“Yes, I suppose it is. I guess this is the last time we will see each other?”
“Never say never, my friend,” said Nick. “If not in this life, there will always be paradise.”
Walid smiled and nodded as he walked, speechless, to the door. Nick took him by the shoulders.
“Remember, the plan has a number of leaders that will be landing in areas without Ebola carriers. Those leaders will seek shelter until after the contagion does its worst.”
“Am I one of those leaders?” asked Walid. He had no issue with fighting and dying for Allah but to be classed as one of the leaders would be an even greater honor. He would be one of the few that would rise from the ashes of the Americans and build a new future grounded in Islam.
“Keep your cell close, you’ll find out when you land.” Nick had grown fond of Walid.
Nick opened the door and as always, since the first day of training, checked the area he was about to enter. He glimpsed down the hallway and saw all he needed to see to snap the door closed as quietly and quickly as he could.
“What’s wrong?” asked Walid.
“Four-man team at my room!”
“But how? We’ve been so careful!”
It hit Nick like a sledgehammer. He slumped on the bed. The pre-paid cards. It was the only mistake he had made. They were untraceable unless, of course, you had the full resources of the US government to cross-check withdrawals against card purchases.
“What do we do?” asked Walid, pacing the room.
“We don’t panic. We all checked in separately so there’s no link to anyone but me and my room.”
“But what about the flights?”
“This has nothing to do with your flight,” replied Nick confidently. He was certain that the two flights he had booked that morning had raised the alarm.
Walid continued to pace as his mind began to consider whether, after all their planning, they might have failed.
“Will you stop pacing? I need to think,” said Nick. After a minute of stressful silence, Nick spoke. “I need to make a few calls.”
Chapter 74
Frankie’s phone ringing stopped the murmur of disappointment that had befallen the center. They had thought they had him.
“Are you sure?!” said Frankie loud enough to catch the attention of everyone around her.
Frankie wrote down what was being said to her:
UA133 Munich to Dulles departing at 11:40 a.m. — James Smith. Transaction made in Munich airport.
Flynn grabbed a map of Europe and a ruler, quickly measuring the distance. “That’s nearly two hundred miles away!”
Frankie replaced the receiver. “It’s definitely one of his pre-paid car—” and was interrupted by her phone ringing again.
She answered curtly, then began scribbling again:
US717 Munich to Philadelphia departing at 12:15 p.m. — James Smith. Transaction Munich Airport.
“What the hell?” said Reid.
No sooner had Frankie replaced the receiver than the phone rang again:
UA953 Munich to Chicago departing at 1:00 p.m. — James Smith. Transaction Munich Airport.
Turner leaned forward across Reid’s desk and hit the comms button that connected with the DCS team in Frankfurt.
“Simon, when was the last sighting of Nick Geller?”
“I’ll check,” he replied. A minute later he answered. “Late last night, the turn down service. Why?”
“It may be a diversion,” said Turner.
“What do you mean?” asked Simon, unaware of the Munich purchases.
“He might not be in Frankfurt.”
“What do you mean he might not be in Frankfurt?” asked a heavily accented voice in reply.
“Who is this?”
“Karl Brunner, head of Airport Security.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brunner, but there’s a chance he may have tricked us.”
“So what do I tell the GSG9 team that is inbound as we speak?” asked Karl, struggling to hide his frustration.
“We should continue as though he may still be there.”
“Is he or isn’t he?”
“At the moment, there’s a chance he may be in Munich,” said Turner, further inflaming Karl.
“So I should alert GSG9 to go there as well? Anywhere else?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brunner, but we can only go on the information we have and since there has been a sighting in Frankfurt, we have to assume he may still be there.”
“So why do you think he’s in Munich?”
“I’m afraid that’s classified,” said Turner, receiving a torrent of what he assumed were German expletives in response.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Brunner.”
“No, I’m sorry, Mr. Turner,” replied Karl, calming down a bit. “It’s just that today is not a good day. We seem to be far busier than normal.”
“Busier how?” asked Reid, leaning across in front of Turner.
“Plane spotters, thousands of them. In the terminal and around the perimeter.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. I was called away to meet your team as the influx started.”
“You don’t have any experimental or new aircraft type arriving today?”
“No, we’re always advised of those events and well prepared. The arrival of the airbus A380 was the last really big event here.”
An urgent shout cut across the operations center floor.
“Deputy Director!”
All heads turned to the corner of the room where the shout had originated. Turner left Reid appeasing Brunner and headed across to the young computer specialist from the NSA who was sitting at a screen that seemed to be scrolling a huge amount of text.
“What’s that?” asked Turner.
“E-mail addresses,” replied the NSA agent.
“For who?” asked Turner, a sickening feeling forming in his stomach.
“I don’t know but they all went out at the same time and from the same account as the one that went to Nick Geller’s IP address this morning.”
“How many?” asked Turner.
The NSA agent looked at the bottom of the screen and shrugged. “Hundreds.”
“What do they say?”
“Not sure yet, they’re password protected. I need to break the code.”
“How long?”
“I’ll know once I have a chance to look at them. I thought you’d want to know how many there were first.”
“No, no, that’s great work,” he said, patting the NSA agent on the back. “How’s it going?” he asked, approaching Frankie, not wanting to disturb Reid’s conversation with Karl.
“We think we may have found the source of the plane-spotting rush.” “What?”
“A Boeing 747,” she said, pointing to the main screen. It was on a website called airliners.net and had over 2,400 comments. The number of comments seemed to be increasing by the second.
“Who the fuck called in the Marines?” shouted Harry Carson, bursting into the operations center and killing all conversations and noise dead.
“Me,” said Turner confidently.
“I’ve just had a new asshole reamed, thanks to you, by the Secretary of State, who in turn just got reamed by the German Foreign Minister,” said Carson, marching over to the group.
“We’ve been trying to contact you,” said Turner.
“I know!” said Carson. “I’ve been busy.”
“We’re closing in,” said Turner.
“Deputy Director, I’ve got it!” shouted the NSA agent.
“Got what, son?” asked Carson.
“I’ve cracked the email code.”
Turner rushed away to see what it was and missed the slashing motion that Carson made across his own neck.
By the time Turner reached the NSA agent, every computer screen in the building had gone blank. Phone lines stopped working and Reid’s conversation with Simon and Karl in Frankfurt stopped.