But Salim recognized this was his easy out, making it seem his nerves were shattered, that he was on the ledge with nothing to stop him from tipping over.
Salim smirked into his hand. He peered out the window of his private plane as it flew over the Zagros mountain range near the Iraq/Iran border, and he recalled how he’d played the Company.
His CO had come over to his desk corner. She’d flopped down in a chair opposite him. Looking Salim up and down, she scowled.
“I’m not happy about you, Salim. You’re going through a psyche-eval tomorrow.”
Salim’s CO was a woman. She was pretty but verged on the tom-boyish. He’d assessed her within minutes of her initial taking command of his assignments. With short auburn hair, a pixie face, tall and with a firm, muscular body, Salim recognized that she leant more to the girls than the boys, but would, at a push, flip either way.
Salim CO stared at him and he looked up, eyes full of tears.
“I don’t think I can take this anymore.”
She put her hand out to grasp Salim’s hand. Stupid bitch!
“Salim you’re the best. I know. I recruited you. I knew what you were the minute I set eyes on you at Harvard. You’ve been in this business eight years. Some don’t last half that long. I know what it can do to a person. You’ve done great things. But right now, you’re useless to me. Go home, get some rest, and let the psyche-eval do its job tomorrow.”
Before his psyche-eval, Salim snorted up a line of cocaine. By the time the CIA appointed psychologist called him, Salim was so strung out he could hardly hold a syllable. The psychologist sat in the chair, but Salim sat on an ant hill. Or so it would seem. Jumpy didn’t even begin to describe it.
Half-way through, Salim got up, screaming, “That’s it. I’m through.” He tore off his CIA badge, laid down his gun and walked out.
Salim grinned as he remembered the psychologist look over at his CO. She had just shrugged halfheartedly, and said, “Let him go.”
Within an hour of walking, Salim was back in the air flying to Dubai. He’d rang his pilot who had his plane on stand-by.
It was October 10, 2000. The day Al Nadir was formed. The genesis of a corporation that would give Salim what he wanted.
Having worked in the CIA, Salim knew what triggered them, and thus, he knew what to avoid. He architected it for Al Nadir to be wacky and over-the-top, and therefore off the CIA’s radar as it wouldn’t have been considered a threat.
Al Nadir became a cult. Its focus: the worship of ancient aliens. Its membership: the brats of the rich and famous, billionaire playboys wanting something different and gorgeous beauties wanting an ‘in’ to top level eligible bachelors. For them, Al Nadir equaled hedonistic, naked ‘alien prayer’ parties, total craziness and drug-fueled excess.
For a while.
After 9/11 hit, alerts were everywhere. Suspicion lingered. But the Company was too fixed on Al Qaeda and their own vendetta wars. They weren’t interested in Salim or his crazy world.
But he still threw them a curve ball. Just in case.
The family’s yearly sojourn to Europe delivered the tactical advantage Salim had needed. His parents’ allowance had started to run slightly dry, and although he still had more money than most people would see in an entire lifetime, it wasn’t enough. His parents’ pocket money just wasn’t sufficient for Salim’s plans.
Contacts he’d made during his ‘black ops’ days handled everything.
All loose ends were tied.
Salim’s family’s flight to Marbella was their swan song. He felt nothing. It was a requirement, that was all. Salim needed their billions and his parents’ deaths were the most efficient way to get his hands on them. His brother and sister’s demise, he regarded as a considerable bonus. He hated them anyway. Always trying to change him when he was younger. Always jealous of who he became.
Salim was pleased to be shot of them.
The Agency got wind of his family disaster. Through back channels, Salim’s old CO contacted him. She stood in front of him, wringing out her hands as she tried to figure out what to say.
Salim lifted the glass to his lips and savored the taste of the malt whisky. He laughed into his glass as he recalled his CO’s pathetic face, covered in sorrow for his loss.
“Salim, what can I say? I’m so, so sorry. We’ll do everything we can. We’ll catch the bastards.”
“Thank you. But this is it for me. I’m quitting. I just can’t live another day without my family. I loved them so much.”
In front of his old CO, Salim played the suicidal son to the hilt. He remembered her whittling on about it being Al Qaeda. They’d bombed his father’s plane. Intel pointed at it being down to pipelines.
“I’ll get you justice for your family, Salim. I promise you. I give my solemn word.”
Solemn word, thought Salim. What does that even mean for someone in the Company? They’ve never been able to keep a promise in their life.
He thanked her. Then he added with a morbid inference, “It’s the last time you’ll ever see or speak to me again.”
Salim turned and walked away quickly, as his CO shouted desperately, “Salim, what do you mean? Tell me. Please, for God’s sake, don’t do anything crazy!”
At the time, Salim’s new-found mega-wealth had been heavily bolstered by some strategic investments. He still had his playboy billionaires on speed dial. They were always good for insider tips. It didn’t take long for Salim to multiply the billions. Playing the markets judiciously and buoyed by inside track intel, in a year, he’d amassed close to half a trillion.
That level of wealth gave Salim the leverage he needed to make things happen.
Word was out in the markets that a financial guru was betting against the markets and winning. But no one knew who. In the Agency, Salim had learnt how to hide money flows. His training paid off.
With the money secured, it was time to change again. Another metamorphosis for Salim beckoned.
He picked up what he had and made it clear to anyone who knew him that he was going into the wilderness to find himself. Gone was the party prince. He would live as a hermit.
Salim walked out of his penthouse and out of the 21st Century.
With no electronic communication, Salim fell off the grid completely.
Of course, in reality, Salim hadn’t fallen anywhere. He’d just bought a string of Low Earth Orbiting (LEOs) satellites and set up his own advanced telecoms system, working on protocols beyond the knowledge or reach of the intelligence agencies, or anyone else.
Except Salim.
He smiled, recalling the ease of everything.
He’d gone to work, acquiring a whole host of companies covering everything from nano-tech and biotech to advanced weapons and chemical processing.
Nothing was in his name. Nothing could be traced to him.
But he owned everything.
Salim was the architect in this new world of his own creation.
And the irony of the entire plan was that it was all done in plain sight of everyone. Al Nadir was hatched in those faceless buildings, those massive corporations, and those industrial plants across the world. The places where legitimate business was conducted, where taxes were paid, where governments even gave the companies lucrative contracts.
Salim’s staff worked on projects and plans completely blind to the bigger picture.
By that time, Salim had recruited tens of thousands of people to Al Nadir through those bona fide commercial activities. And every single one marched to Salim’s tune.
Gradually, over time, Salim’s network of capability across the globe grew until, finally, the day arrived when he decided to unveil his true intentions.
It was the day when, Salim Al Douri, their religious, harmless irritant, had said, “I’m back!”
Salim still remembered, with considerable affection, walking down those plane steps in Dubai as he received calls from his global lieutenants confirming the concurrent detonation of multiple bom
bs in thirty cities around the world.
That day everyone stood up and listened to Salim Al Douri.
Now they would bow down to him.
On his plane in the present moment, Salim stared at the box in his lap holding the quantum bomb components. Those whimpering governments had planned, through their Peace Summit and UN Resolution 8091, to destroy everything he had built.
They would pay a price for their actions.
And the price would be the world.
Chapter 98
Sir Justin Maide stared at the screen on his tablet. Ellie’s image was frozen, and she was caught in a scream. If only she’d explained something to Sam, explained why she’d screamed.
Instead of lie flatly to his face.
He didn’t want to institute an extraction and interrogation, but Sam Noor knew more secrets than most of the operatives in River House. And he knew the biggest and most damaging secret of all.
Operation Snowdrop.
Now Ellie knew the truth about Sam’s life, Maide couldn’t risk for her to be an Al Nadir sleeper agent. He couldn’t risk her knowing about Snowdrop even if she was just an ordinary woman.
Sam may already have told her, thought Maide, and scratched his chin absently. He raised the high ball glass to his lips. The Glenfiddich wasn’t having quite the same calming effect as it usually did. He tipped another three fingers worth and knocked it back.
Perhaps he’d been impulsive about rubbing Sam’s face in it with his surveillance. He’d just been so furious about Sam questioning his judgement when he’d decided to pull Kinley. He couldn’t help making Sam pay for his insubordinate behavior. He also wanted to let him know what would happen if he ever broached the Snowdrop subject ever again.
But Maide wished he’d kept the surveillance on Sam and Ellie. Then he’d have known for certain what Ellie was really about. But, of course, he’d also have run the risk of Sam’s constant sweeping habit. If he’d found Six’s bugs in his apartment, Sam would have raised hell. The PM would have gotten involved and it could have turned very bloody for everyone.
Maide looked at the folder next to his tablet. It was a precis of Ellie Noor’s life.
EYES ONLY SECURITY BRIEF
Subject: Ellie Noor
Maiden Name: Vale
DOB: 02.05.1974
Place: Fulham, London
Home: Silent Waters, Chelsea, London and Red Rose Lodge, Winchester
Occupation: Managing Director, Cloud Nine Tech, Winchester
Family History
Husband: Dr Sam Noor
Father: Stardust Traveller (real name Tim Jones)
DOB: 21 December 1942
Place of Birth: Dover
Current Status: Deceased: 27/11/1982. Reason: OD Heroin
Mother: Athena Marguerite Blaketon-Royce
DOB: 18.03.1959
Place of Birth: Chelsea
Current Status: Married: Senator Alan Bohlen-Curtis, Republican.
Location: Houston, Texas
Estranged relationship with daughter
Great Aunt: Lillian Joan Wilson
DOB: 11 May 1902
Place of Birth: Fulham
Current Status: Deceased: 12 January 1990 Reason: Cardiac infarction
Great Aunt responsible for Ellie’s upbringing until aged 16. Ellie was talent spotted in London and became a model with Models One. She stayed in the company’s accommodation in London with other young models but did not like the lifestyle and left to join IBM.
Background to Relationship
First met Sam Noor: August 4, 1994. Location: IBM Hursley Park, Winchester.
Interviewed for a position as Executive Secretary.
Love interest of Dr Sam Noor almost immediately.
Relationship commenced: 18 August 1994
Married: 20 December 1994, Winchester
Children: None
Surveillance Snapshot
Security Risk Assessment (as at 21 March 2017): Low
Link to: Transcript A115_2
SurvID: Log8880_14_UDE_771_Y
Exhibited irrational behaviour, outside of psyche-range.
Spoke to an empty kitchen.
Appeared to communicate with someone not visible on surveillance.
Screamed for no reason.
Did not provide reason to husband.
When pressed by husband for a reason, subject lied explicitly and directly.
Revision of Risk Assessment: High.
Further Action
Identify cause of the scream.
Verify level of national security threat (ascertain whether she is a Category A hostile).
As a result of what he’d seen on the surveillance, Maide had revised the risk assessment to high. He knew that Ellie appeared, at least externally, to be no threat at all. She lived her life almost entirely to do two things: building her company and worshiping the ground that Sam walked on.
But something didn’t ring true.
Maide played the video surveillance again. The tech analyst had marked the points where Ellie had spoken to an open, empty kitchen.
“I’m listening.”
Ellie’s face showed she was listening intently to something. Maide was sure she was getting her orders from someone.
Then her face changed. It became crumpled with fear and desperation. She looked up and yelled, “Tell me what you want.”
In her response, it was plain to Maide. Ellie was asking what the other side wanted. That was a definite confirmation someone was talking to her.
Maide clicked on the indicated point on the timeline to hear her last words.
“What is too far gone?”
Ellie was asking someone a question. It wasn’t Sam, and they had no guests. Maide had been in the field a considerable time and he knew when an operative was being given their orders.
Instinctively, he knew Ellie was being told to do something that didn’t align with what she wanted to do. Maide could see her body freeze and she didn’t move at all. She was pensive. In listening mode. Still. Her face was getting more contorted and frightened, and then suddenly she started to thrash around, screaming like a mad woman. Her face became ingrained with unimaginable fear. It was like someone was trying to kill her. In the midst of her wreathing and blood-curdling howls, she tipped over the coffee onto her hand. Although it burnt her, Maide noticed the pain seemed to bring her back from whatever state she was in before. Maybe the endorphins flooding her system overwrote whatever created Ellie’s induced state. Or maybe it was time dependent.
Maide felt he was falling into a labyrinth of maybes. He’d never felt so confused in his life.
He resumed viewing the surveillance and watched as Sam rushed in brandishing his gun. From the scene, Ellie was deeply terrified. Sam confessed as to who he really was, and Ellie was stunned.
Maide brought the tablet up close and re-ran the moment of Sam’s confession. He zoomed in on Ellie and inspected how she reacted to the news that her husband worked for MI6.
There was no avoiding the truth of what the camera had picked up. She genuinely didn’t know. Maide could read her surprise and see how shattered the news of Sam’s deceit made her feel. She virtually collapsed in front of him.
Either she was an incredible actress and liar, or Ellie really didn’t know anything of her husband’s job. It was all a conundrum. If she didn’t know about Sam, who was giving her orders? And why?
He couldn’t have Sam living with an unknown and potentially hostile entity. He had to verify completely just who the hell Sam’s wife was.
The actions he’d just green lighted could be vindicated by this need. He had to protect and serve. His agents. His country. Himself.
Maide knew, whatever happened, he had to uncover the mystery that was Ellie Noor.
Chapter 99
The next morning, Ellie rose late. She showered quickly, changed into her short denim skirt, pale green cashmere jumper and wool/silk jacket, and started to work on her laptop. She tried to remain
sanguine about Sam’s departure and her own safety. Having the gun helped. But it was no replacement for Sam.
Around mid-morning, Ellie’s stomach grumbled. She wandered into the kitchen and rummaged in the fridge. There was virtually nothing to eat, bar cheese and juices. The lethal combination of stunning revelation and burning passion had resulted in her failure to engage in domestic duties. As a housewife, Ellie failed abysmally.
She grabbed her car keys and headed for the nearest supermarket.
In the car, her music was blasting. The sun was out. Although she wasn’t exactly happy, Ellie was gradually coming to terms with the weird life she now lived.
Deep in thought, Ellie didn’t notice the jet-black BMW draw up behind her at the lights. With the high number of car-jackings, Ellie usually made a point of having autolock enabled in the car’s system as she drove, but the function had been acting up. Annoyed by this, and in one of her more impulsive moments, Ellie had gone into the car system and toggled autolock off. She’d meant to call the garage about it, but with work pressures, that call had been forgotten.
The moment was swift. Ellie stopped at the lights. The streets were empty. People were resting, enjoying their Sunday morning lie-in and shaking off their hangovers from Saturday night. She slipped the car into neutral, brought up the handbrake and waited for the notoriously long lights to change.
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