Turner looked at Carson for a hint of his thoughts. Carson traced the route and considered the option. “With nothing else to go on, I don’t see why not.”
“Okay, make your way down there. If we get anything, we’ll be in touch,” he said, killing the connection to the V-22 Osprey.
Carson’s cell buzzed. He looked down and read the message. “Turner, we’ve been summoned.”
“By whom?”
“There are only two people left on this planet who can summon me,” replied Carson, leading the way.
Turner didn’t need to be told twice. He knew Carson was a widower, so that left the President and the Secretary of Defense.
“Any ideas why?” asked Turner when he caught up with Carson.
“Nope but it’s not usually to say ‘well done’. In fact, scrub that, they never summon me to say ‘well done’.”
“Al Zahrani?”
Carson nodded. He had a gut feeling that he should have just blown the man back to his Allah. He should have known from Bin Laden and Al Zahrani Senior that the fallout of killing a leader was minimal. However, capturing one gave the jihadists a reason to react. They had someone they could save. A cause.
Thirty minutes later, Carson and Turner were ushered through to the President’s private lounge in the main White House residence. He did not look happy, nor did his guests — the Secretary of Defense, the Director of National Intelligence and the National Security Advisor. Turner moved to close the door behind him but was stopped by the Chief of Staff, who was rushing in to join the meeting. Carson swore under his breath. The Chief of Staff and Carson rarely agreed. His absence in the last few days, due to preparations for the Vice President’s funeral and the organization required to rehouse the West Wing staff, had been most welcome by Carson.
“Jeff,” said Carson, greeting the Chief of Staff coldly.
Jeff Lewis looked at Carson as though he had stepped on something unfortunate on his way into the office. He did not return the greeting. Jeff was the political genius behind the President. He had gotten James Mitchell into the White House and it was his job to make sure he stayed there for a second term. He understood the need for the Carsons of the world but was never comfortable with them.
“Mr. President,” Jeff said, “I’m sorry I’m late, just finalizing the details for tomorrow,” he said somberly. The Vice President’s funeral was to be held the next day with hundreds of dignitaries from across the world due to attend.
“Not a problem, Jeff. So what’s up?” he asked.
Carson shifted uneasily in his seat. Jeff Lewis had called the meeting, not the President. And if Jeff had requested Turner and Carson to attend, it wasn’t going to be good news. Turner, he noted, was sitting blissfully unaware of the shit storm that was about to hit them. Jeff Lewis looked like a warm cuddly bear to the outside world. His rotund waistline and cheery smile hid a manipulative, devious and stunning intellect that had dismembered political foes with ease over the years.
“Cluster fuck, SNAFU, FUBAR, just a few expressions I could use for the incompetents over there,” he said, pointing to Carson and a stunned and suddenly fully alert Turner.
“Now, come on, Jeff, those are rather strong words,” warned the President, leaning back in his chair and supporting his strapped arm.
“Who authorized the capture of the Al Qaeda leader?” asked Jeff of the cabinet level members in the room.
All shook their heads, while Jeff pointed to Turner and Carson.
“Those two. And thanks to their efforts, the President is being torn a new asshole by Speaker Lopez! It seems she got a taste for the top spot and is looking far more likely to stand against the President now at the next election!” He paused for added impact and then continued.
“For those of you not in the know, that’s seriously fucking bad news! Up until now, she was in her box but she’s ripping into us over the incompetence of one of our own doing this to us,” he spurted furiously, waving his hand to where the West Wing used to stand. “And now she’s got us having to pay millions to house the new leader of Al Qaeda! Not forgetting that every American on the planet will now be a hostage target to trade for the fucker! There was a fucking reason we shot Bin Laden!!!” he screamed.
“I’ll tell you what, Jeff. If you’re so fucking clever, you catch Geller. Sorry, you kill Geller!” suggested Carson, his temper rising by the second.
“If I didn’t have an administration to save, I might just have taken you up on that offer!!”
“It’s my fault,” said Turner stepping forward. “I pressured Carson into letting me capture rather than kill Al Zahrani.”
Jeff looked at Turner with incredulity before he bent over with laughter. “That’s a classic!” When Turner failed to react, Jeff stepped in again. “Seriously?! You believe that?!”
Turner looked around the room. They all avoided his eye contact. He looked at Carson who simply shrugged.
“You’re playing with the big boys now, Turner. Harry Carson’s not been pressured into anything since he stopped needing his mother’s tittie!”
Carson had a reason for wanting Al Zahrani captured, it just wasn’t one he cared to share with the audience before him.
“Okay guys, enough,” said the President. “Jeff, you deal with the politics. Harry, you know what you’ve gotta do. I understand, Jeff, you are pissed and Speaker Lopez is going to hit us no matter what we do. Christ, if we had killed Al Zahrani she’d be spitting blood!”
“Sir, I believe Jeff has a point regarding Americans being taken hostage. We should issue an alert,” advised Liz Roberts, his National Security Advisor.
“The already heightened chatter has exploded,” added Mark Nelson, the DNI. “We’ve had heightened levels for eighteen months. They increased again thanks to Geller and it’s just gone ballistic since Al Zahrani was captured. The terrorists are talking. We just don’t know what they’re saying at the higher levels. Some of the low level stuff we can break and there have been a few comments regarding hostages…”
Before he could finish, a knock on the door preceded the President’s secretary who entered and turned on the TV. “Mr. President, I’ve been asked to put this on for you.”
All turned to the screen as Nick Geller once again hit the news headlines. Al Jazeera, the Middle East news channel, was running new footage with an ‘Exclusive’ banner running across the screen. Nick’s diatribe had not changed but his location had. He was now in a desert amphitheater surrounded by hundreds of fanatics. He stopped speaking and the image cut to a smiling man wearing a suicide vest. The man shouted Allahu Akbar, then looked to the heavens and with a smile of anticipation, blew himself up.
“Oh my God!” shouted Jeff, when the man’s head separated cleanly from his body.
The crowd in the amphitheater went wild. Another four happily suicidal men met the same fate to huge cheers from the fanatical crowd.
“Dear God!” said Liz. “This is going to create serious panic.”
“In America, yes,” corrected Carson. “It’s also created a legend,” he added, pointing to Geller who had just reappeared on the screen.
He was still in the desert but without the crowd. He faced the camera somberly: “Brothers and sisters of the cause, I bring you bad news. Our new Caliph has been captured by the American infidel. However, I call on you not to act rashly. Together, united, we can make a difference. I ask all true Islamic warriors to join our cause and let us free our Caliph as one united people, fighting for Allah. You have seen the video of the believers who fight for Allah, happy to die for him. If that is you, come and fight for Allah, join his army and help us destroy America.”