No one wanted to stand against the mighty force of Salim Al Douri and Al Nadir.
Al Nadir teams had gone into the slums with massive trucks, rounded up whole towns and delivered a promise of a real future for their inhabitants. Loading them into the back of the huge trucks, many never spoke. They just looked upon the men and women of Al Nadir as saviors.
Bringers of fresh new lives.
No one refused.
Once operations had commenced in earnest, Salim monitored the satellite feeds. There were thousands of people on screen as black spots like bugs, there to be trained to do his bidding. And train them, Al Nadir did. They trained them in ways of surveillance, combat and sadistic terrorism.
Hidden from the prying eyes of spy satellites by Al Nadir’s satellite-image masking technology, new towns were built in the heart of the most isolated jungles and deserts. As they trained and fought, the new recruits pledged their dying allegiance to their savior and God, Salim Al Douri.
After Salim had harnessed the human resource from the slums, Salim’s army had swelled to over 70 million. The sheer size of this manpower gave Al Nadir an incredible competitive advantage in the terrorist gameplay. With that number of warm bodies marching to Al Nadir’s cause, their strategy of taking over smaller and less powerful terrorist organizations was considerably easier.
It didn’t take long before Al Nadir progressed to larger terrorist regimes, and eventually, to entire rogue states.
Although Salim always tried to start his mergers on a diplomatic and amicable footing, more often than not, he didn’t finish that way. Once the tens of millions of recruits had been secured and trained to obey his word, Salim focused on vicious and hostile takeovers. In the same way Al Nadir had located and catalogued the slums, the same was done with terrorist organizations across the world.
He knew who owned what. He knew who had control and why. He knew where to push to gain leverage on other partners. And he knew where to eviscerate a crime organization without any consideration of partnership.
Five years on, Salim now had control of seventy-five percent of all terrorist organizations. Such power before Salim’s invention of connected terrorism was unheard of. Salim knew he had created a new genre of terror with Al Nadir. And now, he was on the verge of creating another era. Only this time, he was using a weapon very different to anything he’d ever used before.
Chapter 54
Maide moved forward to answer the PM’s question and, in unison, Gibbs geared up to respond.
Sam watched the two security chiefs play at brinkmanship. Like kids in a fucking playground. Maide leapt in with authority and took the moment from the MI5 chief.
“Prime Minister, the reason for Cambridge is because Salim Al Douri is a Cambridge man with a doctorate in Particle Physics.”
Maide stared at each person around the table making sure that all eyes were on him. Sam hated his prima donna tendencies. For God’s sake. They were talking about terrorism and he was just sitting there preening and posturing.
“Rikard Allan was also Cambridge alumnus in Political Science. Sabena Sanantoni, Al Nadir’s second in command, also received a first at Cambridge in Quantum Physics.”
“God, doesn’t the university screen before allowing terrorists into their midst?”
“With due respect, sir, I don’t think, at the time, they were terrorists. Just wealthy, bright foreign students. And Cambridge isn’t accustomed to turning those away,” said Gibbs.
Ashton flushed with annoyance. “Yes. I suppose so,” he muttered irritably. “But what happened to Bradford or Birmingham? They used to be the hotbeds.”
Gibbs stepped in ahead of Maide. His eagerness to restore ground in front of the PM couldn’t be hidden.
“If I may, sir, explain. This terrorism we have now is different from what we’ve ever had before. They aren’t Muslim fundamentalists in an Islamic Jihad. Al Nadir means the ‘unique’ and that’s exactly what they are. They’re sharp and slick, and even look good on camera. You won’t find covered heads or trailing beards. They’re well organized and unbelievably well-funded. Their section leaders are billionaires, well educated, as we’ve already heard, and most of them are ex-intelligence. Therein lies our biggest problem. They know our moves before we know them. Their collective cause is extortion on a global scale through terror. The nano-bomb has given them even more collateral to do this and succeed. Around the world, once strong governments are now cowering in the face of their connected evil.”
Maide nodded, agreeing with Gibbs, but he wanted to take control of the table again. He didn’t feel comfortable with Gibbs having too much airplay in front of the PM.
“I believe, sir, what my good colleague is trying to say is twentieth century modes of operation are no longer effective. We need to find alternatives to our usual procedures in capturing terrorists.”
“Any suggestions?” asked Ashton, eyeing the table.
Quentin shuffled, avoiding eye contact with Sam, and slithered into the conversation. Sam’s back straightened as he heard the foreign secretary’s clipped, effeminate tone. He was still smarting from their audacious surveillance. But even more, he was viciously annoyed by Quentin’s perverse enjoyment of his discomfort. Sam liked to be in control. But at that moment, he wasn’t. And he hated every second.
“By all means, Quentin, go ahead.” Ashton outstretched his arm to the foreign secretary.
“Well, perhaps we should consider infiltration. We know they have a cell in Cambridgeshire. Maybe we could get someone inside and ascertain who is, as we now term, ‘loaded’ and who isn’t.”
Ashton nodded. Maide and Sam did not respond but stared at each other. Both knew the proposition, although reasonable to hear, was virtually impossible to execute. They should know, having set up the deep cover infiltration of Matthew Kinley. Infiltration always came with loss. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t safe. And right now, it wasn’t an option.
“Prime Minister, I don’t believe the foreign secretary has the full knowledge of Five’s operations,” said Sam, turning to look at Gibbs, to gain confirmation on his next words. Gibbs moved forward and waited on Sam’s delivery.
“Infiltration isn’t currently a part of Five’s operational strategy due to significant risk of exposure. Al Nadir’s bio-scanning, both physiological and psychological, is extremely robust, and roots out spies with thorough efficiency. Procedures at Five and Six are to concentrate on solving the nano-bomb issue completely and monitoring Al Nadir operations as far as we are able.”
Gibbs nodded, agreeing with Sam’s response.
Quentin sat back, staring between Gibbs and Sam, shaking his head with dismay. By the gentle swaying of his head, he inferred the security service’s shortcomings.
“But Six has the capability to infiltrate if they really want to. Don’t they?” barked Ashton, staring with apprehension at Maide then Sam. Sam could see that Ashton’s question was just a performance. Ashton knew about Kinley as well as him and Maide. It was a means of addressing and dismissing Quentin’s suggestion without revealing the reason for their certainty that infiltration was the most dangerous strategy to employ, and one that would undoubtedly lead to failure.
Sam looked at Quentin, who still did not face him directly, preferring to stare at the PM. Sam noticed his smugness. God would I love to wipe that look off your face.
For Quentin’s benefit, Ashton stared impatiently at Sam for an answer.
“Of course we do,” Sam replied. “And I’m sure Five does too.”
Sam glanced at Gibbs, who muttered, “We most certainly do.”
“It’s just that, in the present climate, such action would bring unnecessary risks to the operative. I’m not prepared to sanction any action that would knowingly result in death.”
Maide, Ashton and Sam remembered the cost of Kinley getting into Al Nadir and the thousands of lives that had been sacrificed under Operation Snowdrop. Sam caught Ashton’s eye and realized the PM was suddenly submerged in t
he memory of that dreadful day too, for his face went ashen and his eyes darkened. He looked away from Sam. Maide, at the same time, stared at his papers and refrained from direct eye contact. Some people say eyes are windows of the soul. If this was really true, considered Sam, as he looked around the table, Maide and Ashton were doing their level best to pull their curtains tight.
Only Quentin, who had no knowledge of Operation Snowdrop, Matthew Kinley or the impact of his infiltration, remained confident to press ahead with such an idea. He used the pause to take the upper hand.
“Are you sure that’s not just an excuse, Dr. Noor?”
Quentin’s words tunneled through Sam’s composure. They attacked his sense of order and upset his fine balance between peace and war, which constantly raged inside of him. Sam found that he couldn’t shield his fierce anger any longer.
“No. It’s not an excuse,” Sam yelled. “I’ve told you infiltration won’t work right now. I will not put any of my operatives into a situation where I know their chances of survival are less than 50 percent. I am not an executioner!”
Sam remembered the Snowdrop mission. He remembered how the agents in his team had been slaughtered, and he’d just watched, helpless, shielded by a wall from the sniper’s laser sights. An executioner was exactly what he’d been made to be.
“I apologize, Dr. Noor. I would never cast doubt on your word,” replied Quentin, smiling, dropping the bait.
He didn’t need to wait long for Sam to be hooked.
Sam stood up abruptly, scrapping his chair legs against the oak floor.
“Just what is it you’re trying to say?”
Sam glared with icy ruthlessness at the foreign secretary. Quentin remained seated. He lifted his eyes up to Sam, the first moment of contact throughout the meeting, and he labored it to the max. With palms open, he stared at Sam and showed ambivalence.
“My dear boy, I’m not trying to say anything. If you think infiltration won’t work, so be it. You’re the expert. I’m not looking to be your enemy. We are, after all, on the same side. Aren’t we Dr. Noor?”
Sam recognized the game as Quentin looked around the room, making sure that his insinuation was clear, that Sam was the troublemaker and perhaps not capable of fulfilling the remit demanded by his current position.
Quentin then shot Sam with his best public-school prefect smile. Sam stiffened.
“Of course we are,” said Ashton. “Sam, please be seated. This infiltration discussion is over.”
The PM motioned affably to the chair. Sam read the signal and sat down immediately. But inside, he was still seething. This was anything but over.
Chapter 55
Angela had had a relatively sheltered life. She’d experienced a strict convent upbringing forced upon her by parents, who were totally disinterested in her wellbeing and too interested in their own. But until she’d met Matthew Kinley, her life had been dull and boring. She’d left university with a degree in English literature, and had gone to work in the diplomatic service a few days after graduation. She wasn’t the type to take a gap year and travel the world. She knew from a young age that she was destined to live an unadventurous existence, and she followed that path. Had she not gone to that party in Athens, she may still have been on that path.
But time and space changed around her the second she set eyes on Kinley. Blue eyes sparkling, laughing, had invited her in. Inviting her to take a chance. To leap into the unknown and hang the consequences. The moment she kissed him, a new destiny was written. A destiny that would have her standing in the middle of a hall in Alexandria, staring at a horrific sight her imagination could never have conjured up.
Her husband, Matthew Kinley, stood semi-naked in front of her with his arms outstretched, palms pointing down to the floor, as if he’d been hit with an electric shock. His veins were prominent, the way they looked when he’d spent too long on the weights. She stared at the veins running through his arms, and realized they were definitely rising.
“Angie, Angie, darling, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” cried Kinley, as the veins on his arms suddenly split open.
Angela shrieked and turned Lotte’s screaming face quickly away from the hideous spectacle. She held her daughter tight against her. Angela knew she had to get away from her husband, but her legs wouldn’t move. Her body had frozen through fear into an altered state. Unable to say or do anything, she watched, helpless, as the silver metallic substance that had covered Kinley’s arms and chest moved rapidly into his open veins and co-mingled with the flowing blood. Then, bizarrely, the blood pulled back, as if a brake pedal had activated. It ran up Kinley’s arms and surged back into his veins along with the silver metallic substance. Within seconds, Kinley’s veins had closed, and for an instance, it was like nothing had happened.
“Turn it off, Angie. Please. I can’t stand it. Turn it off. Turn it off now!”
Kinley’s hands shielded his ears and he collapsed onto the floor, huddled and shivering.
Angela swallowed heavily and, still holding Lotte against her, she moved one foot shakily towards her husband.
“Matt?” Her voice was a mere croak. “Matt, are you-”
“Turn it off!” yelled Kinley, and he leapt up, shaking, his eyes wild with fear and pain.
Angela fixed a look at his incensed face, and then she looked down and her eyes widened with terror.
“Oh my God, Matthew!”
In the middle of his chest, a heart-shaped silver stain could be seen, and it appeared to be changing color. In front of Angela, the silver turned to purple and then to red.
“Please, Angie, help me. You’ve got to…to turn it off!” cried Kinley.
“Matt, I’m sorry,” whispered Angela. “I don’t know what to turn off.”
Then Kinley’s voice changed from pleading to decisive. “It’s over, baby. You’ve got to run. Just get out!”
Understanding came in a rush and he hated its sudden clarity. The nano-bots inside him were forcing him to mutate.
“I’m not leaving you,” cried Angela. “I love you. I don’t want to leave you.”
“I love you, Angie. I know what’s happening. I’m sorry.”
“Baby, I love you. I can’t leave you!”
Angela’s tears took away her vision. As she moved backwards, her daughter’s arms wrapped tighter around her. She stretched out her hand and touched Kinley. His skin felt ice cold. Deathly cold. The heart-shaped stain now seemed to pulse strong scarlet. His skin was almost translucent. She could see the veins so clearly.
“Run, baby. Now!” Kinley shouted, his face angry and tired. “Just get away from me!”
Angela let go of her husband, and turned to run. But she had to look at her love one more time. The man who had changed her life. The man who had given her hope and such great happiness. She owed him one last look.
She flicked her head back in her husband’s direction and her lips mouthed, “I love you!”
In that moment, Kinley screamed. The hall shone with white heat, a thunderous roaring shook the house, and suddenly, Angela was flying around and around, whipped up in a churning cauldron of smoke and heat.
And then all was dark and silent.
Chapter 56
Project David had been a success. The experiment had demonstrated the new power the US now possessed. Dr. Ross Whyte should have been proud. He was, after all, the project director. President Treeborne himself had given him the role. The name Project David had been Ross’ idea in honor of the story of David and Goliath, and how small had triumphed. The president had smiled coldly, appreciating the relevance; the quantum compound was tiny but its power would cut down the Goliath power of Al Nadir.
“A great day, Ross.”
The president placed his hand out to shake the scientist’s hand. Ross looked down, dazed and not quite collecting what was going on around him.
“A great day for America. Something to tell your grandkids, eh?” said the president, laughing, and he turned to one of his
generals. “Yeah, tell them how we whipped Al Nadir’s motherfucking ass!”
The generals all joined in the coarse humor.
Ross smiled half-heartedly and nodded, adding, “Yes, we’re going to show them who is the boss.”
“Too right we’ll show them.” The president’s mouth tightened. “And I’m going to love every goddamn minute of it.”
Ross could see the bloodlust in Treeborne’s eye, and it caused his bottom lip to tremble slightly. Frank Weitz, who had walked with the president to congratulate Ross, noticed the movement.
“Everything ok, Dr. Whyte?” asked Weitz gently, and eyed Ross’ reaction.
Dr. Ross Whyte was a hefty man, tall in stature and big boned, with blond thinning hair and grey sunken eyes. In his late forties, he had spent a lifetime stuck in a lab, and his social skills had taken a beating as a result of such isolation. The only thing that meant anything to him apart from his work was his family. He never cared about anything else.
Ross had known Weitz for some time, and he knew that his colleague’s response detected his anxiousness. Ross knew his colleague would want to find the cause of Ross’ sudden alarm.
“Yes, yes, sir. Excellent. I’m really delighted with the results,” gushed Ross.
Ross was aware his fear was leaking. And that Weitz had picked up on it. He had to dissuade the defense secretary of suspicious thoughts. Weitz stared at Ross thoughtfully, and opened his mouth again to speak, but the president snatched the moment.
“We’re all delighted with the results. Now you see that compound gets back safely, Dr. Whyte. We don’t want you losing it or nothing. Come on, guys. Let’s do the Bourbon some damage.” The president laughed again, slapped Dr. Whyte’s back, and then walked away with his entourage in tow.
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