The fighters themselves were a risk but the most they would ever know would be the individual flight they were boarding. Whatever the case, for the whole operation to be blown, the risks were minimal.
A loud knock on his door interrupted his thoughts.
“Yes!” he snapped angrily. He was not to be disturbed when he was in his office.
“It’s Walid, I must speak with you urgently!”
Nick pushed the map under the papers on the desk and made sure nothing of importance was visible.
“Come in!” he called, maintaining an angry tone and walking over to the door.
Walid rushed in with a camera, once the pride and joy of Gary Truman, in his hands.
“Larbi took this from the man who saw you swimming.”
Nick shrugged, uninterested; the man had been some distance away and not a threat.
Walid showed him the viewfinder and the clear image of Nick’s face.
“Don’t worry, the man’s no longer an issue,” Walid assured him. Nick’s interest level dropped. “But this is,” said Walid, holding out a SIM card. “Larbi isn’t used to technology so didn’t realize that the camera could be sending out pictures to the world on its own.”
“Shit! Do we need to move?”
Walid shook his head. “No, it’s fine, by the time I pulled it out, it had only managed to upload one photo out of hundreds. The signal around here is shocking. I’m surprised it even managed to find one!”
“What about tracking the SIM?”
“The signal is so weak it’s not an issue. Also it’s not like a cell phone, it’s far harder to track. Larbi will dump the camera minus your images into the sea near where the man’s body is. They’ll find the camera and not even bother trying to track it.”
Nick shook his head. “Where are we with the bookings?” he asked.
“All done,” replied Walid.
“Albania has served its purpose,” Nick remarked. “Prep the jet and assemble the bookers in the courtyard.”
Nick packed everything meticulously, ensuring no trace of the plans had been left behind, even down to destroying the desk blotter that he may have inadvertently leaned on while placing crosses on his map. With the room cleansed, he made his way out to the courtyard and addressed the men that had helped him make the plans a reality. Thirty eager and bright jihadists soaked up the praise he bestowed upon them and joined him in a prayer to Allah, praying for the success of the mission that would rid the world of the great infidel and also confirming their allegiance to Allah, Nick, and the cause for which they fought.
Nick asked them to wait while he went back into the main villa and appeared a minute later with Larbi and Walid. All three were armed with silenced assault rifles. Nick began shooting the men one by one systematically ensuring they were dead. The men understood this was their sacrifice for the cause. They knew too much and their knowledge was a risk that Allah could not afford for others to uncover. As with everyone he worked with, Nick had ensured the men doing his bookings were ready and prepared to die for the cause. All thirty men sat and waited silently and patiently for their turn to travel to paradise and enjoy their 72 virgins.
An hour later, Nick was settling into a deep sleep while the jet took them towards their next destination. The fire that engulfed the Villa complex below was so intense that it would take months to identify the number of bodies there, let alone their identities.
Chapter 66
Money, thought Carson. It was always the money. Follow the money and it inevitably leads you to where you want to go. He looked at the list of pre-paid card numbers that had been highlighted as ones that may have been purchased by Nick Geller. Over two hundred and fifty prepaid cards were loaded with various amounts in dollars, sterling and Euros, all equivalent to between ten to fifteen thousand dollars. They equated to more than the two million Euros taken from Jacques Guillon’s account but not all the cards would be Nick’s. There were some unsuspecting individuals who had bought cards and were about to discover that the anonymity of the cards wasn’t quite what they expected. Any transactions on these cards would soon have the full might of the US looking into them.
The news of Frankie’s discovery had resulted in a summons to meet with the President and Secretary of Defense Hammond. The request, or more appropriately the command, had been for Carson and Carson alone. Turner had unsuccessfully tried to hide his disappointment at not being included. Frankie and Reid were too busy to care. They had been coordinating the efforts of the majority of the team to track down the other card numbers.
“The President will see you now,” said his secretary.
Harry entered the private study and took the seat next to the Secretary of Defense, as instructed by President Mitchell.
“Great work,” began the President much to Carson’s relief. He had been nervous, not something he was accustomed to. But he had felt like a schoolboy summoned by the headmaster while he waited in the hallway.
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Is this the break we needed?” asked Secretary Hammond, not one for mincing his words.
“Yes, Bob, this is exactly what we needed,” replied Carson.
“What about timing?” asked the President.
“It’s good,” said Carson. “We have time to put our assets in place. That’s if you’re happy for me to do so?”
“Definitely,” replied the President. “Do you need me to make a call?”
“No, Mr. President, it’s fine, I think they’ll act on my orders.”
“Well, any nonsense, you just throw mine and Bob’s names around like candy and if that doesn’t work, I’ll go visit them myself.”
“Thank you, Mr. President, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ve been dealing with Colonel Travers for over a year. He’s a good guy.”
“Excellent. Gentlemen, I think we deserve a Scotch!” announced the President.
“Mr. President,” cautioned Bob, saving Harry, whom he noticed was squirming as uncomfortably as he was, from speaking up, “I think you might be a little premature.”
“You’ve just told me you have what you need and you wish to position our assets to deal with the terrorists, correct?” “Well yes, but—”
“Guys, we’ve had enough bad news to sink most governments. Let’s enjoy at least one piece of good news.”
The President swiveled his chair around and hovered his hand over a selection of different Scotches before finally swooping down and pulling out a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label.
“This was the VP’s favorite,” he said, pouring three large measures and handing them around.
“The Veep!” they said in unison, raising a toast to former Vice President Donald Brodie.
“Have you chosen a new VP yet?” asked Carson.
The President moved his eyes to the Secretary of Defense, Bob Hammond, who sat bolt upright in his chair.
“Me?!” said Hammond incredulously.
The President nodded.
“An excellent choice, Mr. President,” Carson said.
“A blood stupid choice!” said Bob, not amused in the least. “Who the hell’s going to be my successor?”