Ibrahim had been another of the men he had met on that fateful night in Afghanistan a year earlier; another man whose family had lived thanks to Nick’s quick thinking. A former Pakistani soldier, Ibrahim had joined the cause to fight the infidels who were destroying their world. Meeting Nick had been a turning point for Ibrahim, a young raw soldier. He’d been destined to join many of his friends and family in an early grave. Under Nick’s tutelage, however, he had grown to become a feared warrior, leading and training warriors of the future. It was thanks to Nick that he had been sent to the Sudanese camp to train their newest and most promising recruits to continue the struggle.
“Impressive!’ said Nick focusing on the many men before them in the desert.
“Thanks to you, my brother, we select only the most devoted and most capable, just as you instructed us,” replied Ibrahim proudly, watching the men go through a further exercise routine before they would be rewarded with breakfast.
Nick turned towards the body of the camp and spotted the group that had met him at the aircraft and gestured toward them, squinting his face in question.
“Hmm, yes, a rich benefactor’s wayward son and friends,” he explained. “Even within our cause we have to play the political game.”
“Send them home. They have no place in our army,” said Nick.
Ibrahim shook his head. “I have tried, brother. The boy’s father is too powerful. They are here on the request of the new Caliph.”
Nick paused. He had not known a new Caliph had been selected. A number of candidates had stepped forward to fill the shoes of Zahir Al Zahrani, the Caliph he had assassinated. These candidates would follow Al Zahrani’s path of uniting the jihadist world to form one united and far stronger army. A few far more radical candidates favored a much more insular approach, by increasing the number of low scale attacks to initiate a war of terror from within America. They all seemed to agree that the war needed to be taken to the Americans; it was just the methodology that differed. Nick’s plan rested on the grand-scale approach. He had hoped to have achieved consensus before a new Caliph was announced, during the mourning period, and ultimately in the memory and honor of Caliph Zahir Al Zahrani. Nick had made promises to Caliph Al Zahrani that he had every intention of keeping. A new Caliph could put an end to everything, particularly if he disagreed with unification.
“I am speaking out of turn, the decision has not yet been finalized,” said Ibrahim, regretting his indiscretion.
“I must meet with who you believe will be the new Caliph and I must convince him to follow Caliph Al Zahrani’s plan,” said Nick, his concern growing over the potential for a major upset to the Caliph’s plan.
Ibrahim smiled. “Well you are in the right place, my brother, he will be here tonight.”
“Here? In this camp?”
“Yes and I don’t think it is a coincidence. I’ve only just been told of his arrival. I imagine he wishes to meet you too.”
Nick felt a sudden lump in his stomach. The list of candidates was long and illustrious within Al Qaeda with many men more than capable of taking over the head of the organization. However, one name stood out and Nick began to panic.
“It’s not…no it can’t be… He’s too young?” said Nick, trying to rule it out.
Ibrahim realized he had guessed and smiled, not realizing just how devastating the appointment could be for Nick.
The Caliph’s plan was dead in the water. Nick was a dead man walking.
“Al Zahrani’s son?” said Nick. His face remained impassive as his internal organs convulsed.
“Yes, can you believe it?” replied Ibrahim excitedly. “He is desperate to meet you!”
Nick couldn’t believe it, and was very sure that his victim’s son was desperate to meet him. Unfortunately, not for the reasons Ibrahim thought. Nick prayed for some divine intervention. Otherwise, he would never see another sunrise.
Chapter 41
“Son of a bitch!” shouted Flynn, slamming down the lid on the safety deposit box and removing his paper mask. He flipped it back up so the others could see the contents and walked away in disgust.
Frankie retrieved the contents: a debit card and two credit cards in the name of Monsieur Jacques Guillon, along with a driving license and passport in the same name. The metal briefcase was nowhere to be found.
The manager looked on, confused. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“He knew we would find the Jacques Guillon identity. He’s telling us that he’s not using it anymore.”
“Ahh,” said the manager, his smile widening.
Reid spotted the smile and knew exactly what the manager was thinking. “Which means we’ll need to seize the accounts and any monies still in them,” she explained quickly before the manager’s imagination got the better of him.
The manager’s smile stayed fixed on his lips but died in his eyes.
“What I don’t get,” Frankie said to no one in particular, “is why lead us here in the first place if he just planned to ditch it? Why even bother?”
“Let’s grab some images off of their security systems and get moving,” said Flynn, agitated at another wasted trip.
Reid didn’t move. She was still pondering Frankie’s question. “Why is he doing this?” she asked out loud. “Frankie’s right, it doesn’t make any sense. He only came here to show us he knew that we knew. But why?”
“He’s just showing us he’s smarter,” said Flynn.
“But that’s just it, that’s not Nick. He doesn’t care whether people think he’s smart or not. They assume, because he was a soldier, that he’s not. But as we both know, he’s usually the smartest guy in the room,” said Frankie, following her logic. “He laughs at guys who try to show how smart they are.”
“So, if he’s not showing off?”
“He’s playing with us, keeping us busy and out of his way,” surmised Frankie.
Before they could consider what that meant, Frankie’s cell buzzed. The caller id told her it was Harry.
“Harry?” she answered.
“We’ve got a lead on Nick.”
“Timbuktu?”
“Not quite,” he said surprised by her attitude. “Right continent though. Sudan.”
“What did he do, send you a postcard?” she asked.
“No, he’s just used a cell phone.”
“I’m sorry, Harry, but we’ll get there and he’ll be gone and we’ll have just wasted another day. He’s playing with us.”
“Not this time,” said Harry.
“Seriously, Harry, from all the increased chatter, out of all the billions of calls that take place every hour, you’ve managed to identify his voice on a phone call? Bullshit!”
“Good point. But I didn’t say we identified his voice. Two youths were assaulted in Morocco yesterday. Their phones were taken and both of those cells were recently turned on briefly in the desert in northern Sudan. The attacker who stole those two cells fits the description of Nick as Jacques Guillon.”
“He’s not that stupid, Harry.”
“We all slip up now and then. He’s in the middle of a desert with no cell signal, he’d not think for a second a brief power up of the cell would pinpoint his location. The phones were on for less than a second, not even time for the SIM cards to register a network if there even were one to connect to. He doesn’t know we can do this, hell I didn’t even know we could track cells from what he just did. Anyway, we’ve pinpointed the location and have a satellite pass set up in the next thirty minutes.”
“Okay, we’re on our way! But Harry?”