If he had thought about it more, he probably had a few jihadists around him. Sitting near him would ensure they contracted the illness. He checked his watch, just over three hours since they had taken off. Four hours since he had taken the injection. Omar consciously began to breathe more heavily, expelling as many particles of his infected saliva as possible. He smiled at the special gift he was giving the jihadist next to him. He just wished he could tell him but they were forbidden to speak until after they had exited the airport.
When Mohammed Farsi had received his travel details, he was not ashamed to say that he had had to check a map to find Salt Lake City. Flying from Paris, his home town, had not been his favored option. As head of Al Qaeda in Europe, the authorities were aware of his existence but not of what he looked like. At least to the best of his knowledge, his appearance was still unknown. Flying out of Charles De Gaulle was certainly putting that theory to the test; a test that he had passed with flying colors.
Nick had told him he would be sent to a relatively remote location where the leadership would wait and take charge once the situation allowed. Salt Lake City certainly fit that bill. He had also been aware that Nick was planning a large-scale operation, far in excess of the 9/11 attack. However, having just had to visit the restroom, Mohammed began to realize that the scale was far greater than the few hundred warriors he had envisaged. He had spotted at least five other high-ranking leaders on board the flight in that one section. And that had been while trying not to look at those on board and with more than half the plane asleep under their blankets.
Back in his seat, he considered how many men the five he had seen would have been able to muster. And of those men, how many would meet the exacting standards set by Nick? Those standards had been absolute. The warriors had to be true believers, not followers, men with the heart and blood of Allah pumping through them. True jihadists. Not play jihadists who spouted words with no meaning, feeling or real conviction or who lacked the courage to act on their convictions. Men who would stand proud and shout Allah’s name as a bullet rushed towards them or as they pulled a trigger that would send others or themselves to hell or paradise. Excitement began to build as he realized the number was probably in the low thousands just from those five men. He wondered how many other of leaders were on board his flight. Salt Lake City was not a well-served airport. If that were to be the base for leaders, there were very few flights that offered a direct route, something else he had discovered during his search, thanks to his reticence about flying from Paris.
“Mohammed,” came a whisper from behind his ear.
Mustafa Ghazi, head of the Maghreb wing of Al Qaeda was standing by his seat, having walked quietly down the aisle. Mustafa was one of the leaders he had spotted.
“We should not talk,” whispered Mohammed as quietly as he could.
“Meet me at the restrooms in five minutes,” whispered Mustafa before gliding away silently.
Nick felt the first bump of turbulence and looked out of the window at the crisp, clear blue sky, only visible from that height. It was a beautiful day, one that would be remembered for a long time. The steward appeared by his side, having reacted to his movements.
“Are you okay, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
“I think the captain may put the seatbelt sign on soon, if you need to visit the restroom.”
A visit to the restroom was just what he needed.
“Thank you,” said Nick. He stepped over the passenger next to him and decided to stretch his legs. He walked down the stairs and into the main body of the aircraft, then down the aisle. Passengers were crammed in like sardines in the coach section but all seemed happy to sleep their way across the Atlantic.
Nick spotted Larbi in an aisle seat and gave him a subtle nod of the head in recognition. Every seat Nick could see was filled. As he reached the restrooms, they were empty. Two stewards stood nearby, both nodded a hello as he approached them.
“Quiet?” asked Nick.
“Remarkably, they’re all sleeping like babies,” replied one of the stewards who was pressing a call button for an elevator to the galley storage below.
As the elevator’s light announced its arrival, the P.A. system began an announcement. The sleeping passengers came alive in an instant and Nick had to move quickly, pushing the stewards into the elevator as he did.
Chapter 85
Frankie had played with the business card for hours. She just sat at her kitchen counter and flicked it around and around in her fingers. The news channel in the background was focusing on local news. As yet, no planes had started falling out of the sky. Her mother and father were in California, where they had been for the last two months on and off. She had only just realized that the only reason they kept the home in Washington was for her. They were never there. She had been so involved in her work that she hadn’t realized they had moved. They obviously just hadn’t had the heart to tell her and she had been so involved with work and Nick that she hadn’t even noticed.
A baby in California, near her parents. They wouldn’t approve of her keeping the baby, certainly not after what was about to happen. She couldn’t abort the baby. They wouldn’t accept it, at least not at first. She was sure they’d grow to love it but they’d always resent what it stood for — the child of the man who had ruined their daughter’s life. She twirled the card again. Colorado. She had been skiing in Aspen a few times, it was one of the President’s favorite ski resorts and Colorado was the state he had grown up in and represented in the Senate before becoming President.
With one eye on the news screen, she began to research Colorado as an option to build a future for her and the child she would be bringing into a world and who would hopefully be unaware of the monster its father had been. Even saying those words felt so wrong. The man she knew was no monster. However, the new Nick Geller had proved, time after time, that that was exactly what he was.
She picked up the phone and even though it was still early in California, she called her mother. She had a lot to tell her.
Halfway through dialing the number, the news channel suddenly changed to a screen she had never seen before.
EAS was boldly displayed in red on the left hand of the screen with a lightning symbol in the top right of the screen. Underneath, written clearly, was the explanation of the acronym, EAS — Emergency Alert System. She turned up the volume. A repeating message was playing: ‘Please stand by for the President of the United States of America’.
Frankie changed channels. The other news channels had the same message. She tried a movie channel, a music channel and even a shopping channel. They all had the same message.
Her phone rang. “Frankie?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“But you’re involved in all this, you must know!”
“Mom, I don’t know.” She didn’t really think that it was a good time to tell her mom she had been fired. Her mom had been desperate to visit ever since the Nick thing had blown up but Frankie had told her to keep away; it would just complicate matters and she was too busy anyway. Reluctantly, her mother had agreed but only because she knew Frankie would be more annoyed at her if she had come, after being told not to.