed earpiece. It was the voice of Matt, also speaking in Chinese. “Copy. In que now. We’ll be a few minutes.”
Matt wore white produce deliveryman overalls. Flashing a UN badge at the service entrance to the Delegates Diner in the Conference Building, overlooking the East River. He pushed a crate of random produce on wheels — carrots, cucumbers and several heads of lettuce on the top rack, and a case of eight one-gallon cans of tomato sauce on the bottom rack. A UN security guard stopped him. “Raise your arms, please.”
Matt did as told and the guard waved a portable metal detector all around Matt’s body. The guard inspected his cart. “May I?”
Matt lifted individual heads of lettuce up for him to inspect. The guard noticed the case of tomato sauce below. “That’s a lot of pasta.” Matt nodded. “Open one, please.”
Matt obliged, removing a triangular-tipped can opener from his pocket. He opened it like an old oil can and dipped a finger in, holding up the thick tomato sauce to the guard. Matt licked it off his finger. “It’s tomato sauce.” Satisfied, the guard waved him through.
Matt wheeled the cart through a bustling kitchen. Each member of the kitchen staff on pre-ordained missions and too busy to care about a delivery guy. Matt got the lay of the kitchen, noticing waiters going in and out of the dining room through a swinging door. He spotted the walk-in cooler, beside the kitchen. He spoke softly into his collar. “Go through the restaurant, you’ll see the kitchen door. Pass straight through and into the walk-in cooler.” Matt wheeled his cart toward the cooler, opened the heavy door and went inside. He looked around, wondering if Weng could sneak in. The door burst open, startling him. It was a prep cook. Matt quickly unloaded the lettuce heads onto a shelf. The prep cook grabbed a crate of eggs and left as quickly as he entered.
Weng strode through restaurant dotted with a handful of patrons for breakfast. He spotted the swinging door Matt told him about. How do I get in without anyone seeing? Weng thought.