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 well 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.”