Any Means Necessary. Shane Britten
I left the conference room and stalked to the stairwell, heading up them two at a time. My immediate instinct was to change hotels. I disliked Helen and her cronies knowing where I was. But given my choice to use my real name and failure to bring along an alternative identity with me, I would either be paying cash somewhere rough, or they could reacquire me anyway. I glanced at my phone on the way back to my room and saw a short message from the hotel head of security, a simple, Ok? . It suggested he had seen me leave the conference room on one of the hotel’s internal security cameras.
My mood remained sour enough to not let him off too lightly. My reply was curt, Next time I want warning. The predictable, Ack came in response.
I shoved open the door to my room, letting it close and securing it with both the lock and latch. I opened my weapons vault, the operating panel not showing the red light that would indicate attempted tampering, and took out the TSCM scanning case. I carried out another exhaustive scan of the room. Nothing. There might be no devices there now, but I wanted to ensure that I could identify anything added without having to scan multiple times a day. So, I headed to the bedroom and retrieved a small container of talcum powder from my toiletries kit.
I flicked my knife blade up and used the point to lift the edge of the flat, overused hotel carpet from where it met the metal join under the front door. Leaving the underlay in place, I sprinkled a healthy layer of powder in a semi-circle around the entrance where a first step would happen.
I carefully replaced the carpet and flicked the switch for the Do Not Disturb light to come on outside my door, removing the chance of a housekeeper confusing my trap. It was a simple trick I had used multiple times while deployed overseas and it gave good indications of the frequency, volume and nature of unwanted visitors to your room.
I had one more low-tech and one high-tech trap to set. I took one of the many handtowels from the bathroom and folded it in half, laying it behind the right side of the bathroom door. When I left tomorrow, I’d drag it against the door before closing it, so if the door were opened, the towel would move. To the untrained eye, it would look like a discarded hand towel, not an intelligence ‘tell’.
I then pulled a small alarm clock from my bag and put it on the bedside table. It looked like it belonged, just another piece of hotel room furniture. But when I left, I’d switch on its second feature, which was a motion-activated video camera concealed within the LED screen. If someone moved in the room, the camera would turn on without light or sound notification and start capturing video of the room that would be available on my mobile, which would send me a notification of its activation.
Back in the lounge room, I took out my cell phone, sending a brief summary of the encounter to Philip via our end-to-end encrypted messaging service.
I went back over Helen’s wording, considering it further. There was uncertainty in her questioning, suggesting it was a genuine question and she didn’t know why I would be attending. It suggested James hadn’t briefed her on my involvement. It was incredibly poor human intelligence – or HUMINT – tradecraft to start with a question you didn’t know the answer to.
National security reasons for me to not attend – that was intriguing and suggested they were independently investigating WOLF. Perhaps they were a Plan B by James in case of my failure.
The thought made me laugh out loud. Knowing James, they were the Plan A and I was the Plan Z. So, now what? My phone vibrated with Philip’s reply, which was characteristically short and gave me a deep frown.
Any means necessary.
CHAPTER 7
It was already warm as I waited in a narrow hallway outside the auditorium of the Four Points Hotel. Half an hour early, I wasn’t the first to arrive and since then, a steady stream of would-be WOLF members had started to fill the waiting area. For much of the wait, I pretended to be on a phone call, cell phone held up to my ear, murmuring one-word responses to the not-present caller every now and again for appearances’ sake. It not only prevented conversation – keeping the eclectic assemblage from trying to talk to me – it also meant I could stare at the crowd absently, seemingly preoccupied with my conversation.
It was a strange group of people. Some were young men looking to find their way, talking together in small groups and looking with unveiled hostility at the others around them. This was what I expected so I wasn’t overly surprised to see them, the majority sporting the shaved heads and anti-social looks that I’d come to associate with far-right groups. Others seemed to be what I would normally expect of a left-wing organisation, with long, dread-locked hair, ill-fitting clothes and the overbearing scent of the unwashed. I didn’t see anyone I recognised which was a blessing, especially given I was registered in my real name.
Soon enough, the two sets of doors were flung open to stereo-blasted fanfare, and an excited hum started among the group. WOLF members waited with small handheld scanners to scan tickets, ensuring each attendee was registered. A few in front of me hadn’t, so were sent to the side to fill out a form. Data gathering seemed to be important to the group. I pulled up the ticket on my phone and held it out for the scanner, which didn’t work. I angled the phone so the WOLF member, a surly young man, could write down the ticket number, keeping my grip on the device when he attempted to take it away. With our initial tug of war over, he looked me up and down with a less-than-impressed expression. I flashed him a smile, wanting to seem flippant, light-hearted. Entry process complete, I tucked my phone away and followed, joining the throng about three quarters of the way towards the back.
Inside the auditorium was quite a spectacle. Banners and signs were erected along every wall and a huge WELCOME! was projected on the screen behind a podium on the stage. Individual WOLF members, clad in branded t-shirts complete with a howling wolf motif, ushered people in, their faces flushed and friendly, far from the surly man who had checked me in. Seating was arranged in rows like a flat cinema. I aimed for the centre aisle seat halfway along, ignoring the uncomfortable itch on the back of my neck at having people sit behind me. Most intelligence operators would automatically sit with their backs to a wall within eyesight of at least one exit. It was a habit I was consciously trying to break, trading that little bit of situational awareness for a better ability to blend into a crowd.
People continued to fill the room until there were at least one hundred attendees. Despite multiple rows in front and behind me being fairly free, a young couple insisted on pushing their way past to sit alongside me and I supressed an urge to glare at them, especially when they each gave me a friendly, broad smile. Any conversation was halted as the lights dimmed, the hush of expectation stretching out for almost a minute.
A short, rotund man bounded up on the stage with an energy and agility that belied his cube-like frame. ‘Welcome!’ he called out, wearing the headset mic of a fitness instructor that he definitely was not. ‘My name is Blake and I’m here to set the ground rules.’ He smiled enthusiastically. ‘Before we start today, please turn off your mobile phones and ensure you don’t need the bathroom, as we have set restroom breaks.’
Strange.
He proceeded to point out emergency exits and timings for the day. It looked like two hours of content stretched out over four.
‘Our founder and head WOLF, Eran Tuso, will be along shortly. In the meantime, turn to the would-be WOLF next to you and tell them why you’re here!’
Next to me was only the young couple who, based on both scent and appearance, seemed to me to have embraced the ‘hippie’ lifestyle. Or they didn’t own a shower. Maybe they were allergic to water. The girl was closest to me. I reflected on just how strange it was that hippie types would be here and wondered whether it was due to the vague nature of the WOLF messaging on their website and brochures. Of course, there was a good chance it was actually me in the wrong place.
The hippie girl was anxiously waiting to introduce herself. ‘I’m Amy,’ she gushed excitedly, ‘and my boyfriend, Steven, and I are here because we are sick of the way money rules our world and want to be part of the revolution’. She proceeded to tell me, without pause even for breath, how Steven had lost his job to