The Revelation Code

by Andy McDermott

  ‘Okay, then contact the UN and get them to talk to the Saudis!’ she pressed on, annoyed. ‘Call Oswald Seretse in New York.’

  ‘You’ve probably got his number,’ said Eddie, with a sly glance at Jared. ‘Someone once told me Mossad has everyone’s number.’ The younger man grinned.

  ‘I am sure we have,’ replied Shalit. ‘I shall make the call.’

  ‘What about the find?’ Nina asked. ‘The Temple of God, and the Ark of the Covenant – they need to be secured.’

  ‘They will be,’ he assured her. ‘I have already arranged for troops to guard the site until our archaeologists can reach it. And I shall also notify the IHA, of course. Such a discovery is of global importance, after all. Now, Dr Wilde, Mr Chase, if you will come with me?’

  The couple followed him to the door. Dalton started after them, but Shalit held up a hand. ‘Mr President, stay here, please.’

  Dalton was affronted. ‘This is a diplomatic matter; I should be involved—’

  ‘I am being diplomatic when I say that you should stay here. For your own safety.’ There was an unmistakable hint of threat behind his politeness. ‘I have already spoken to officials from your State Department. They have requested that you be returned to the United States as soon as possible, on the orders of the White House.’

  ‘What?’ said the politician, startled.

  ‘I guess President Cole wants to discuss your immunity deal,’ Nina suggested, smiling coldly.

  ‘Best of luck with that,’ added Eddie. ‘Jared, will you be okay?’

  The young Israeli glanced dismissively at his injury. ‘It’ll take more than this to keep me down, alter kocker. I’ll be back.’

  The Englishman grinned. ‘Glad to hear it. See you later, kid. And you, Mr President.’ The Israeli gave the couple a cheery wave as they departed with Shalit, leaving the sputtering Dalton behind.

  Shalit commandeered what had been Colonel Brik’s office to call Seretse in New York. Once through, Nina explained what they had found in the desert, and what had happened afterwards. ‘I see,’ said the Gambian diplomat, speaking slowly and carefully, as if trying to process what he had just heard. ‘I shall of course immediately contact the Saudi and Italian ambassadors to the UN, and the Vatican’s permanent observer. But the Fishers could be in Italy and Saudi Arabia already – a private flight there from Israel would not take long.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Nina replied wearily. ‘Have the investigators in Antigua got any CCTV footage of Anna or Simeon they could send to the police and security forces?’

  ‘Not yet, I am afraid,’ said Seretse. ‘Teams from the CDC and USAMRICD have entered the Mission to check the contamination levels, but their most recent report said the computers have been either wiped or encrypted.’

  ‘Might have known,’ Eddie complained. ‘Bloody spooks, they’re all paranoid. We’ll give you descriptions so you can put together e-fits, then.’

  ‘Digital facial reconstructions are not as useful as photographs,’ said Shalit with a small shake of the head. ‘The Mossad has run tests; even top agents failed forty per cent of the time to recognise a suspect when trying to identify them from an e-fit alone. That number is much higher with ordinary law enforcement personnel.’

  ‘So what do you suggest?’ Nina said with exasperation. ‘We’ve got to try to stop them!’

  ‘There is something you can do,’ said Seretse. ‘If you go to the Vatican and Mecca in person, you will be able to confirm any possible sightings of the Fishers. I know it is a long shot, but we must try. Will you go?’

  Eddie and Nina exchanged tired looks. ‘We don’t have much bloody choice, do we?’ said the Yorkshireman.

  ‘No, we don’t,’ she agreed with a marked lack of enthusiasm. ‘Everyone does remember that I’m four months pregnant, right? I’m supposed to be eating crazy food and being waited on hand and foot, not rushing around the world and being shot at!’ She took a long, deep breath. ‘Okay, rant over, I’m done.’

  ‘In that case, I will tell the ambassadors that you will assist with the search in person,’ said Seretse. ‘Nina, you should go to Rome; Eddie to Mecca. I am sure you understand why I did not suggest sending you to Saudi Arabia, Nina,’ he added.

  ‘Countries that oppress women, flog bloggers and behead people for sorcery aren’t exactly high on my list of vacation destinations,’ she said scathingly. ‘I’ll take Rome any day. But St Peter’s Square is huge! There’ll be thousands of people there if the Pope’s giving an address. And I can’t even begin to imagine how many people there’ll be in Mecca during the Hajj.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ said Eddie. ‘Just have to hope the cops are on the ball – and that we get lucky.’

  ‘I shall make the arrangements,’ Seretse told them. ‘It may take some time, but I will call you back as soon as everything is confirmed.’

  ‘Great,’ Nina muttered as he disconnected. She turned to her husband. ‘Oh God. How do we keep ending up in these situations? I tell you, after this is over, we’re taking a three-year vacation.’

  He grinned. ‘You’d be bored out of your mind after a month.’

  ‘Probably. But we’ve got the baby to look forward to, so who knows? Motherhood might be the best thing ever to happen in my life. Apart from meeting you,’ she added.

  ‘It will be, I’m sure of it,’ he said. ‘So you’re feeling more confident about being a mum now, are you?’

  It was her turn to grin. ‘I’m probably tempting fate by saying this, but after everything else I’ve been through since I met you, I should be able to handle a baby.’ They both looked around at a chuckle from Shalit. ‘Something to say?’

  ‘Only that whether you are a soldier, a scientist or a spy, nothing can prepare you,’ the Israeli replied, humour in his eyes.

  ‘That’s reassuring,’ Eddie said.

  ‘I’m ready for it,’ Nina insisted. ‘Whatever it brings.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Good.’ He kissed her. ‘’Cause so am I.’ A glance back at the phone. ‘Just a pain in the arse that we’ve got to save the world first.’

  ‘I know,’ she said with a sigh. ‘But we need to make sure our daughter’s got a world to be born into, so . . . let’s finish this.’

  32

  Saudi Arabia

  Even with his United Nations diplomatic status temporarily restored, Eddie still faced bureaucratic obstacles on his arrival at the King Abdulaziz international airport outside the city of Jeddah the following morning. The first came when a customs officer checked his passport and declared with a scowl that he had recently visited Israel; the fact that the jet chartered by the UN had come from Israel escaped the man’s notice. Not even Eddie’s diplomatic papers dissuaded the surly apparatchik from insisting he was not allowed to enter the country, and only the appearance of more senior figures silenced him.

  However, this brought other problems. The newcomers, clad in traditional robes and ghutra headgear, were from the Mabahith, the Saudi domestic security agency: the country’s secret police. This in itself made Eddie wary of them, as the Mabahith was infamous for human rights violations and its brutal treatment of anyone who spoke out against the repressive Saudi regime – and the first words from the younger of the two, a skinny, broad-nosed man in his twenties, suggested they were not going to be helpful. ‘You have wasted your time coming here, Mr Chase.’

  ‘Nice to meet you too,’ the Englishman replied sarcastically.

  The second man, a craggy fifty-something, was more polite. ‘Welcome to Saudi Arabia, Mr Chase. I am Abdul Rajhi of the General Investigation Directorate. This is my associate, Prince Saleh al Farhan.’

  ‘Prince?’ said Eddie in surprise.

  Rajhi did not respond, instead continuing: ‘We are grateful for your help in discovering a terrorist threat, but I am afraid that you will not be able to help us search for this man Fisher in person.’

  ‘Why not?’

  His expression became pa
tronising. ‘Because you are not a Muslim, of course. Unbelievers are not permitted to enter the holy city of Mecca. We have the picture you provided; it is already being distributed to police, hotel staff and officials at the Kaaba. We will find him without you.’

  ‘You still might not recognise him,’ Eddie objected. ‘There’s a big difference between looking at a photofit and a real person. And he could be in disguise. I’m the only person who’s actually seen the guy before – you need me there.’

  ‘We will easily be able to find a black American,’ said al Farhan haughtily. ‘We have records of everyone who has entered our country, and who is staying at every hotel.’

  ‘What, you think he’ll be using his real name? He’ll have a passport from Sudan or somewhere and be calling himself Muhammad.’

  ‘That may be so,’ al Farhan said, drawing himself to his full height, ‘but you will not be allowed into Mecca!’

  Eddie was about to remind him of his diplomatic status, but one look at the brick wall of the Saudi’s face told him it would be pointless; even with the threat of murder on a massive scale, rules and dogma still counted above all else. Instead he turned to the older man. ‘You’ve been in your job for a while, yes?’ he asked.

  Rajhi was surprised by the question. ‘Yes. Over twenty years.’

  ‘And you’re pretty high up in the Mabahith?’

  He nodded. ‘I am, yes.’

  ‘Then you must remember what happened two years ago. In Mecca. At the Kaaba.’ Rajhi frowned, not sure where he was heading. ‘With Pramesh Khoil?’

  Now realisation dawned, the official’s eyes widening. ‘So how’s the Black Stone these days?’ Eddie pushed on.

  ‘The Black Stone,’ Rajhi echoed, to his companion’s puzzlement. ‘You are that Eddie Chase?’

  ‘No, there’s seventeen of us, we work different days. Of course it’s bloody me!’

  Al Farhan asked a question in Arabic, but his superior hurriedly shushed him. The older man thought for a moment, then said to Eddie: ‘May I speak with you in private?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  To al Farhan’s consternation, Rajhi took Eddie aside for a whispered conversation. ‘The theft of the Black Stone is one of my country’s most closely guarded secrets! If it was ever revealed to the masses that one of our holiest relics had been stolen – by infidels! – and replaced by a replica, there would be . . .’ He didn’t need to finish; his horrified shake of the head was enough to paint a picture of chaos.

  ‘Yeah, but me and Nina got it back for you,’ Eddie reminded him. ‘Now, she’s not likely to include that bit in her memoirs, and I won’t be shouting about it on Twitter, but it’d be really appreciated if you’d let me help you.’

  Rajhi considered that, then waved al Farhan over. ‘Under exceptional circumstances, non-Muslims are allowed to enter Mecca,’ he announced. Now it was his companion’s turn to be shocked. ‘I consider this threat to the Hajj to be one of those times. Mr Chase will help us find this terrorist.’ The younger man began a strenuous objection, but Rajhi made a firm gesture to silence him before turning back to the Yorkshireman. ‘As a representative of the United Nations, you will be expected to follow the highest standards of behaviour.’

  ‘I’m always on my best,’ Eddie replied with a broad grin.

  Rajhi did not seem convinced, clearly knowing Eddie’s reputation, but had no choice but to accept his word. ‘Very well. I will have a helicopter take us to Mecca.’

  ‘Cool. I can play some bingo while I’m there.’ Both Saudis regarded him with vaguely offended bewilderment. ‘British humour,’ he told them. ‘Come on, let’s find this guy.’

  The flight from Jeddah to Mecca took Eddie across the desert into the climbing sun. There was little between the two cities except sand and mountain ranges, but even from a distance of twenty miles he could pick out the grey sprawl of Islam’s most holy settlement – and its most grandiose landmark.

  ‘Is that the clock?’ he asked, pointing at a dark, angular shape rising from the city’s heart.

  ‘The Abraj Al Bait tower,’ al Farhan told him via his headphones, with distinct pride. ‘The tallest building in Saudi Arabia – and one of the tallest in the world.’

  ‘Your mates in Dubai have still beaten you, though,’ said Eddie, taking a small amount of pleasure in the Saudi’s annoyance at having his bubble pricked.

  ‘The Kingdom Tower in Jeddah will soon be taller,’ al Farhan insisted. ‘But the clock tower is still bigger than anything in America. Or England.’

  ‘Size isn’t everything.’

  Rajhi made a muted sound of amusement. ‘I can tell you do not know our country.’

  The helicopter passed over the rocky hills west of the city, heading for its centre. The Grand Mosque, to which millions of Muslims made a pilgrimage each year, was clearly visible as a roughly circular complex of buildings surrounding the Kaaba, the cube-shaped structure that was home to the Black Stone. But it was overshadowed – at certain times of day, literally – by a mammoth piece of twenty-first-century engineering.

  The Abraj Al Bait was a megastructure in every sense of the word. Over six hundred metres high, it dwarfed the likes of the Empire State Building and even One World Trade Center in New York not only in height but by sheer bulk, its broad base sprouting several smaller – though still skyscraper-tall – towers. The complex was topped by the world’s largest clock, four vast gold-slathered faces displaying the time to all points of the compass. Even from miles away, Eddie could read it clearly; London’s Big Ben was a wristwatch in comparison. The whole structure was a combination of five-star hotels and vast shopping malls, a monument not so much to Allah as Mammon. Only the wealthiest pilgrims could afford to look down upon the Grand Mosque from their suites over a quarter of a mile above.

  And it was the helicopter’s destination. Rajhi concluded a brisk discussion over the radio, then addressed Eddie. ‘They think Fisher is at the Fairmont Hotel, in the clock tower,’ he said. ‘They have a copy of the passport he was using, and will have CCTV waiting so that you can identify him.’

  ‘If you think it’s him, why don’t you just arrest him?’ Eddie asked.

  The security official sucked in air through his teeth. ‘The Abraj Al Bait is owned by the government – by the royal family.’ He glanced surreptitiously at his partner. ‘The police do not want to cause a disturbance unless they are absolutely sure there is a threat.’

  ‘Nobody wants to kick up a stink, right?’ Eddie shook his head. ‘If it’s Fisher and he releases the gas, there really will be a stink.’ He gazed at the approaching colossus, then down to the Grand Mosque. The great courtyard was already filled with pilgrims, slowly circling the Kaaba. ‘If he’s here, why hasn’t he already done it? There are loads of people there – lots of targets. What’s he waiting for?’ He looked back at his companions. ‘What times are your prayers today?’

  ‘The next salat is at nine minutes past noon,’ said al Farhan.

  ‘I’d ask what time it is now, but, well . . .’ He grinned and indicated the clock face, which told him it was ten past eleven, then became more serious. ‘That’s what he’s waiting for. These guys really, really don’t like Islam, so killing a load of Muslims in the middle of praying on their pilgrimage to Mecca would be pretty big for them symbolically.’

  ‘That only gives us an hour to find him,’ said Rajhi. ‘But what if he has set the gas to be released on a timer?’

  ‘When we catch him, we will make him tell us where it is,’ al Farhan said ominously.

  ‘Simeon Fisher is ex-special forces,’ Eddie told him. ‘You won’t break him – not in time. But he’ll probably have the angel with him.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’ asked Rajhi.

  ‘He thinks he’s one of the Witnesses from the Book of Revelation. They were killed before the seventh trumpet sounded – and since their boss wants that to happen, they’re probably going to make it a suicide attack. They’ll go out surrounded by their enemies
. . . and take them with them.’

  The clock loomed ever larger as the helicopter swung towards a helipad atop one of the lower towers. Up close, the domineering structure was revealed as gaudy, even ugly, traditional Arabian design elements like arched windows simply enlarged and stretched to fit the enormous slab-like walls without any consideration of human scale. Eddie admitted – and had also been told on numerous occasions by his wife – that he lacked taste in matters aesthetic, but even he considered this as tacky and vulgar as the worst excesses of Las Vegas. But he decided to keep his views on architecture from his hosts.

  Dust blew from the pad as the chopper touched down – even almost fifty storeys up, the desert still constantly reminded everyone of its presence – and several men ran to meet it, heads low. Al Farhan gripped Eddie’s arm before he could leave his seat. ‘You are an unbeliever in our most holy city,’ he said, eyes narrowed. ‘Do not disrespect it, or us. Remember that.’

  ‘How about remembering that I’m trying to stop a nutter killing thousands of people?’ Eddie shot back, pulling free.

  He stepped on to the helipad, feeling brief vertigo. The clock tower’s summit was well over a thousand feet above him, more than the tallest building in London, but the sight of the surrounding horizon reminded him that he was already several hundred feet up. The disorientation passed, but all the same he fixed his eyes on the new arrivals: officers in the beige uniform and beret of the Saudi police, and two men in Western-style suits who engaged al Farhan in rapid conversation as the group headed for the building’s entrance.

  ‘This is Mr Essa, the hotel manager,’ Rajhi told Eddie as they filed into an elevator. Essa was the older of the two suited men, a slim, elegant figure with a neatly trimmed grey beard. ‘And Mr Nadhar, chief of security.’

  Eddie greeted them. ‘Have you found Simeon Fisher?’

  ‘That was not the name he was using,’ said Essa. Although he was of Middle Eastern ancestry, he had a distinct French accent. ‘But he appears to be the man you are looking for. He checked in late last night. Mr Nadhar has pictures.’ The elevator started its descent.