“About the rape?” asked Carson. “I don’t know. But I can tell you it was more serious than we knew between them.”
“How serious?” Carson made an arc motion over his stomach.
“Jesus, Harry,” he said shaking his head. “Once this is all done, she can’t come back on the detail, you know that. She’s on the investigation because otherwise she’d be in an office pushing papers across a desk and she’s too damn fine an agent to do that. And you’re telling me she’s pregnant with his child?! What the fuck is Geller doing?”
Harry shook his head. “Mr. President, he didn’t know she was pregnant.”
“Do you think he would have done this if he had known?”
“Honestly, Mr. President, yes, I think he would have.”
Chapter 56
Two lights flashed brightly on the shoreline lighting up the blackness of the horizon and another three followed shortly after, signaling all was well. Ibrahim and Nick thanked the freighter captain who, over the course of the day had ferried them across the Red Sea and boarded the small ribbed inflatable that had been launched for them. A short, fast run deposited them on the beach just south of the main Yemeni Red Sea port of Al Hudaydah. Nick stepped ashore and helped the unsteady Ibrahim from the inflatable, both nearly falling into the warm Red Sea waters as Ibrahim proved just how uncomfortable a seafarer he was. A mountain fighter, born and bred, Ibrahim was very happy to be reacquainted with dry land, kneeling down and kissing the sand beneath his feet.
The almost moonless sky offered little natural light but a further two flashes followed by one short flash guided them towards their welcome party who awaited them at the far end of the beach. Nick led the way as they approached the seemingly lone representative of the Yemeni branch of Al Qaeda. Stepping forward to offer his greetings resulted in an expertly trained and well-maneuvered appearance of a further ten heavily armed and masked men. Unfortunately for Nick and Ibrahim, their weapons were raised against them.
Caught entirely unawares, Nick and Ibrahim had little option but to surrender, such was the precision and professionalism of the move. Nick’s heart fell. The US or the Israelis must have intercepted their landings and hijacked the situation to catch him.
The sack over their heads and binding on their hands, all done in total silence by their captors, certainly enforced that belief. The subsequent marching towards a group of vehicles and the careful guidance into the back seats of separate vehicles gave Nick some hope. Had it been Americans, he most certainly would have not been treated with such care after shooting the President and killing the Vice President. And if it had been the Israelis, he’d have more likely been bundled into the boot, probably breaking a few ribs in the process.
Nick tried to engage in conversation with his captors to no avail. During what Nick guessed to be around a two-hour drive, not one word was uttered from any of the four men accompanying him in the vehicle. By the time they arrived at their destination, Nick was no further forward in understanding who had captured them. However, the level of professionalism of his immediate watchers was once again leaning his guess towards a government of a yet to be determined country. Of course, given Nick’s position, there were very few countries that would be friendly to his cause and he had already ruled out the most likely of those. All of their captors stood at least six feet tall, blowing every statistic out of the water for the vertically challenged North Koreans who, on average, stood at five and a half feet.
A metal shutter clattered behind them when the vehicle doors opened. Nick listened intently for any clues as to their location. Beyond the metal doors, he heard busy street noises. If he were correct and it had been a two-hour drive, that would mean it was 5 a.m. local time and he guessed he was hearing the morning street traders preparing for business in Sana’a, the capital of Yemen. However, there was always the chance they had driven him around aimlessly for two hours and they had actually stayed in Al Hudaydah and he was hearing the busy port area. Whatever the case, wherever he was, it wasn’t good.
Led once again carefully through a number of doorways and corridors, Nick was guided into a chair. A door then closed behind him, leaving Nick alone with his thoughts. Worryingly, a TV was playing in the corner, tuned to the English language version of CNN. Nick feared the worst. He had failed.
Seconds became minutes, which became hours. The TV kept him up to date with current headlines from across the world. Despite being the CNN worldwide edition, it seemed that little else was happening other than Nick’s exploits and the impact they were having on the United States which, in short, was devastating. Panic buying had led to major shortages across the country while air travel had plummeted to post 9/11 levels. Hospitals were inundated with people convinced they were suffering from the Ebola virus.
Nick smiled beneath his hood as he listened to the impact of his videos and actions, exactly as they had predicted and planned.
Almost on cue, the door opened and Nick’s hood was removed. The brightness of the room pained his eyes but they soon focused on the masked man who sat across from him.
“Nick Geller?” the masked man asked rhetorically. His accent was English, upper class English. The Secret Intelligence Service, Britain’s CIA, employed more than its fair share of well groomed gentlemen, many having been recruited from the two premier British universities, Oxford and Cambridge.
Nick stared more closely at his captor. The eyes were brown, Arab brown. Those same Universities educated many of the oil rich Arabs. Nick put his feelings of despair on hold. All may not be lost.
He nodded his head in acknowledgement of his name.
“You have made quite an impact in your few days on the run, haven’t you?”
Nick stayed silent.
“But it can’t be ignored that we lost our leader in that time,” said the man pointedly.
Nick thanked Allah. He was in the hands of friends. He just had to prove to them he was a friend.
“My brother, you have me at a disadvantage. You know me but I do not know you,” said Nick, his tone friendly and warm.
“And nor will you until I know you are trustworthy,” came the reply. “Bring them in!” he shouted.
The door opened and two men were brought into the room, both dressed in full length black gowns. They were also hooded and appeared to be struggling against the bindings holding their hands behind their backs. Another masked man joined them holding a video camera.
“Start recording,” instructed the well-spoken terrorist.
A small red light began to blink on the camera.
“Mr. Geller, before you are two men. One is the man you arrived with, a man you claim as a brother, Ibrahim. The other is an American, a member of staff from the American embassy who we kidnapped earlier this morning. You don’t know which is which.”
The man laid a pistol down on the table and stood up, walking slowly around Nick until he stood behind him. He then produced a knife and cut off his bindings, freeing Nick’s hands.
Nick wrung his hands briefly to regain the blood flow and then snapped forward, catching his captors off guard with his speed and retrieving the pistol. Feeling for the safety, he ensured it was off and then pointed the pistol at the hooded men, shooting them both cleanly through the head. Both fell to the ground as Nick replaced the pistol on the table in front of his captors, engaging the safety in the process.
Chapter 57
Friday 11th July
Turner heard the sirens. He had failed. Nick Geller and his army of suicidal terrorists were attacking Washington D.C. Turner ran to the White House. He had failed to defend the country but he wasn’t going to fail to defend his president. The Army and police had their defenses in place as the hordes descended upon them. Thousands of Arabs charged towards the White House on camels, their curving swords slashing the air as they rode to their death. The sirens blared again.
Turner opened his eyes, his phone ringing. He looked at the bedside alarm clock. It was 1:00 a.m. He had barely bee
n asleep for an hour. The phone’s ringtone must have been the siren in his dreams. He lifted the handset.
“Yes?”
“Deputy Director Turner, I’m sorry to have woken you but I think you need to see the video we’ve just received. I’ve emailed it to you,” said the night supervisor at NCTC.
“Hmm, yes, okay,” he replied.
Opening the attachment and seeing Nick Geller being held captive had him wide awake instantly. Watching him execute the two men, one of whom was supposedly an American, was one of the most chilling things he had ever seen in his life.
Turner dialed the supervisor back.
“Get everyone in now!” he demanded. “Have you sent this to Carson?”
“Yes but I’ve not been able to reach him!”
“Keep trying! Do we know who the American was?”
“No details yet but we’re looking.”
“News blackout. I don’t want this getting out until we know who it was and the family has been informed.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, sir. This one went viral instantly. Whoever posted this knew what they were doing.”
“Shit! I’ll be there in twenty!” He hung up, grabbed some clothes, and dressed himself as he ran to the car.
Frankie’s was the first face he saw as he walked into the center. She was pacing nervously across the reception area. She looked at him in anticipation of a reaction. He rushed past her while asking, “Have you seen the video?”
Frankie nodded gloomily.
Turner pushed on towards the center’s operations floor, holding the door for Frankie, who hadn’t moved. He paused and looked back at her. She looked like a child who had just broken something and was waiting to be yelled at.
“Is there something wrong?” he asked.
“Al Zahrani?” she asked.
He shrugged.
“What I did to him?” she asked, almost irritated, not understanding why he wasn’t reacting.
“You took him to Gitmo?”
“Well yes and—”
“Good morning, people!” bellowed Carson, rushing into the middle of the conversation, grabbing Frankie by the elbow and propelling her with him towards the door being held open by Turner.
“So they found you?” asked Turner questioningly.
“At the White House, with President Mitchell,” replied Carson. “I just need five minutes with Frankie.”
Turner nodded and followed them into the operations center, taking his place in the center of the room while Carson escorted a silenced Frankie up onto the gangway and into his office.
Once again, he uncharacteristically shut the door behind him; it was becoming a habit, one he didn’t like. Open doors allowed him to hear what was happening outside his office.
“Nobody knows about,” he looked down to his crotch area, not wanting to say the words.
“Not nobody!” argued Frankie. “The CIA team, the surgeon in Gibraltar, Al Zahrani, you and me.”
“And President Mitchell.”
“Oh God! What did he say?” she asked, slumping into a seat and burying her head in her hands.
“That’s my girl.” Carson smiled. “That’s what he said, or words to that effect.”
Frankie’s head snapped up. “He’s not furious?”
“He’s amazed you left him alive. He’s not sure he would have.”
“So who knows about what he did to me as a child?”
“Only me and the President. I guess the CIA guys may put two and two together but they’ve not been told why you did what you did.”
“Obviously I’ll resign unless, of course, you’re firing me, which I’d completely understand.”
Carson shook his head. “You’ll do no such thing. The President wants you to stay on the investigation team.”
“That makes no sense! I’m Nick Geller’s girlfriend,” she said, adding quickly, “well, ex-girlfriend. And I’ve just mutilated a prisoner in our custody!”
“All true, as is the fact that you’re a damn fine agent who, through no fault of her own, fell for a man who has betrayed his country. As I told you before, Nick has fooled far more people than just you. As for Al Zahrani, nobody is talking and he certainly won’t be.”
“And if he does or people do?”
“The President personally called each of the CIA agents and the surgeon. They are not talking and if by any chance anyone ever did, Al Zahrani is a pedophile who was the head of Al Qaeda. You’ll be a national hero and the President would gain points at the polls, not lose them.”
“It still doesn’t feel right.”
“You’d rather be at home?”
She shook her head.
“Do you want to help catch Nick?”
“I want to stop him!”
“Good, well get down there and help. You know him better than anyone.”
“Well I thought I did,” she said, opening Carson’s door. “Open or closed?” she asked as she went through the doorway.
“Open, thanks.”
Frankie arrived back in the heart of the center as the video of Nick executing the two robed men was once again playing on the large screen.
“Any idea who the American was?”
“None. We’ve not had any kidnappings and as far as we’re aware, there are no Americans missing anywhere.”
“So they’re lying?” asked Frankie.
“It would appear so,” replied Turner. He turned towards the night supervisor. “So are we absolutely sure it’s not an American then?”
“We know one hundred percent that it wasn’t an embassy staffer. We’ve accounted for every one of them and all of their family members.”
“But it could still be an American?”
“We can’t say one hundred percent but we have no reports of any person missing. There’s always the chance they’ve picked up a lone backpacker but they clearly stated that the American was a member of staff from the embassy. And that is not true.”
““Alright then,” said Turner, “let’s get a statement out there that they’re lying.”
“I’ve just spoken with President Mitchell and Defense Secretary Hammond. We’re not putting a statement out,” said Carson loudly, joining the group.
“Why the hell would we not show them to be liars?” argued Turner to a number of nods from around him.
“Two reasons. First, they’ll deny it and suggest we’re lying, meaning no one will know who is telling the truth and before you know it, everyone thinks someone’s died and that we’re trying to cover it up and even our own people won’t believe us. And secondly, more importantly, if we do say they’re lying, there’s every chance every American in the Middle East will become a target to be kidnapped, killed and portrayed on TV as the person that they killed, just to prove us wrong.”
“Reason one is bullshit. We should always tell the truth!” said Turner, holding up his index finger, before raising his middle finger. “Reason two, yep, they would and as such, fuck reason one. Shit!”
“So they didn’t kill an American but we will let the world believe they did?” asked Frankie, clarifying the position to nods from both Carson and Turner.
“So was that real or a set up with Nick?” she asked.
“I think that was real,” replied Carson. “I think Nick was being tested by the group to check he was legit. The tape being broadcast material is a bonus. Nick certainly shows how ruthless and cold a killer he is on that tape and how devoted he is to their cause.”
“By killing one of their own?”
“No,” answered Turner. “You have to think like them. He has told the jihadists he has been given a mission. This video is more powerful because he cold-bloodedly killed someone he cares about. He’s showing that no one man is bigger than the cause, that sacrifices are part of that cause and he just made one to prove himself and to allow him to complete the path he laid out with the Caliph and Allah.”
“Exactly,” said Carson. “The American is immaterial. The far more
powerful message is killing a man he called a brother, at least to the faithful that they’re recruiting. By disputing an American died, we’d not only not water down the message, but we’d likely get a few Americans killed.”
“And you think they knew that from the start?” asked Frankie.
“Who knows? But I can tell you one thing for sure, Nick would have.”
“So you think there was a chance it was staged,” surmised Frankie, grasping onto the hope that the man she had already written off was not as coldhearted as the tape showed.
“No,” replied Carson.
Chapter 58
“Stop taping!” ordered the masked man as Nick placed the pistol back on the table.
The man who had just freed Nick from his bindings removed the gun from Nick’s reach, finding it difficult to take his eyes off the two bodies that lay on the floor to his right. The speed with which Nick had acted had surprised him. There had been no time taken to consider what the course of action should be, he had just acted. He took two lives without a second thought for who they were or whether they deserved to die. He had just simply extinguished their lives like swatting a fly.
Taking his original seat and ensuring the camera had stopped rolling, he removed his mask.
Nick stared into the man’s face. He had no idea who he was.
“I am Prince Abdullah bin Fahd Al Khaled’s nephew. My name is Walid,” he offered as a greeting. “My uncle sends his greetings.”
“Your uncle is a great man and true believer in the cause,” Nick stated. “It was his help that secured my escape from America.”
Walid nodded, indicating he knew all about it.
“He wasn’t too inconvenienced after I jumped from his plane I hope?”
“Between you and me, he loved every minute of it, although the Americans are watching him very closely now. I will be your contact now. Anything you need from him, I will arrange for you. I believe you returned the monies he sent you?”
“Just a little diversion,” smiled Nick.
Traitor Page 19
