Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1) by Dana Arama (e reader for manga .txt) 📗

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He took the cell phone from my hand hesitantly. On the other side of the line were his friends and partners in this project, who for hours had been trying to neutralize the briefcase that had been stolen. Now, with the collaboration of the thief, they knew the correct thing to do. The double security had been taken off, and so the briefcase had gone through a transformation. The real data would be erased and other irrelevant data, which would look no less authentic, would take its place. We would plant information that looked promising, information on the satellite scheduled to be launched in the next few months. But there was no real connection. It was enough of a loss to give up the briefcase itself, with its expensive hardware, but taking into consideration the risk factor, that loss was something to be lived with. What my brother had in his head, and the data itself, wasn’t something the State of Israel could afford to lose.

My brother put the briefcase on the sink and put his finger on the lock. A quiet ‘click’ was heard and the lock opened. Inside the briefcase was another panel and when it opened, there was a computer sitting underneath. My brother was listening to the instructions he was being given through the cell phone I held to his ear. As he worked on the briefcase, other changes were being made to the motherboard. Twenty minutes later, the briefcase was closed again and locked. Tel Aviv authorized my fingerprint to unlock the briefcase’s security system. Officially, the briefcase was put in my charge.

“Your destination is in this text message here,” he said, and passed the device to me. “They will notify you where to go next with another text message.” He didn’t seem happy, but still, he hugged me as if he would never see me again, almost refusing to let go.

“We will bring him back!” I promised, out of the internal belief that it couldn’t end any differently. I held the briefcase in my hand, which minutes had been worth four years of work and thousands of Israeli tech workers, and almost 195 million dollars and now was worth Jonathan’s life.

The escort who had waited patiently by the door led my brother to the waiting van. I put the set of keys belonging to the family Volvo in my pocket. I had my brother’s cell phone as a line of communication with the kidnappers. I went on my way. From afar I saw Laura’s man sit on my motorbike. He will return it home. I had worked under false identities before. This was the first time I had been so emotionally involved. But as I acknowledged it to myself, I felt myself disconnect. From this time onwards, the risk was only mine.

Laura Ashton,

New York, November 15, 2015

The owners of the hotel didn’t like us being there, but they cooperated because a terror attack in the middle of the city didn’t encourage tourism. Also, the knowledge that such an attack could be avoided if they cooperated weighed heavily on them, I was sure. That had been the ace I pulled out of my pocket when I sensed the unwillingness of the manager to cooperate.

I divided my people into two teams. Those at the reception area took charge of the switchboard, the computerized systems and elevators. They would work after the guests were in their rooms. The second team already wore hotel uniforms and were waiting for the family to arrive. Their job was to take care of the suitcases – they would install cameras in them to give us an insight to the room.

The tension in the air was thick. We waited on standby, on high alert, but then a message came from the airport that the plane was changing direction. The craft with Yassin’s family was not planning on landing in New York but had just received permission to land in Washington. All the teams that were situated at the airport rushed onto helicopters and made their way to Washington. Teams in Washington, who had taken time off to rest, were called up immediately.

The feeling that the bomb’s countdown clock was ticking away filled everyone with nervous energy. It wasn’t just any ticking bomb waiting to be dismantled, but was a very sophisticated one, always one step ahead of us. We had to be smarter than Yassin, quicker than him and more efficient. All the American forces were behind the scenes. The Israelis were at our side, and still this elusive character had managed to slip in between our fingers. We hadn’t let our frustration get the better of us. When we arrived at last to our destination, it felt as if we had no air in our lungs, the way one does at the end of a marathon. But our marathon had barely started.

The chances of us getting to their hotel before them were slim, but with one phone call we managed to improve those chances. Air control promised a very slow handling of the plane that had landed. I immediately went over our options with my people.

The vastly preferred option was to break into Yassin Graham’s room and catch him before his sick wife and child arrived. The thought was tempting and was the most popular idea. If we pulled it off, it could end the operation before citizens were hurt. Those who opposed it felt that we had too many questions and not enough answers. There was no register in his name, we couldn’t confirm that he had booked a room under another name and we couldn’t guarantee that if we could find his room, it would be the real Yassin rather than his false twin. And if it was the real Yassin, would we manage the break in without endangering the life of the kidnapped boy, Jonathan Niava, who was in his hands? Would we manage to keep Yassin alive? Maybe his death