Camel Club 01 - The Camel Club

by David Baldacci

  Hamilton snapped, “Well, then I guess you’ll just have to find him on your own.”

  Gray studied the man keenly. He sensed exactly what his adversary was thinking; politicians were all too transparent. Ben Hamilton had wanted this job more than anything. He had patiently paid his dues, waiting for Brennan to serve his two terms before it was his turn to wear the American Crown. Now he had the throne, yet could he do the job? In Gray’s mind it wasn’t even a close call. Ben Hamilton didn’t make even a worthy vice president.

  The chief of staff suddenly burst into the room with a Secret Service agent hard on her heels. “Sir,” she exclaimed. “This is just in from Al Jazeera. The kidnappers have disclosed the location where the president will be released.”

  “Where?” Gray snapped.

  “Medina.”

  Hamilton exclaimed, “Medina! How in the hell did they get Brennan out of the country and to Saudi Arabia?”

  “Private plane and private airport,” Gray answered. “Not that difficult.”

  Hamilton’s face flushed. “We spend billions on airport and border security, and they manage to sneak the damn president of the United States to the Middle East.” He stared at Gray as though he meant to fire him right that instant.

  Gray spoke quickly. “It makes sense. Medina is the second holiest city in the Muslim world behind Mecca.”

  Hamilton looked at his chief of staff. “Get in touch with the Saudis and tell them that Medina is going to be annexed by this country until we get Brennan back.” He eyed Gray. “I want every military and intelligence resource we have in the area focused there.”

  “I’m on it, sir,” Gray said, rising from his chair. He wanted to get out of the room as fast as he could.

  I serve at your pleasure, Gray thought as he fled the Oval Office.

  CHAPTER

  61

  CAPTAIN JACK SAT BACK IN HIS chair and smiled with excellent reason. He had in his hand the password he needed to set his final plan into motion. Their captive had endured far more torture than had been anticipated, although his North Korean colleagues were very skilled at such exercises. Yet the man had finally broken; they all did eventually. Captain Jack read the Arabic words and smiled.

  From a cloned phone that was not traceable to him he made one call. Speaking in fluent Arabic with well-honed inflections, he said what he needed to say and then used the precious password. This authenticated the source of Captain Jack’s statement to the party on the other line, and it would be immediately relayed to the world.

  Captain Jack clicked off the phone and used his lighter to burn the piece of paper. If Tom Hemingway thought he had stunned the world, wait until it heard what his old friend had to say.

  Secretary of Defense Joe Decker stared across the desk at Acting President Hamilton. They had just been informed of the latest statement issued through Al Jazeera. And they were furious.

  “It’s our only choice, sir,” Decker said. “We simply don’t have the troops to deploy there, and frankly, even if we did, it might quickly turn into another Iraq. We have to avoid that at all costs. We can’t afford it.”

  Andrea Mayes, the secretary of state, who’d been hovering in the back of the Oval Office, came forward. She was a tall, large-boned woman with graying hair. “What Secretary Decker is proposing is a direct violation of the Nonproliferation Treaty, sir. We can’t do it.”

  “Yes, we can,” Decker insisted.

  “How?” Hamilton asked sternly.

  “This country has made it clear that any use against it of weapons of mass destruction, biological, chemical or nuclear, would void the terms of the Nonproliferation Treaty with regard to the offending country.”

  “But Syria hasn’t attacked us,” Mayes exclaimed.

  “The Sharia Group has just now claimed responsibility for kidnapping President Brennan. Sharia is based in and financed by Syria. Under the foreign policies outlined previously by this country, that means Syria has attacked us through the Sharia Group, and they used some chemical agent to abduct the president. And we have evidence that Syria has recently started up a WMD program. Now, even though Syria hasn’t used WMDs against us yet, the U.S. has no obligation to simply sit here and be attacked. Coupled with the fact that they’ve kidnapped our president and are now throwing that fact in our faces more than justifies our position.”

  Mayes shook her head in disbelief. “Syria is not a threat to develop WMDs. They are a fractured nation of Kurds, Sunnis and religious minorities.”

  “They are no friend of this country,” Decker shot back.

  Mayes said, “They don’t want the chaos and violence they see in Iraq. Who would? And they don’t buy our democracy goal. We’re giving money to Libya because it dropped its nuke program; it’s still a dictatorship. Saudi Arabia is one of the world’s worst offenders of human rights, and their record on women’s rights is atrocious. And yet we allow them the status of one of our greatest allies. How can we expect other Arab nations to take us seriously with such inconsistency in our foreign policies?”

  She drew a quick breath before continuing. “The public in Syria is very aware of its government’s shortcomings and opposition groups are growing stronger there. The government repealed the death penalty for members of the Muslim Brotherhood. There are other positive signs pointing to freedom growing there, without a U.S. invasion. Their government will change but it will take time.” Mayes stopped speaking and looked at the president. “That’s what I’ve been telling Jim Brennan for four years. These things take time. We can’t just uproot a thousand-year-old culture overnight.”

  Decker piped in, “Many of the dissident groups in Syria are leftist and communists. We don’t want to go down that road again.”

  Hamilton looked at the director of Central Intelligence, who was sitting in front of the fireplace. “Are you on board with Joe’s opinion, Allan?”

  The director said, “It’s not a slam dunk, but it’s close enough.”

  “And there’s no reason to waste time going to the U.N. or building a coalition, sir,” Decker added quickly. “They have our president, and we need to get back in the driver’s seat. And this will put us there. Fast! And we can and should do it all alone.” Decker’s eyes blazed. “Damn it, sir, with all due respect, we are the world’s only superpower. I say we start acting like it.”

  “And Jim Brennan?” Hamilton asked.

  “If he’s still alive, and we all pray that he is, then this will probably be the only shot we have of getting him back.”

  Hamilton mulled this over and finally said, “Okay, gentlemen. Call the networks and get me airtime immediately. I’m going to inform the public about this.” He turned to Decker. “God help us if we’re wrong, Joe.”

  When Alex Ford opened his door, Adams and the Camel Club stared back at him.

  “Oh, hell!” Alex began angrily.

  Kate said, “Alex, please, we have to talk to you.”

  Reuben added, “It’s bad, Agent Ford. Really bad.”

  Alex said, “What are you talking about?”

  Stone answered, “There have been some major developments.”

  “What developments, Oliver?” Alex asked.

  Kate cut in. “A terrorist organization has claimed responsibility for the kidnapping. We heard about it on the drive over here.”

  “The Sharia Group. It has clear ties to Syria,” Stone said.

  “Where’s your TV?” Kate asked. “The president is coming on in two minutes.”

  Alex led them inside and turned on his TV set. Ben Hamilton appeared on the screen a few minutes later looking very grave. He summed up the situation to the country and then said, “America is a generous nation. We have always been a people that reach out to others in need. We came to the aid of our friends during two world wars. Wars fought to keep the world free. There is no doubt that we are a good, honorable people who use our might benignly to spread freedom around the world. But we are also a nation that defends itself and strikes back whe
n we have been attacked. Well, my fellow Americans, we have been attacked. And now the organization that has attacked us has shown itself. The Sharia Group has irrefutable ties to the nation of Syria, a country that has long been known to harbor terrorist groups operating against America and its allies.” He paused. “All American government personnel in Syria have been airlifted out. All other Americans known to be in Syria have been given early warning to leave the country immediately.

  “The Sharia Group’s own ransom demand conceded that the United States has every right to defend itself when attacked and to also strike back against any nation that assisted in that attack. And America will not be dictated to by terrorists.” Here Hamilton gave a long pause. “Thus, my fellow Americans, the decision has been made by me, as your commander in chief, after consultation with the secretary of defense and the Pentagon.”

  “Oh, shit,” Alex and Kate blurted out together, for they knew what was coming.

  “We now make our demand of the kidnappers.” Hamilton paused again and squared his shoulders. “If President James H. Brennan is not returned to us safely within eight hours from this exact moment in time, I have instructed my military commanders to immediately thereafter launch a limited nuclear missile strike against Damascus, Syria. The only way in which Damascus will avoid such a fate is if our president is returned to his countrymen unharmed within the allotted time. If President Brennan is in Medina, then he can be turned over to the American embassy in Saudi Arabia, and the launch will be called off. I pray that the kidnappers will comply with our demand immediately. If not, may God have mercy on the people of Damascus. There will be no negotiations and no reprieves. Members of the Sharia Group, you said you would return our president to us unharmed. Do so in the time dictated by the United States, or Damascus will pay the price for your heinous crime.” Hamilton paused again. “God bless you, my fellow Americans, and may God bless the United States.”

  As the president faded out, everyone in Alex’s living room sat motionless in their chairs, holding their breaths. It was a scene doubtless replicated in a hundred million homes around America, and across the world.

  An anguished Kate looked over at Alex. “This could be the beginning of the end.”

  “If it is, it is,” Stone said calmly. “But it will do us no good to sit around waiting for the mushroom cloud to appear over Damascus.”

  “What the hell can we do, Oliver?” Alex asked.

  “Find the president!” Stone snapped.

  “How?” Alex shot back angrily. “He’s in Medina.”

  “I don’t believe that and I hope you don’t either.” He looked at Milton. “Show him the DVD.”

  Milton opened his laptop. “This is the video that was taken during the break-in at my house, Agent Ford.”

  “What the hell does this have to do with anything?” Alex shouted. “We are going to launch a nuclear missile in eight hours. Don’t you understand that?”

  “Look at the film, Alex,” Kate pleaded.

  Alex finally threw up his hands and plopped down on the floor in front of the laptop.

  “Damn,” he said a minute later. “That’s Tyler Reinke and Warren Peters. They’re from NIC.”

  “I thought they were NIC employees,” Stone said.

  “Why’d you think that?”

  “Because they were also the ones who killed Patrick Johnson.”

  Alex sat back, stunned. “Why would they have killed Johnson?”

  “Because he was altering files at NIC. Making people seem dead who weren’t really dead. And I think someone was paying him a lot of money to do it, but Johnson got greedy or sloppy or both.”

  “Let me get this straight. Johnson was altering files at NIC to make some people appear dead who really weren’t?”

  Stone said, “We believe that these men were the ones used in Brennan, Pennsylvania. The newspapers said that not one of the Arabs killed there was in the NIC files. That is inconceivable. I think these men were human sterilized weapons, and they were used to kidnap President Brennan. When we searched Reinke’s home, we discovered that he’d invested a lot of borrowed money in expectation of the stock market plummeting, which it has now.”

  “Are you saying this whole thing was about making money in the stock market?” Alex exclaimed.

  “No, it’s much deeper than that,” Stone replied.

  Alex looked at him. “Any idea who’s behind it?”

  “Someone high up at NIC,” Stone ventured. “Higher than Reinke and Peters certainly.”

  “Let me take another look at that video,” Alex said.

  He watched once more as Reinke and then Peters appeared on the screen. Then he pointed at the image of the man in the black mask as he leveled the security guard. “He hit the guy pretty hard,” Alex noted. “He had to check his pulse to make sure he hadn’t killed him.”

  Reuben suddenly put a finger up to his lips and motioned toward the window. The blind was drawn but the window was open. They all had heard it now: footsteps.

  Alex eyed Stone, and the pair quickly reached a silent agreement. Stone motioned to Reuben to join the Secret Service agent. While the group talked as though they were all still there, Alex pulled his gun and silently opened the front door. He went left while Reuben went to the right and around the side of the house toward the rear.

  A minute later they all heard screams and a struggle, and then silence. Then the front door opened and Alex marched in. Behind him Reuben was carrying someone.

  Jackie Simpson didn’t look very happy.

  CHAPTER

  62

  “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING here, Jackie?” Alex demanded.

  She glared at him. “I’ve been calling your house to see how you were doing, but you never called me back. So I came by tonight to see you, and I seem to have stumbled upon a conspiracy. What’s going on, Alex?”

  Stone had not taken his gaze off Simpson. “We’re actually trying to figure out what’s going on at NIC.”

  “I know, I heard that part. And that Reinke and Peters broke into someone’s house.” Simpson looked at Alex. “If you know something about the president being kidnapped, you have to take it to the Service. Alex, you could get into a lot of trouble for withholding that sort of information.”

  Stone cut in. “I don’t believe that’s a good idea.”

  Simpson stared at him contemptuously. “Who the hell are you?”

  He held out his hand. “Oliver Stone.”

  “Pardon me?” she said incredulously.

  “His name’s Oliver Stone,” Alex interjected. “And these are his friends, Reuben, Milton and Caleb. You’ve already met Kate Adams.”

  Stone said, “And you are Jackie Simpson, the only child of Senator Roger Simpson of Alabama, and the goddaughter of Carter Gray, the secretary of intelligence.”

  “Is that a problem?” she asked coolly.

  “Not at all. But going to the authorities at this stage would be a huge mistake, Agent Simpson”

  “Listen, Oliver Stone or whatever your real name is, I can do anything I damn well please. I’m a cop, okay, and—”

  “And you’re a very intelligent cop,” Stone broke in, gazing at her. “And because you are, I’m sure that you’ve already considered the obvious.”

  Simpson rolled her eyes, but Stone continued to stare at her until she said, “And what might that be?”

  “If we’re right and NIC’s files have been corrupted, the unfortunate result was that an army of terrorists was allowed to go to Brennan, Pennsylvania, and successfully kidnap the president. That does not bode well either for your godfather, who heads that agency, or your father, who oversees its operations as chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee. I’m quite sure that you would not want to do anything to hurt them professionally. If you go to the authorities now, you could very well destroy both of their careers.”

  All eyes were on Jackie Simpson as she and Stone engaged in a protracted stare-down. Finally, Simpson broke off and looked
at Alex for help.

  “Alex, what the hell is going on? What am I supposed to do here?”

  “We’re trying to figure this all out, Jackie. Until we do, we can’t say anything, to anybody.”

  Caleb looked at his watch. “We now have exactly seven hours and forty-one minutes to find Brennan and prevent a possible Armageddon.”

  “Well, everybody ought to cross their fingers and toes, then,” Reuben said.

  “Omigod!” Alex asserted. “Fingers!”

  “What?” Kate exclaimed.

  Alex snatched Milton’s computer and replayed the DVD. “There,” he said, pointing. “Right there, do you see that?”

  They all looked confused because he wasn’t pointing at Reinke or Peters. He was pointing at the man in the mask who’d knocked out the security guard.

  Stone looked at him puzzled. “All I see is a man in a mask, Alex. What else is there to see?”

  He froze the screen and pointed with his finger. “This.”

  They all squinted at the screen. Simpson said, “The security guard’s neck?”

  Alex said, “No, the right hand on that neck. He took his glove off to check the guard’s pulse.”

  Reuben shrugged. “Right. So what?”

  Alex looked exasperated. “Look at that hand. Tell me you don’t recognize it.”

  Kate said, “Recognize a hand? Are you serious?”

  “Like I told you before, Kate, hands are my specialty. And I recognize that hand. It’s very distinctive with bolt-size knuckles, and fingers thicker than I’ve ever seen.” He hit another button, and the picture zoomed in on the hand. “And the thumbnail has a black spot the shape of a triangle in the upper left-hand corner. When I saw that earlier, I thought it was some weird tattoo.”

  “Saw it earlier? What are you talking about? When did you see it earlier?”

  “In the bar that night. When you introduced me to Tom Hemingway. And I saw it again when he met us at NIC.”

  Kate stared at him openmouthed and then glanced at the screen. “You’re saying that’s Tom Hemingway’s hand?”

  “There’s no doubt about it. To me hands are as good as fingerprints, Kate.”