“What’s going on, Ibrahim?” asked Nick, his voice measured with a tinge of anger.
“The Caliph has ordered us to keep you under guard until his arrival.”
“The Caliph is dead,” replied Nick.
“The new Caliph,” said Ibrahim.
“I thought it hadn’t been agreed yet.”
“It was announced while you were away. We just heard and his first order was to keep you under guard.”
Nick marched towards Ibrahim but was blocked by four men who stepped in front of him, their weapons trained directly on him. Nick stopped. He could see there would be no hesitation from them in shooting him.
One thing was for sure, he wasn’t going down without a fight. He noted the distances to each before catching Ibrahim’s eye once more. Ibrahim recognized the look. He had seen it in Nick when Nick had trained him.
“Whoa!!!” shouted Ibrahim. “Guys, stand down.”
Nick stopped himself from moving. He had been about to strike as Ibrahim’s face cracked.
“I was just fucking with you, showing my guys how a real hard guy deals with a tight situation.”
The four gunmen who had squared up to Nick were perspiring heavily. They had all sensed how close it had come to action.
Nick looked at Ibrahim with utter contempt before walking away to the main building. He had his own training exercise to prepare for and deliver. Ibrahim thought better of following Nick and instead opted to debrief the group on what they had gleaned from the exercise. Ibrahim was not disappointed, every man agreed wholeheartedly: Nick Geller had not one ounce of fear in his body, even when faced with four gun barrels at close quarters and about to fire at him. He had stared back as if the guns hadn’t existed and as a result, the gunmen feared the situation and not Nick. Ibrahim smiled as the men talked about a true warrior with the courage of Allah. He was an inspiration to them all and a man they would happily follow into battle for Allah.
Having given Nick fifteen minutes to calm down, Ibrahim went in search of his brother in arms. He found Nick in a back room huddled over a number of suicide vests. Small charges were packed tight inside the vests. They were small enough not to cause any peripheral damage but were certainly powerful enough to kill the wearer. The two cells stolen the previous day were in bits next to the vests, Nick having stripped them of a number of vital components.
“I’m sorry, brother, but it was a great success. They have seen that your heart is that of a lion,” offered Ibrahim as an apology.
“Have all your men assemble outside and select twenty of them to take part in my exercise,” commanded Nick, not looking up. Ibrahim wanted to object but Nick’s tone suggested that was not an option.
Ibrahim began to walk away but stopped. “One thing that I did notice is that you weren’t surprised the Caliph would want you under guard?”
Nick stopped what he was doing and looked up into Ibrahim’s eyes. “Is he really the new Caliph?”
Ibrahim nodded.
Nick shook his head in anguish. “Then today I will die.”
“But you killed his father on his own orders. You are a hero.”
“He hated his father. He is a weak man, unfit to bear Caliph Al Zahrani’s family name, never mind the title ‘Caliph’,” spat Nick.
“But why are you so sure he will kill you?”
“Because I promised him the next time we met, I’d kill him,” replied Nick.
“You what?”
“You heard.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story but let’s put it this way – even his own father would have voted against him.”
“Tell me,” demanded Ibrahim, moving and closing the door to give them some privacy.
Nick shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about it.
“Tell me, brother, please,” insisted Ibrahim.
“It happened a year ago and I don’t want to talk about it,” replied Nick adamantly.
Ibrahim didn’t move. He looked at Nick pleading him to open up.
Nick shook his head again. The memory of the incident was not one he ever wished to relive. A tear welled in his eye at the thought of what had happened. He turned his back to avoid Ibrahim seeing as he finished the final vest.
“Assemble your men, Ibrahim.”
Ibrahim conceded and left Nick alone with his vests and went to assemble the twenty volunteers Nick had asked for.
The image of the young girl who had tended to Nick a year earlier flashed into his mind. Haseena’s beautiful warm smile had radiated a purity that intoxicated everyone in its range. She was barely thirteen but spoke with maturity beyond her years and environment. Highly intelligent, she was a young girl who, in different circumstances, would have had the world at her feet. Before long, Nick had adopted her as a little sister and assured her that he would protect her as any brother should. Nick blinked as the smiling face of Haseena disappeared, just as it always did. The twisted and broken body of the young and prepubescent girl, her face contorted in agony for eternity stared back at him. The smile extinguished as the mouth that had so often shone had been beaten to a bloody pulp.
Nick’s fists balled at the thought of the new Caliph, the man who had taken the light that was Haseena and extinguished it forever. He had seen how the new Caliph had looked at Haseena the night before her death. The predatory eyes picking out her purity and youth. He had not taken his eyes off her. When Haseena had looked over at Nick and smiled, hatred had burned in his eyes. He had not seen the innocence of the smile. The man was a monster.
Nick’s nails dug into his palms as they balled tighter and tighter, cutting into his skin. Nick had been escorted back to his hut that night, watched by the new Caliph’s men. The screams of Haseena’s mother the next morning were the first sign something was wrong. When Haseena’s body was found soon afterwards, it took a strong stomach to bear what the young girl had endured for what must have been hours. Nick had looked into the new Caliph’s eyes and seen the killer that nobody else saw: the pedophile that had tortured and raped a young girl to death. Nick had wanted to rip the man’s throat out there and then. However, it would have been suicide and, with no evidence, futile. Nick knew the day would come to reap revenge. Haseena deserved it and Nick would deliver. He just needed the right time and place. He had walked across to the man and made his promise –he was a dead man walking, and Nick assured him he would kill him the next time they met.
The tragedy had resulted in a request from the old Caliph to meet with Nick. The meeting had been unprecedented. An American operative meeting with the head of Al Qaeda was unheard of. It had been a difficult meeting, an old man admitting the shame and desperation he felt at his uselessness and inability to deal with the deviant that was his son. Knowing that Nick knew about his son’s actions had for the first time allowed the Caliph to discuss the problem with someone else. The fact that there was no love between father and son was made all the more evident when the elder Caliph asked Nick for one favor, namely to follow through on his promise but not until after the elder Caliph’s own death. If his son were to die while he was still Caliph, his son would be revered and honored and that was something he did not deserve, nor did the elder Caliph wish to see.
Nick had planned to deal with the young Al Zahrani during the buildup of the elder Caliph’s plan. His being elevated, unwittingly by his peers, as the new Caliph meant that Nick would never deliver on his promise. There was only one reason the new Caliph was visiting the training camp and that was to kill Nick before Nick had the chance to kill him.
Nick piled the vests into a box and with a prayer to Allah for assistance, he lifted the box and continued on with the plan. He needed to show just how faithful the followers had to be to follow him into battle.
Chapter 45
Deputy Director Turner grabbed a few hours of sleep on the couch in the corner of his office. Going home just wasn’t an option. Much like Reid, he lived for the job. He’d soon discovered that that did not sit wel
l with marriage. Not many women were willing to be the second most important thing in their husband’s life, certainly not the two who had tried to be.
A knock on his office door at 6:00 a.m. was accompanied by the morning newspapers. This particular wake-up call was guaranteed to get him moving. The front pages of the nationals were covered in the image of the Ebola victim’s last breaths. It was a headline that would see America waking up to a vile reality if Turner failed to stop Nick Geller.
Turner grabbed the remote, turned on the TV and selected one of the 24/7 news channels. The scrolling bar had changed; it no longer scrolled the news of the Vice President’s death or the President’s recovery. Their leader’s health was old news. The death of the first terrorist victim from a deadly virus that threatened the world, including America, was now scrolling the news banner. The newscast cut to a supermarket with a few people queuing for the opening of the store, not an uncommon occurrence. However, the headline was that lines were beginning to form as people digested the news of the upcoming pandemic.
The shit was always going to hit the fan. They had managed three days without too much pressure. The media had cooperated as requested, and played down the virus, and in any event, had more than enough to keep the airwaves busy with the Vice President’s killing, the injury to the President and the destruction of the West Wing. Day Four, however, was obviously the tipping point. News had slowed down and ratings counted. Fear drove a need for knowledge, and hence ratings. What better than a disease about to kill us all in the hands of Al Qaeda and a mad American soldier?
Capturing Nick Geller and the virus would kill the story dead. Killing Nick Geller, along with the virus, would also kill the story dead. Killing Nick Geller without killing the virus would make the story more sensational. If Nick didn’t have the virus, there were seven billion people on the planet at risk. With that thought, Turner rushed from his office. He needed to get Carson on board. They couldn’t kill Nick without knowing if he had the virus on him.
Turner crashed into the DoD office that Carson had sequestered for his personal use. It was empty. There was a sofa in the corner and, much like his own office, there was a blanket cast aside. Carson had slept there too. He rushed back onto the gangway and looked down into the operations center, which had filled significantly since he had left for his sleep. Carson, however, was not hard to spot. He stood directly in front of the main screen with a number of operatives reacting to his every movement and command. More worryingly, the view on the screen was one similar to that of a computer game screen. A crosshair surrounded by circles was overlaid on the landscape of the desert floor. It didn’t take a genius to realize that they were watching the view from the cockpit of one of the F18 jets.
“Harry!” shouted Turner, racing down the metal staircase, brushing aside those in his wake.
Carson turned around nonchalantly as Turner careened towards him.
“Don’t shoot!” Turner said, pleading for him to call off the attack. “We need to know if he’s got the virus on him.”
“He will have,” assured Carson.
“But you can’t guarantee that!’ wheezed Turner, catching his breath.
Carson shrugged. “Not 100%, granted, but enough to be comfortable to say ‘fire’ when we get the shot.”
Turner looked at the screen, willing there to be no target. The crosshairs remained on a blank and barren landscape. There was still time. He grabbed his cell and dialed his boss, the FBI Director, at, home. It was just after 6:00 am. but he was an early riser. He could ask the President to stop Turner.
While the phone rang, Carson walked away towards his office.
Turner dropped the phone from his ear. “Where are you going?”
“To catch some sleep,” replied Carson evenly.
An irritated voice was yelling ‘Hello? Hello??’ from the handset now at Turner’s hip.
“But the attack?” Turner said, pointing to the screen.
Carson laughed, now understanding Turner’s confusion. “That’s the Hawkeye’s camera, not a fighter’s. Nothing’s happened yet. Still plenty of time to try and overrule me,” he added with a wink, pointing to the handset Turner was holding from which the irate voice emanated.
Chapter 46
The C40B taxied across the Abu Simbel runway and drew up next to the only other aircraft at the airport. The Boeing V22 Osprey had two oversized propellers and stubby wings. Frankie had seen one before but from the look on Reid’s face, she hadn’t.
“The wings rotate so it can work like a helicopter as well,” she explained as they walked down the aircraft steps.
“Ah, I see,” said Reid staring at the strange looking machine. “We’re not going on it though are we?”
“Ladies, Barry sends his regards,” offered the soldier that awaited them at the bottom of the stairs.
Frankie involuntary shivered at the mention of his name.
Reid noticed and just managed to stop herself from having the same reaction. However, Barry didn’t look at Reid the way he looked at Frankie. “You’ve never met Barry, have you?” she asked of the soldier.
“No,” he said.
“Trust me,” she replied, “you don’t want to be handing out his regards.”
Frankie nodded wholeheartedly and the soldier got the point. “Ladies, welcome to Abu Simbel, your chariot awaits. I believe you have some amateurs that want to tag along?” he said with a smile, as Flynn appeared with the Delta team ready for action at the top of the aircraft stairs.
Smiles and high fives were shared amongst the CIA and Delta teams, many of them having worked together before. All joking and rivalry was set aside. As consummate professionals, they were on the same team and would have each other’s backs. The twenty assembled men made up a fearsome team. They would die to save one another, irrespective of who issued their paycheck, DoD or CIA.
Frankie and Reid were suited up in body armor before being allowed anywhere near the Osprey. Once kitted out to the level required by the Delta and CIA team leaders, the Osprey took off. They were just over two hundred and fifty miles from the coordinates and thanks to the Osprey’s capability, just under one hour away and able to land anywhere they wanted.
Flynn and the two team leaders pored over the charts that had been created over the previous few hours. The satellite imagery had been mapped and rises and falls in the landscape plotted to allow a 3D image of the terrain. A plan was formulated. Points were selected for fire teams and other areas selected for exit and entry of assault teams. With thirty minutes to spare, they repeated the exercise and were pleased to see that they still agreed with everything they had already planned. They were good to go.
Chapter 47
The training camp was spread along a valley on the desert floor. Its natural walls obscured the camp’s structures, other than from above where their natural coloring ensured only the most observant viewers would see anything unless viewed in very high definition. At one end, the valley swept up on three sides from the desert floor, creating a perfect natural amphitheater and location for Nick to carry out his exercise to maximum effect.
Nick stepped into the center of the natural stage and surveyed the hundreds of jihadists crowding on the slope, desperate to prove their worth to him. He laid his box down and turned to face the twenty men Ibrahim had selected. As Nick suspected, Ibrahim, aware that some of his men may not survive, had selected men for their fanaticism, not for their ability. Nick had watched many of the groups train in the few hours he’d been there and none of these men had stood out in anything he had witnessed.
“Ibrahim!” he shouted. “You have selected well, my brother. All of these men, I am sure, are more than happy to die for Allah but that will not be today!”
Nick dismissed them with a wave and began to lay out the vests. Each vest was wired with a detonator switch which Nick carefully placed down on the ground, ensuring he didn’t trigger any in the process.
From the bottom of the box he produced a small
video camera that he set up on a tripod. He selected a view that offered no clue as to their location and tightened the bolts to stop the camera from moving. A further check offered a perfect view of the crowd as a backdrop. Nick paced forward and drew a cross in the desert floor with his foot. Once again, he checked the camera’s view and, happy with his work, he turned to an audience that was transfixed by his every move.
“Gentlemen! Today I am going to offer a number of you the opportunity to strike fear into the heart of every American! You are going to join our founder and father, the Caliph and Allah in paradise! They are, as we speak, preparing your seventy-two virgins!” he shouted to a great cheer.
Nick, with his aging hair disguise removed, stepped in front of the camera and with a small remote, hit ‘Record’.
“Ladies and gentlemen of America,” he began, before once again spouting a hate-filled tirade at America’s excesses and abuses and describing in detail how they had witnessed the death of the Ebola victim. This, he promised, was only one part of what was to befall America. He motioned towards the army of men behind him and promised they were coming to a street near them soon, armed with machine guns, explosives and a desire to die for their cause.
“It is that desire that I wish to demonstrate to you today,” he said, ending his diatribe to the camera. He turned to his audience and asked for volunteers. Every hand in the audience was raised. Nick paused the recording.
He then selected, much to Ibrahim’s disappointment, fifteen of the most impressive men he had witnessed during training, along with the benefactor’s son and his four friends. Not surprisingly, the benefactor’s son and friends were in no way eager to join the suicide party.
“I’m sorry, but these men are not ready,” Ibrahim said, stepping closer.
Traitor Page 15
