Placing the pack on the ground, he opened the main compartment and pulled out the first of two ½-inch climbing ropes. It took several attempts, but he managed to sling the free end over the railing of the second balcony. Then he played out the rope until he had both ends back in his hands, after which he tied a hitch knot with an adjustable grip, something he recalled from his days at the Air Assault School in Fort Campbell, Kentucky. By pulling on the base line, he was able to work the knot up to the railing. He took a moment to listen to the environment. There was the distant sound of a siren, but it seemed to be moving away. Otherwise, there was nothing.
He zipped up and shouldered the pack once more, then began to climb. Once he reached the second balcony, he climbed over the railing and pulled up the rope, then untied it and slung it over his shoulder. Walking to the other end of the balcony, he peered over the side, carefully examining the next challenge. The cameras were directly beneath him, about 20 feet down, level with each other and spaced a foot apart. The service door, in turn, was located beneath the cameras.
Straightening, he turned to his right and checked out the windows. It was as he expected: the windows opened only from inside the building. If he tried to force one, there was a good chance the pane would give way. Clearly, the door below was the best option, although that wasn’t saying much.
Dropping the rope from his shoulder, he tied a knot at one end to prevent him from sliding all the way to the ground. The other end of the rope was secured to the railing with an anchor bend, which, once pulled taut, was almost impossible to untie. Loosely coiling the free end of the rope, he dropped it onto the floor of the balcony and opened the pack, pulling out a handful of nonlocking caribiners. He was already wearing a Petzl rappelling harness, which was nothing more than a waist strap attached to fabric loops that encircled the thighs. Kealey hooked a few caribiners to the gear loops on either side of the harness, then selected another object from the pack. The small metal device was known as a shunt. Once clamped around the rope and linked
— with the help of a caribiner — to the main attachment point on the harness, the shunt could be used to arrest an uncontrolled rappel. More importantly, it could be locked at any point, giving him free use of both hands.
Finding the gear had been a challenge in itself. It had taken a number of calls, but he’d finally managed to get through to an instructor at Camp Peary, otherwise known as The Farm, the CIA’s main training facility, near Williamsburg, Virginia. By chance, the instructor had left most of the necessary equipment at Langley a week earlier. Kealey had made the drive to headquarters just after midnight, stopping along the way at a twenty-four-hour Wal-Mart. There, he had collected the rest of what was needed: a battery-operated screwdriver, a Mini Maglite with an assortment of colored filters, and a pair of thick leather gloves. He’d also picked up a Gerber multitool.
Favored by military personnel, the Gerber was similar to a Swiss Army knife in form and function. The Maglite remained in the pack, which he left on the balcony. The screwdriver was hooked to his harness, dangling from one of the gear loops, as was the Gerber.
Having secured the shunt to the rope and his harness in turn, he pulled on the pair of thick leather gloves, adjusted his lip mic slightly, and said, “Naomi, I’m about to take care of the cameras.
Ready on your end?”
“Yes. I’m making the call now.”
In the Taurus, Kharmai pulled out her cell phone and speed-dialed a number. The other end was picked up after the first ring. A brisk voice announced, “German Embassy.”
“Yes, hello?” She was nearly shouting into the phone. “I can hardly… I can’t hear you. Hello?”
“Yes, this is the German Embassy. How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Gunter. Is he… Is he there? Sorry, can you hear me? This phone is…”
She allowed herself to trail off and held her breath, waiting for the reply.
“Yes, he’s right here. One moment please…”
Naomi hung up immediately. The file contained the names and positions of nearly everyone who worked at the chancery, including the guards on the night shift. Anything could have changed over the past couple of months, but their luck seemed to be holding. She wasn’t sure if the guard on the phone had bought her act, but it didn’t really matter. There were only two men on duty from 8:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m., and she’d just verified their locations. Both were in the security booth, which was on the other end of the building. Ryan would not get a better chance.
She keyed her mic and said, “They’re in the booth. You’re free to move.”
On the second-floor balcony, Kealey acknowledged her transmission and started to move. First, he slipped the rope over the side of the railing and began lowering it carefully. It was going to go too far, he realized; if he descended, he’d overshoot his target and end up in full view of the cameras. Pulling the rope back up, he looped it around the railing a few times, tied a second knot, and lowered it once more. This time, the rope stopped right where he wanted it to.
He performed a quick check of his clothing, looking for anything loose, something that might snare in the shunt’s pulley. Satisfied with his preparations, he climbed over the railing and stood with his heels between the bars, facing out into space.
Inverted rappelling basically amounted to descending a rope face first. It was a dangerous proposition under the best of circumstances, but here in the dark, with the bare minimum of equipment, it was nearly suicidal. Kealey knew this as well as anyone, but he was completely calm as he leaned forward and loosened his grip on the rope. It all came down to timing.
Kneeling, he dropped forward over the railing. He fell with startling speed for the first 10 feet before pulling the rope hard over his chest. At the same time, he pinched the trailing end between his feet. Although he was using every ounce of strength he possessed to slow his fall, he was unable to stop in time. His hands bounced over the knot in the end of the rope, and he slammed to a halt a split second later. Looking up at his harness, he could see that the shunt was jammed into the anchor knot; it was the only thing that had stopped him from tumbling headfirst to the cement footpath.
The heart-stopping descent had left him shaken, but there was no time to waste. Stripping off his gloves, he examined the cameras, both of which were in arm’s reach. Each was covered by a weatherproof plastic housing. The housings were screwed into place; four screws on each, he could see, and beneath that, another four screws to remove the access panels.
He hooked his leg around the rope to stabilize his body, then felt back to his side for the screwdriver, unhooking it from the caribiner. He moved slowly; if he dropped the screwdriver, he would have no choice but to abort. Once the cameras went off-line, one of the guards would surely come to investigate. If he were to find a screwdriver beneath the disabled units, the embassy would be locked down immediately, and reinforcements called in. If, on the other hand, the cameras did not appear to be tampered with, the security guard might simply ensure the door was locked, head back to finish his shift, and report the incident in the morning. Kealey was not sure of any of this, but given the situation, there was no other alternative.
He managed to get both housings off in less than a minute, propping them on the mounts drilled into the walls. The access panels came next. Although the cameras were set to ignore a certain amount of vibration, he was careful to avoid bumping them. He felt sure that the slight vibration generated by the screwdriver would set off the alarm. If that happened, he would not know until the door was opened below; the alarm wired to the cameras was only audible inside the security booth. The process was nerve-wracking, and by the time he was down to the last two screws, his face was bathed in sweat, despite the cool air.