The Revelation Code

by Andy McDermott

  The other well-dressed man, somewhat bulkier than his boss, handed out sheets of paper to the visitors. Eddie took a close look. One was a colour photocopy of a passport. The country of origin was Mozambique, the name Samora Costo, but even with the addition of a moustache and beard, Simeon’s face was unmistakable.

  Another picture was a still from a lobby security camera. The figure at the reception desk was only small in the frame, but again Eddie recognised the Witness, the identification made easier by the bandage on his hand. ‘That’s him,’ he said.

  ‘Which room is he in?’ asked al Farhan.

  Nadhar checked a list. ‘Room 1416.’

  ‘Is he still there?’

  ‘I checked the computer just before you arrived. He last used his keycard at around eight thirty this morning. But I do not know if he is still in his room.’

  Rajhi issued orders in Arabic, one of the cops relaying them by radio. ‘We will use a SWAT team,’ he told Eddie.

  ‘Risky,’ replied the Englishman. ‘You need to evacuate all the rooms around it – better yet, the whole floor. I’ve seen how fast this gas spreads; it’s not like anything normal.’

  ‘We know what we are doing,’ sniffed al Farhan.

  The elevator stopped at a lower floor. Essa briskly led the way through the hotel’s corridors. Eddie took the opportunity to make a phone call to Nina. ‘Hey. Where are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Just coming in to land,’ she replied. ‘What’s happening there?’

  ‘I’m at Simeon’s hotel, but we haven’t found him yet. The Saudis are going to raid his room.’

  ‘Did you persuade them to evacuate the Grand Mosque?’

  ‘I can’t even get them to evacuate the hotel,’ he sighed. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Well, I managed to speak to the Pope—’

  ‘You know, I love that our conversations have “I spoke to the Pope” casually dropped into them.’

  She laughed, putting a smile on his face. ‘Yeah. I spoke to him by phone with Seretse, and tried to persuade him to call off today’s audience. But he said no.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘He said that if it’s cancelled at such short notice, Anna will know we’re on to her, and she might change her attack to an unpredictable time and place. In effect, he’s acting as live bait to draw her out. I understand his reasoning, but I don’t like it.’

  ‘Not even you get to tell the Pope what to do, eh?’

  ‘Sadly, no. And I’ve got so many good ideas!’ Another laugh. ‘But the authorities in Rome and at the Vatican have agreed full cooperation to track her down.’

  ‘What time’s his speech?’

  ‘It’s due to start at ten o’clock – that’s noon, your time.’

  ‘Just before prayers here,’ Eddie noted grimly. ‘They’re either doing a simultaneous attack, or close to.’ Ahead, he saw more uniformed cops waving away curious guests as a group in tactical gear hurried into the hotel. ‘Okay, I’ve got to go. Call me when you get to the Vatican.’

  ‘Will do. Love you.’

  ‘I love you,’ he replied. ‘See you soon.’ Hoping with all his heart that he would, he ended the call and followed the rest of his group into a conference room. The SWAT team were already prepping their weapons. ‘What, you’re just going to run up there and kick the door down?’ he said. ‘No recon?’

  ‘There is no time,’ al Farhan told him. ‘If this gas is as deadly as you say, then we have to stop him before he can use it. Essa?’

  The hotel manager gave the cops a hurried briefing in Arabic, using a laptop and projector to show a plan of the hotel’s fourteenth floor. Room 1416 was on the building’s southern side, overlooking the city, not the Grand Mosque. ‘He won’t be attacking from there, then,’ Eddie mused, as much to himself as to Rajhi beside him.

  ‘Why not?’ asked the Saudi.

  ‘Not enough targets. There’s only a big empty construction site behind the hotel – I saw it when we landed. If his room faced the mosque, he could just smash a window and let the gas blow out over the crowd.’

  ‘So where will he attack from?’

  ‘Good question. Worst-case scenario is that he’s already inside the mosque.’

  ‘There is security at all entrances. They have been given his picture.’

  ‘Yeah, but how many thousands of people go through every minute? Could you pick out one face from all that lot? You need to evacuate the place.’

  Rajhi shook his head. ‘I am afraid that is not possible,’ he said, his resignation showing that the decision had already been made by someone above him.

  Eddie muttered an obscenity, then looked back at al Farhan as he finished giving instructions to the SWAT team. They rapidly donned one-piece coveralls, then put on full-face respirator masks and secured the hoods tightly around them. Al Farhan put on a headset as the masked force marched out of the room. ‘They know what to do,’ he told Rajhi.

  ‘I hope so,’ said Eddie. ‘What’s the plan?’

  The younger official gave him a scornful look. ‘They are going to storm his room and capture or kill him, then secure the weapon. What else?’

  ‘I dunno, maybe check if he’s in there first? Fibre-optic camera, thermal scope, drone looking in through the window – hell, just knock on the door! And what about evacuating the other guests?’

  ‘We do not have time to waste,’ al Farhan sniffed. ‘Now, be silent. I need to listen.’ He turned away, pressing his headphones to his ears for emphasis.

  ‘I will tell you what is happening,’ Rajhi told Eddie as he found a headset of his own.

  ‘Aren’t you his boss?’ Eddie asked. ‘He’s putting lives at risk by rushing into this.’

  ‘I am his boss, yes,’ said Rajhi, with a heavy nod. ‘But he is a member of the House of Saud – the royal family.’

  Eddie raised an eyebrow. ‘So he really is a prince?’

  ‘From one of the cadet branches, yes.’ He lowered his voice as al Farhan spoke to the SWAT commander. ‘There are thousands of princes. He is not in the line of succession, but he has the attention of those who are. It is . . . not in my best interest, shall we say, to get in his way. If he is successful today, it will be of great benefit to him politically.’

  ‘And if he fucks up, a lot of people’ll die,’ Eddie countered. Rajhi’s only response was a tired shrug. ‘Great. Maybe I should’ve stayed at the airport after all.’

  Al Farhan listened intently to the reports over the radio, then issued an instruction. ‘They are on the fourteenth floor,’ Rajhi reported to Eddie. ‘Moving to the room . . . taking up positions.’

  The other official glanced at him, for a moment almost seeming to be seeking approval – then he turned sharply away, his expression becoming determined. ‘Hejwem!’

  The loud bang that followed was audible to Eddie even from Rajhi’s headphones, as was a hubbub of shouting voices. ‘They are in the room, searching, searching . . .’ said the older man, holding his breath, then exhaling in a mix of disappointment and relief. ‘He is not there.’

  ‘What about the statue?’ Eddie demanded.

  Al Farhan relayed the question. Seconds passed . . . then the answer came. ‘No. They cannot see it.’

  ‘That means he’s got it with him – he’s definitely going to attack. Look, you’ve got to evacuate the mosque.’

  The prince scowled at him. ‘You do not tell me what to do!’

  ‘If he releases the gas in the middle of a crowd, it’ll kill everyone. I’ve seen it!’

  Al Farhan stormed over to him, his nose just inches from the Englishman’s. ‘This is the Hajj – the holy pilgrimage! Two million people make it each year, and there are tens of thousands of them down there right now. Some have waited their whole lives to be here, spent everything they have to make the journey. We cannot turn them away. There would be a riot!’

  He spoke to Rajhi. ‘Get more men to the Grand Mosque. Guards at all entrances, and cameras and snipers on the roofs. We have Fishe
r’s photograph – check all black men against it. We must find him!’ A brief pause, remembering that he was technically addressing his superior. ‘That is my recommendation.’

  Rajhi nodded. ‘It is a good one. Carry it out.’

  The younger man departed, issuing more commands. ‘You seriously think you’ll be able to pick out one man in that crowd?’ Eddie asked Rajhi, making his disapproval clear. ‘You’ve only got just over half an hour to find him.’

  ‘We will call in soldiers to help the search,’ he replied. ‘You may not think so, but we do know what we are doing. We have dealt with threats to the Hajj before. Now that we know what he looks like, we have very good spotters, facial recognition systems . . . If he is in the Grand Mosque, we will find him, I promise you.’

  ‘Let’s hope.’ The Saudi seemed confident in his security forces, which improved the Englishman’s mood slightly – and then prompted a thought. ‘The security at the mosque – is it visible? Are the guards out in the open?’

  ‘At the entrances, yes. We want visitors to feel safe, and it also helps us control the crowds. There are other guards inside, though they are more discreet. And there are undercover men also, but we do not tell that to the public,’ he added with a sly smile.

  ‘Simeon would know about them, though,’ said Eddie, ‘because Cross would know. He was in the CIA; intel’s his business. So it’s got high security?’

  ‘As high as any place that is open to the public, yes.’ The security official recognised the growing concern on the other man’s face. ‘What is it, Mr Chase?’

  ‘Something’s wrong, but I’m not sure what . . .’ He slowly paced across the room, trying to collate his thoughts. ‘Even if he thinks that me and Nina are dead, Cross would still know that after what happened in Antigua, people would be looking for him – and his Witnesses. So if the security at the Grand Mosque is as good as you reckon, Simeon would be taking a big risk by going in there. He might get caught before he can release the gas, and that’d wreck Cross’s plan.’

  ‘So you think he might attack a different target?’

  ‘What else is there, though? Where else could he . . .’ Eddie stopped as an answer came. He tipped his head to look upwards – not at the ceiling itself, but to take in the hulking structure beyond. ‘The clock tower’s got an observation deck, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes . . .’

  ‘Open-air?’ Their eyes widened simultaneously. ‘Shit! He’s not going to release the gas from the ground – he’s going to drop it from the roof!’

  ‘He may be up there already,’ Rajhi said in alarm.

  They hurried for the exit, as did the two hotel representatives. There were still some uniformed police officers nearby; Rajhi summoned them, and the group ran through the corridors, eventually descending into the mall at the clock tower’s base to reach the elevators serving the observation deck. There was a long line of tourists waiting; the arrival of the cops aroused consternation.

  There was no sign of Simeon amongst the waiting visitors, though. ‘Give security down here his picture, just in case he hasn’t turned up yet,’ Eddie told Essa and Nadhar. The hotel manager scurried away to the ticket booth.

  An elevator disgorged returning tourists, who were startled to find several armed policemen waiting for them. A quick check that none was their target, then they boarded. Nadhar gave Eddie a dubious look as the elevator set off. ‘It is not safe for civilians to come with us.’

  ‘Trust me, I know what I’m doing,’ the Yorkshireman replied. ‘And I’ve seen the guy in person, not just photos.’

  ‘He has seen you too,’ Rajhi pointed out.

  ‘Yeah, I know. And he’s not a fan!’

  The ascent in the high-speed elevator did not take long. ‘Where will he be?’ asked Nadhar as the doors opened.

  ‘He’ll be on the side facing the mosque to make the attack,’ Eddie said, ‘but he might stay out of the way until it’s time. Does the deck go all the way around the clock?’ The answer was in the affirmative. ‘We’ll need to spread out.’

  He made his way through a doorway into a covered gallery, to be met first by a rush of wind, then the glare of the desert sun.

  But no desert. It was not until he passed through one of a line of arches and into the open air that the horizon came into view beyond the edge of the observation deck. All that stood between him and a very long drop was an ornate balustrade, a covering of netting supported by large metal hoops along the balcony’s length preventing anyone from climbing over it.

  The holes in the net were easily large enough to fit a hand through, however. And as Eddie squeezed between the tourists for a closer look, he saw that it was made from a nylon mesh. The lines were thick enough to resist being torn by hand, but would offer almost no resistance to a blade. It would only take Simeon seconds to cut a larger hole through which he could throw the statue.

  If he was here. He turned away from the dizzying view of Mecca to the people staring down at it. The vast majority were of Arab descent, but with other ethnicities among them – Persian, African, South East Asian, Caucasian. He focused on the black faces. None were Simeon. ‘I don’t see him here,’ he told Rajhi as he rejoined him.

  ‘The men are moving around the balcony,’ the Saudi replied. ‘I have told one to watch the elevators, in case he tries to escape.’

  Eddie glanced up, seeing one of the colossal clock faces, a hundred and fifty feet across, looming above the balcony. Its massive hands now read 11.36. There was still time to stop Simeon before the call to prayer. ‘We should go around too,’ he said. ‘I’ll go that way.’ He pointed clockwise around the balcony. ‘You go the other, and we’ll meet on the far side.’

  ‘Mr Chase,’ said Rajhi as Eddie turned away.

  ‘Yeah?’

  A faint smile. ‘Please do not cause a diplomatic incident.’

  Eddie grinned. ‘Who, me?’

  He set off through the crowd. Most people were jostling for the best view, though quite a few visitors had been struck by vertigo and retreated back under cover through the archways. That meant the searchers would have to check more than just the balcony; Simeon could be lurking inside. Eddie looked back for Rajhi to make the suggestion, but the security official was already lost amongst the throng.

  Hoping the idea had also occurred to his guide, he continued along the walkway. The clock tower was rectangular rather than square, its northern and southern sides considerably longer than the east and west. It took him a couple of minutes to reach the first corner, surreptitiously checking every dark-skinned face he passed.

  Still no sign of the American. Was he even here? Maybe he was in the Grand Mosque after all . . .

  He went through a covered section topped by a golden minaret at the observation deck’s corner, then started along the eastern balcony. The crowd here was thinner – the view across Mecca’s hotels and residential areas was far less impressive than the mosque.

  Ahead, he saw one of the cops. The man was only giving the visitors the most cursory checks, Eddie realised. ‘Slow down, you daft sod,’ he muttered. Shalit, the Mossad spymaster, had been right: for most people, identifying someone in the flesh from only a photograph was surprisingly hard – and that was assuming the subject hadn’t changed their appearance. If Simeon had disguised himself, the cop might have walked right past him . . .

  The thought brought him to a sudden halt. What if the cop had missed Simeon? He looked more closely at every potential suspect nearby. Still no sign of him. Maybe he was just being paranoid—

  An internal warning bell sounded.

  A black man dressed in a colourful striped robe and matching hat was crouched near the outer wall. He appeared to be changing a camera’s battery or memory card . . . but it was not what he was doing, rather the way he was doing it, that caught the former SAS soldier’s attention. He had served in Afghanistan, and seen first-hand the various ways that insurgents attempted to camouflage their preparations for an ambush or placing an IED by
pretending to do something innocuous. But however hard they tried, it was almost impossible for them to conceal their tension, their rising adrenalin . . .

  The robed man had betrayed that tension. Only for an instant, a twitch of the head to check that the policeman had gone by – but that was enough to tell Eddie he had something to hide.

  He couldn’t tell if it was Simeon, though, the man facing away from him. It was possible he was a criminal rather than a terrorist; a pickpocket relieving wealthy tourists of their valuables. But he had to check, and do so without alerting the suspect.

  Eddie moved to the balustrade, positioning himself beside an Arab family gawping at the scenery. He leaned outwards, head almost touching the taut netting as he tried to peer past them. He still couldn’t see the black man’s face clearly, his features obscured by short dreadlocks protruding from beneath the hat. But he could see that his free hand was fiddling with something made of glossy white plastic inside a satchel. Whatever it was, it was no memory card.

  The man gave the retreating cop another wary glance, then bent lower, putting down the camera to lift the white object out into the open—

  Eddie’s view was suddenly blocked by the face of a small boy as his father lifted him up to see the vista below. He frowned and tried to look past him, only to draw first surprised, then offended looks from both parents. ‘Sorry,’ he told them, retreating. The father eyed him with suspicion, then raised his child higher.

  The Englishman sidestepped to peer behind them – and saw a bandage on the man’s hand.

  It was Simeon. He took the object out of the bag. Eddie felt a chill as he identified it.

  A drone.

  The satchel contained a compact quadcopter. And beneath it, he glimpsed a familiar stone shape. The angel.

  Simeon’s plan became clear. A drone that small would not have enough power to maintain flight with the statue hanging from it but it would still be able to slow its fall. If he released it from the observation deck, the little aircraft could carry the angel far enough to reach the Grand Mosque.

  And then detonate. There was a pale yellow strip taped to the figure. Plastic explosive. Enough to shatter the angel and disperse its deadly contents across the crowded courtyard.