The Bunker had three sensitive compartmented information facilities. One SCIF was for executives, another for operational briefings and the third was effectively the entire basement level, thanks to its construction. The basement was home to the Team 9 technology spies and some of France’s most talented engineers, who built the gear that gave de Payns and his teams the edge on operations.
The basement SCIF was where de Payns conducted the meeting for his technology team, explaining how they were going to cleanse themselves without a support team. The Pearl Continental Hotel had a rear entrance and a standard eight-floor, elevator-hub layout. They would not be using cameras or microphones to counter the surveillance, relying instead on properly rehearsed legends. They were filmmakers, and the environment they established in their hotel would support their legend. The only IS they would perform would be conducted by Templar when he followed a person of interest to their home.
‘So, just the four of us?’ asked Brent, nodding slowly.
‘The legend is filmmaker, so there’s no illegal action, no need to go heavy,’ said de Payns, who’d been expecting some questions from the techs. ‘The only counter-measures will be three-point alignments in our rooms.’
‘And if we pick up a follower?’ asked Brent. ‘Pakistan can get nasty.’
‘We keep our legends and play the tourists without dropping our covers.’
‘That’s okay for a short period,’ said Brent.
De Payns agreed. ‘That’s why we’re on a tight timeline—arrive on a Sunday, spend all week doing the recon, and fly out on the Saturday. You’re right, our covers will only hold as long as the pretext holds.’
Templar leaped in to reinforce de Payns. ‘Just focus and play it out. Use the usual procedure for individual security in your rooms, but in public we’ll stay in character.’
They nodded and de Payns shifted to the ground game—on the whiteboard he drew the layout around the MERC campus, which featured one road from the facility’s security gate. At around eight hundred metres, the entry road hit the north–south public road at a T-junction. One hundred metres to the south of the T-junction was a service station and to the north was a small township, with shops and schools and a cafe. De Payns put crosses on the service station and cafe. He wanted to break up the way they travelled around; they would circulate in the car, but they couldn’t do that constantly, so there would have to be legitimate places that a film scouting crew would stop. There were tourist stops such as the Faisal Mosque, of course, and de Payns had a list of others. But they needed staging points for their reconnaissance activities that did not look like staging points.
‘We know that the lower-status scientists and technicians live on the campus, but there’s enough traffic in and out of the facility to suggest that the senior people are allowed to leave. That’s who we’re going to identify. That’s how we’re going to access the MERC.’
Brent stretched, ran his fingertips through his slight beard. ‘The technology will work and the plan looks good.’
‘But?’ asked de Payns.
‘If the secret police get serious with us …’ said Brent.
‘Templar has an exfiltration plan,’ said de Payns. ‘We can’t rely on it, though. Our best bet is still plan A—be professional, be fast and leave in one piece.’
Briffaut said little as de Payns ran through the final checklist—the tech was finalised and Templar was in Pakistan, scouting the layout and checking on the hotel. In a full action mission, where illegal activities or building penetration was required, a recon team would go into Islamabad a month before de Payns arrived and the team would do an équipement de ville, responding to the chef de mission’s requests—it might be five ISs, three tourniquets, three plans de supports, one life zone, three hotels and one exfiltration. When the recon team returned, they would detail each item and the action team would have a few weeks to learn them by heart and plan the mission around those elements.
But this mission involved no illegal action, no approach, no recruitment, no house or structure penetration. It was just four of them playing their legends, moving as tourists. Without a mission team or a system of ISs, there was little to coordinate. Everyone had their job and their commitment to being in and out within seven days. It would mean a tight focus on the MERC and insufficient time for the Pakistanis to see patterns in the four-man French team. Theoretically.
‘Emergency exfil?’ asked Briffaut, who turned a stainless steel lighter over on the desk, not taking his eyes off de Payns.
‘Shouldn’t be necessary,’ said de Payns. ‘We’ll play our legend.’
Briffaut nodded. ‘Falcon was a close call.’
‘Palermo was close,’ agreed de Payns.
Briffaut held his stare. ‘You good for this?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Team all sorted?’
‘They’re sharp and ready.’
Briffaut. ‘So, what’s eating you?’
‘My wife. Her PhD graduation ceremony is on Saturday.’
Briffaut said nothing.
De Payns shrugged. ‘Her parents are in town.’
‘Bad timing and bad luck,’ Briffaut deadpanned. ‘You know how it goes in this job.’
‘I do,’ said de Payns.
‘Good luck,’ said Briffaut, offering his hand. ‘And if it turns weird over there, pull the pin. We good?’
‘We’re good,’ said de Payns.