Walid smiled briefly before moving the conversation on. “He apologizes for the need to test you. However, after the new Caliph was tracked and captured, suspicions were raised and it was agreed that a test of your allegiance was required.”
“Your uncle wasn’t worried I would kill you and the cameraman?”
Walid shook his head. “My uncle never doubted you. He assured me I would be safe in your presence, that you would understand the test and pass it with ease. He did not tell me just how easily, however,” he said, once again looking at the two bodies on the floor. “It was others, more powerful in the leadership, that were worried you may have led the authorities to Caliph Al Zahrani.”
Nick looked at the bodies, both were still covered in black robes but Ibrahim’s feet were clearly visible, as were the feet of the other body. “Perhaps another room would be more appropriate,” he suggested, noting how often Walid glanced down at the bodies.
Walid almost leaped out of his seat at the suggestion, keen to remove himself from the unpleasant smell that had invaded the room following the killings and the ensuing bodily fluids that had slowly leaked onto the floor around them.
“This way,” he said, leading Nick out of the room and along a series of corridors to an elevator. Arriving at the top floor of the building, they stepped out into a palatial corridor that led to an extravagant apartment overlooking the city below.
Nick moved towards the feature floor-to-ceiling windows and looked over a city he recognized. “Sana’a?”
Walid nodded, pouring Nick an Arabian coffee from an extremely ornate gold coffee jug.
“I see you have your uncle’s taste.”
Walid shook his head. “No, this is one of my uncle’s apartments. He throws his wealth a little too much in your face for my taste.”
“Yes, he does,” agreed Nick looking around at the gaudiness of the apartment, exactly as you would expect the inside of an Arabian palace to look like. The only problem was that they were in a modern apartment building.
Walid took a sip of the coffee. “I’m sorry about your friend Ibrahim.”
“He was a good man, a great warrior and a good friend,” reminisced Nick. “But he died for the cause. As pointless as his death seems, it was for the greater cause. I must complete the Caliph’s plan. That is why I am here and it is what Allah wants me to do. Whatever has to be done to achieve that is part of his greater plan. Ibrahim is with the Caliph and Allah and that was the path Allah wanted him to take.”
Walid nodded as he spoke. “And the American?”
Nick smirked. “He’s with Allah too, isn’t he?” he said to a surprised Walid.
“No, he was an infidel!” Walid insisted, a slight tinge of anger in his voice.
“If you mean the American you had me kill, no. Any other American, I would agree but not that American.”
Walid took a step back. “You knew?”
“Only when the man fell to the ground. His feet gave him away. Those were not the feet of an American who worked at the American embassy. Those were the feet of a man who wore sandals his whole life, a poor Arab man’s feet.”
“A thief that was captured in the market,” explained Walid.
“May I see the video?”
Walid shrugged, seeing no reason why not. He made a call and the video card was brought to them, already inserted into a laptop.
Nick hit ‘Play’ and watched the scene play out. “What were the plans for this?”
“It was to be sent to a number of high ranking leaders across the various organizations that you are trying to bring together.”
“You mean the leaders that the Caliph and Allah wished to bring together. I am merely the conduit,” corrected Nick. “I would not want to take the Caliph’s grand plan as my own.”
“Of course not.”
“I have a better idea for this video, which will strike even greater fear into the Americans,” said Nick, watching the shootings again.
“But we didn’t shoot an American from the embassy.”
“Irrelevant. If they dispute it, we shoot an American and display the dead body for the world to see. We’ll prove the Americans to be liars.”
“And if they don’t?”
“The American people will fear us even more!”
Walid nodded as he thought through the logic. “I will tell the leadership of your plan and see what they say.”
It had not taken long for the OK to come back for the video to be sent out to news agencies.
“Excellent. Send it to Al Jazeera,” said Nick.
Walid spun the laptop back to himself. “I can do better than that,” he said. “I have a doctorate in Computing Science from Oxford.”
Nick was not surprised, and guessed that most of Walid’s youth had been spent in the more expensive establishments of the British education system. His accent certainly suggested it. He was, however, surprised at the doctorate, he would not have put Walid at more than twenty-five years old.
Walid’s fingers flashed across the keyboard for the next few minutes until he spun the laptop back around to face Nick. A number of screens were open: Facebook, You Tube, Twitter and many others that Nick had never heard of.
“The video is now the top trending video on each of these sites,” he announced proudly.
“But how did you do that?” asked Nick. He knew enough about the internet to know that was no small feat.
“As I said, I have a doctorate in Computer Science.”
Nick looked at him, unconvinced. Many people had a similar doctorate and couldn’t do what Walid had just done.
“It helps that my billionaire uncle is a major shareholder in all of these companies. It allows his nephew, who manages his tech stocks, a little more access than the average user.”
“But traceable?” asked Nick urgently, wondering if Walid had forgotten himself in his quest to impress him.
“That’s where the doctorate comes in,” he smiled.
“So what’s the plan now?” asked Nick.
“It would appear that your dreams have come true. Sorry, the Caliph’s dreams,” corrected Walid. “I am to take you to a meeting of the leaders of all the jihadist groups. It looks like the plan to create one army fighting for Allah is becoming a reality!”
Nick beamed.
Chapter 59
With no American apparently having been killed, the center quieted as the team, roused from their beds, tried to grab some much needed shuteye. Most of them had worked almost non-stop since Nick Geller had started his crazed plan to destroy the western world. However, any time any of them felt as though the pace or working hours were too much, a trip home made it clear just how vital their role in catching Nick Geller had become. America was a nation living in fear.
Food and fuel was scarce. Hospitals were overrun with perfectly healthy people convinced they were dying. Shopping malls and cinema complexes were suffering as the general public avoided places that involved large gatherings, unless absolutely necessary. The country was suffering and the terrorists hadn’t even begun their attack.
Carson was in no mood for sleep. His conversation with the President had not gone as well as he had implied. Once discussion had turned to the dire issues facing the nation, it became apparent that the President was under severe political pressure for an early resolution to the threat.
With just about every available asset across the US’ Intelligence community being put to use in the hunt for Nick Geller, it was beyond Carson as to what more they could do. Although Geller posed the most overwhelming threat to the nation, other threats still had to be monitored. Carson was reminded by the intelligence community of that exact issue every time he drafted more resources into the hunt. Ass-covering emails from heads of department littered his inbox. For decades, Harry Carson had avoided just such a situation. If the shit hit the fan, he would be nowhere to be seen. In the Nick Geller hunt, if the shit hit the fan, Harry Carson would be buried up to his neck in it, if he was lucky and wa
y beyond if he wasn’t.
With another day of disappointment looming, Carson headed back to his office and lay on the couch. He hadn’t even had time to pull the blanket over himself when he was disturbed.
“Harry?” said Turner, rushing into Carson’s office.
“Yes,” he replied, not bothering to open his eyes.
“Speaker Lopez—”
“I’m just catching a few minutes rest.”
“No, you don’t understand, she’s here.”
“Here? As in, here?” Carson asked, sitting up sharply.
“Not in the building yet but she’s outside and she’s brought the press with her!”
Carson, defying his age, jumped off the sofa and rushed out of the room, almost knocking over Turner in the process. Speaker Maria Lopez had been one of the main topics of conversation with the President. She was making huge political gains against him. It seemed inevitable that she would contest the presidency at the next election.
The President had had to make cuts across the government and although the intelligence community had been one of the least affected, in real terms – as Speaker Lopez made sure everyone was aware – the budget had been cut. As a result, they had lost a Vice President, the West Wing, and the President had been injured. They also faced the greatest threat to the American people since the Cold War. She was already promising an inflation-busting increase to the intelligence community to ensure the safety of each and every American. Where she was going to find the money was anyone’s guess because it just wasn’t there. However, her poll ratings were looking good and she wasn’t going to let reality spoil her opportunity.
Carson hit the gangway and looked down on the sleeping masses that filled the center below.
“Fuck!” He whirled around to Turner behind him. “Delay her! I need to get this place buzzing! They’ll crucify us if pictures get out of half the agents asleep at work!”
“But they shouldn’t even be here! They were pulled in through the night to help, they’re just catching some sleep before their shifts!”
“I know that and you know that and I’ll bet Lopez knows it too, but do you think the American people will ever get to know that when they see the footage?!” Carson was taking the steps three at a time as he rushed to the main floor to wake up the staff. He could see how Lopez would claim that she was coming to offer her support but instead found the center half asleep and failing in its duty to protect the American people.
“And Turner,” he said, as they passed each other, “we need to find the fucker who contacted Lopez and set us up!”
***
“Deputy Director Turner,” beamed Speaker Lopez, as Turner walked calmly out of the NCTC main entrance into the warm darkness.
“Madame Speaker,” he offered with an equally radiant smile in return.
Turner noted the Secret Service agents that surrounded her, which reminded him that no Vice President had been announced. He hadn’t had time to keep up to date with the national news.
“Let’s walk and talk,” she said, aiming for the center with the camera crews in tow.
“Have you been here before? I could give you a tour of the complex,” he offered. However, she continued unabated. She definitely knew the center was half asleep.
Steamrolling through the reception area, she checked the camera crews were ready and filming her entrance through the main doors into the operations center.
Turner cursed. He hadn’t been able to stop her and give Carson the time to get all the staff up and at their stations. She’d walk in to half the staff in the process of being woken up. It was not going to play well and the President was going to get hammered even further for lack of progress. And Turner, more importantly, would not see the inside of the building, nor any federal building ever again.
Pulsing sound waves in his ear were the first sign that things hadn’t gone as planned for the Speaker. The blaring sirens drove everybody out of the building for fear that their eardrums would explode such was the overwhelming and piercing noise. Turner was met by a wave of fleeing staff and a quietly smiling Carson.
Carson shouted at the security staff to apprehend every journalist that had accompanied the Speaker. The Speaker was rushed to her car by the Secret Service, her feet barely touching the ground. Before she had a chance to say a word to camera, her car was already speeding her away from whatever potential danger existed in the center.
With the press corralled into one area by security and the building emptied, the sirens were eventually and much to everyone’s relief silenced.
Carson marched over, fury etched on his face as he approached the waiting press. “Every one of you will be searched and your equipment confiscated!” he shouted as the cameras rolled. “Our explosives sensors just went wild and caused an evacuation! We don’t have time for this bullshit! What the hell was Speaker Lopez thinking?!”
Walking back towards the building, Turner caught up with him. “What explosives sensors?” he asked quietly, out of earshot of anyone else and well away from the very distressed looking press pack.
“The ones that we’ll install very quietly later today,” smiled Carson. The Speaker was going to be back in her box for at least a little while. The press was going to destroy her for her attempts at politicizing the crisis and impacting the search for the terrorists.
Chapter 60
Saturday 12th July
The journey after leaving the apartment block was far more comfortable than Nick’s journey on the way there. A blacked-out Bentley Continental chauffeured them in comfort to Sana’a international airport. The Bentley pulled up next to a Cessna Citation X jet that was fueled and ready to fly. Nick walked the short distance to the jet, obscured from any potential onlookers. His ever-present small metal briefcase took a seat next to him, while Walid took the one opposite.
“Your uncle’s?” asked Nick, noting the garish and extravagant décor.
“A cousin’s, actually. My uncle’s aircraft are being heavily monitored at the moment.”
Nick turned his attention to the featureless view outside the window. Looking out onto the desert around them, his mind quickly returned to the Caliph’s plan. The meeting of the main leaders of the jihadist groups was happening much quicker than he had anticipated. He had expected a far more difficult sell, given his history and background. However, his actions and the impact they had had on American society could not have been predicted, nor could they be questioned. America was living in a fear even greater than it had experienced after 9/11 and it was not a chance they wished to pass up on.
The small jet rocketed down the runway and leapt into the sky. Nick closed his eyes and the next time he opened them, the vast expanse of desert had been replaced with the vast mountain ranges of Spin Ghar, towering above the jet as they made their final approach into Parachinar airport in Western Pakistan. The jet landed on the floor of the Kummar valley, enclosed on three sides by the snowcapped mountains of Afghanistan.
“Stunning, aren’t they?” asked Walid, his face pressed against the window.
“Yes,” replied Nick halfheartedly, not looking out again. The mountain ranges brought back memories he’d rather stayed in the past. The Battle of Tora Bora had been fought on those very mountains not long after 9/11 and had been the first time Nick had had to engage Al Qaeda and the Taliban. It was not a period in his life he wished to remember for many reasons.
“Have you been here before?” asked Walid.
“Yes.” He stood up, lifted his metal briefcase and walked towards the exit, not waiting for Walid.
Walid grabbed his things and joined him. “Bad?”
“Not something I want to talk about,” replied Nick. “But let’s just say it’s one of the reasons I’m here today.”
“Understood,” said Walid. “You’ll be pleased to hear that we’re staying in the valley this time,” he said, leading the way as the door opened to reveal a SUV awaiting their arrival.
Nick kept his face pointed t
o the ground as he covered the short distance to the SUV, which wasted no time setting off. The road soon disappeared as the driver favored an off-road route which, as Walid had said, headed south. It took less than an hour for them to arrive at a desolate looking farmhouse on the banks of the Kurram River. The SUV drove beyond the farmhouse and was guided by a waiting man into a large and just as shabby looking barn. The barn was already packed with a number of other vehicles. The driver squeezed in the SUV and, safely out of sight of any passing satellite or drones, he unlocked the doors for his passengers.
“Larbi will take you across to the meeting,” said the driver, pointing to the man who had guided them into the barn.
Nick stepped out of the SUV and took a gulp of air. The enormity of what he was about to do finally hit him. He had promised the Caliph he would deliver and he now had the chance to do that. The men that could make the plan a reality were sitting, waiting for him, just yards away.
Larbi ushered them on, raising a hand to stop Walid when they neared the farmhouse door while beckoning Nick forward.
Nick looked at Walid, who looked as confused as Nick did.
“Walid?” asked Nick.
Walid shrugged. “I was told to come with you.”
Larbi ushered Nick forward towards the door where a number of guards surrounded the entrance.
Nick’s plan was foolproof up to a point. The point being that he had to stay alive to deliver it. A crushing feeling hit him when the door opened to reveal a wooden block in the center of a large room. An executioner stood by its side brandishing a gleaming scimitar. That was not the sight Nick had hoped for. The men he had hoped to meet were in the room but rather than around a table, they were lining the walls smiling at him and beckoning him to join them in the room.
Before he had a chance to consider their offer, two guards grabbed him from behind and propelled him into the room. Nick considered fighting back but the odds were just too overwhelming. He didn’t stand a chance.
Traitor Page 20
