Nick had his army. The true warriors of Allah from across the Muslim world, irrespective of their individual allegiances — Al Qaeda, Taliban, Hezbollah, Hamas or any one of the smaller groups — had come together. The Caliph’s dream, eighteen months in the making, had been realized. A dream that would see all ten thousand men take the role of fighter. Nick would take all ten thousand jihadists with him, none would be left behind, fighters and leaders alike. This was a grand plan befitting Allah and the Caliph. To protect the plan, he had to keep the details of its scale as quiet as possible. Misleading the leaders meant none would know just how massive the attack would be until they were on their way to America. Compartmentalization of the detail was key to the success. The fewer people who knew, the less they could tell and the less chance the Americans would find out until it was too late.
Larbi had escorted Nick back to his SUV after the meeting and the waiting Walid. He had surprised them both when instead of guiding them out he had joined them in the vehicle. Larbi was to be Nick’s bodyguard and constant companion. Wherever Nick went, Larbi would watch over him. He was a highly experienced Mujahedeen fighter and was at home on the hillside.
Nick had never witnessed such a master at work. He blended into the hillside and followed the man above Krorez Beach with ease, remaining out of sight of his target.
When they disappeared over the hillside towards the next bay, Nick could only speculate as to the man’s fate. He grabbed his robe and slipped on his sandals to begin his own trek back up the hill towards the luxury villa that housed Nick and his many assistants as he planned the downfall of America and the rise of the Caliphate. The word ‘villa’ did not, however, do the property justice. Built into a hillside of commanding views across the sea, it was more of a complex than a villa. Stretching out across the hill, the walled perimeter offered complete privacy from the various buildings that made up the summer home for one of Walid’s many cousins. The main house was over twenty thousand square feet in size, with many smaller properties on the grounds for housing servants and guests alike, should the need arise.
Larbi sped up. He had spent hours walking the area over the last week and knew every stone and path that surrounded the complex. He knew the man was taking a route that offered a shortcut into the next bay. A narrow ledge with a treacherous drop deterred most walkers but to Larbi it was the second quickest route. There was another more direct route that was more suitable to mountain goats, the ledge so narrow that it was only possible to walk sideways, while looking down onto rocks over five hundred feet below.
Larbi walked along the ledge without a second thought of falling. His feet were as certain as they were walking a paved sidewalk. His shortcut would allow him to overtake the man and double back, in order to meet him coming from the opposite direction.
Gary was agitated. His plan for the day had been ruined by the swimmer. At that time of the morning, he should have had the beach to himself and the seals, he was sure, would have been there. He removed the camera from its bag and scanned through the photos as he walked. The images of the sun rising calmed him down. He had captured some great shots and was sure to get some fantastic comments from his Blipfoto admirers when he posted them online later that day. His Blipfoto followers were as close to friends as Gary had. Their comments, no matter how brief, always made him feel calm and more relaxed.
Pausing as he neared the narrowing path, he came across the photos of the swimmer. Photography was Gary’s only hobby, his only outlet outside of work. Therefore, the quality of his equipment was second to none. His zoom lens picked up every detail the naked eye could not see from several hundred yards away. The image viewer on the back of the camera was clear enough to zoom into the face of the man who had disrupted his day. The image was that of a face that Gary had seen many, many times over the previous three weeks.
He gasped at the realization of who the swimmer was. The face that had appeared from the water belonged to none other than Nick Geller, wanted terrorist.
Gary placed the camera back in the bag and with renewed purpose, strode towards his hotel room, a phone and the authorities. He hadn’t even noticed the man approaching him nervously, tucked against the inside wall of the path, as far from the drop as he could get. Gary had no fear of heights and was happy to pass the man on the outside, uncharacteristically smiling a good morning to him. He understood just how big a discovery he had just made. Finding evidence was his job. Finding evidence that would catch the man at the center of the largest manhunt in history was something he had really not expected.
Larbi approached the narrow pathway as the man stopped at the other side. He needed to meet him on the pathway. His plan was to fall into the man, making him drop his camera bag over the ledge while saving him. The camera would be lost but all the man would care about was that he had survived. However, he needed the man on the pathway for that to work.
He pushed himself up against the side of the hill, as far from the ledge as possible and began to edge across slowly, trying to show genuine fear of the drop just a yard or two in front of him. Larbi slowed almost to a stop as the man seemed totally entranced by whatever he was looking at on his camera. Eventually, he put it away and walked towards Larbi, only far quicker than before. Larbi was going to have to time his maneuver perfectly, just in case anyone was watching.
The man drew alongside him and smiled. Larbi feigned a slip and fell forward into the man, grabbing out for him as the man fell towards the ledge and the five hundred foot drop.
Gary felt the weight of the man against him as his footing gave way. The ledge loomed and he felt sure the man was reaching for him but he continued to fall. Gary felt a weight pull against him and realized it was the shoulder strap of his camera bag. The leather strap stretched and strained but the weight exerted against it was too much and it gave way.
Gary reached out but it was too late.
Larbi watched the man plummet to his death. He was certain that from the landing on the jagged rocks below there was no chance the man had survived but he had to be sure. From five hundred feet up, it was too far to be certain. He unzipped the camera bag and used the camera’s zoom lens to check. He decided against taking a picture; the sight was too gruesome to be seen again. The man was most definitely dead.
Whether Larbi had saved the camera or the man was irrelevant. He had to protect Nick Geller. Seeing the recognition on the man’s face of whatever he had seen on the camera was what had resulted in the camera being saved and the man dying.
Larbi grabbed some loose twigs and spent a few minutes wiping away any sign of his footprints. If they did have anyone check the scene, only one set of footprints would show up. A tragic accident would be recorded.
Unfortunately Larbi was not aware of how advanced modern cameras were. If he had been, he may have noticed, on the camera’s viewfinder, a bar on the upper right of the screen showing the upload progress to Gary Truman’s Blipfoto account.
Chapter 63
Frankie produced a sheet of paper, placed it on Turner’s desk and beckoned for Reid to join them.
“Remember Nick’s French bank account?”
“Monsieur Jacques Guillon, I don’t think I’ll ever forget that name,” said Reid.
“I’ve been going through the detail of all his transactio—”
“Dead end,” Turner cut in.
“Maybe not,” said Frankie.