Page 114 of Edge of Honor

Also, the Secret Service had one of the best bomb-detection divisions in the world. They would have been sweeping their sniffer dogs throughout the convention center over the last forty-eight hours. Those animals were amazing. If there was so much as a firecracker inside a garbage can, they would have found it.

Now that the summit had started, security screening had only gotten more difficult. It would be nearly impossible to sneak anything in at thispoint, which made Harvath think that whatever they planned to use for the attack had to already be here—the dogs just hadn’t gotten near it.

“Lower level,” he said to Fuller.

“What are we looking for?” asked Wallace.

“The companies that hire the union guys to install and dismantle their trade show booths have cages they keep their supplies and equipment in. It’s one of the only places you can leave things for extended periods and not draw attention.”

The two men nodded and followed Harvath to the service elevators.

As they rode down, he received a video call from Nicholas.

Activating it, he said, “Tell me you’ve got something good.”

“I don’t know how good it is,” the man replied, “but I may have something. The pictures you sent from Jordan’s compound, all those pieces of electronics.”

“That were being used to build the alleged detonators? What about them?”

“I think we ID’d one of the components. It’s like a very sclerotic AirTag.”

Harvath held his phone higher, as if that might help him better understand what his friend was saying. “I don’t get it.”

Nicholas pulled up a picture of it. “Secret Service is going to be sweeping for all sorts of electronic devices—both for eavesdropping on the summit, but also for bomb triggers. This device works on a frequency well below anything they’d pay attention to. The only problem is, it’s so weak, you’d practically have to be standing right next to it to trigger it.”

“That doesn’t make much sense. Unless you’re a suicide bomber, close proximity to your device is usually considered a negative.”

“Agreed,” his friend said. “Which brings me to those sharps you found.”

At the end of one of the workbenches, Harvath had discovered an empty chewing tobacco tin filled with the tips of large gauge hypodermic needles.

“What about them?”

“You’re the one that said it. Only a suicide bomber would want to be standing next to his bomb when he hit the detonator. Unless…”

“There was a lag before the bomb actually went off.”

“Exactly.”

“What are we talking about?” Harvath asked. “Are the sharps meant to puncture something? Is there some sort of a slow bleed that gives the bomber time to get away?”

Nicholas looked at him through the screen. “DHS and Secret Service have dogs that can sniff out chemical weapons, but if those weapons are small, well contained, and coated with an outer layer of paint thinner or even jalapeño jelly, the dogs don’t hit on them. They walk right by. Compared to the volume of explosive material you’d need for a substantial attack, chemical weapons require a lot less. In essence, you can take a much smaller risk of being uncovered and, if successful, get a much bigger bang for your buck.”

“How sure are you that we’re dealing with a chemical weapon?”

“I’ve got photos of a bunch of shredded wire, some needle tips, and a weak Bluetooth receiver. How sure would you be?”

Sure enough to know that this was above his pay grade. He needed to kick this up to Gaines and let him make the call.

If they kept going and succeeded in tracking Kennedy or any of the Iron Tree members down, they might be able to get to any potential devices before they were detonated.

On the other hand, if they attempted to evacuate the convention center, Kennedy and his men might clack off their devices, killing untold numbers as they fled.

Harvath was about to say something to Nicholas when the service elevator they were riding in slowed and then stopped at the mezzanine level.

As the doors opened, he saw four uniformed Secret Service officers looking back at him. There was something about them, however, that didn’t seem right.

CHAPTER 58