Turner spotted Carson and beckoned him up. Carson took Frankie by the elbow and led her up the stairs with him.
“We have a lead,” said Turner, walking them back towards his office. “And we need some assets.”
“Of course,” replied Carson, following Turner into his office with Frankie in tow.
“A Saudi prince,” Turner said, causing Carson to stop him and look at Frankie.
Frankie stepped outside, closing the door behind her.
“What was that?” asked Turner.
“I’ll tell you later,” said Carson.
“A Saudi prince, Prince Abdullah Bin Fahd Al Khaled, left Leesburg Executive Airport about forty minutes after the attack and explosion. Two people boarded the flight, an Arab woman in full burka and the prince.”
“And?”
“We have no idea who the woman is. It was believed to be his mother or aunt, but both have now been accounted for elsewhere.”
“Shit, where’s the plane now?” asked Carson.
“That’s the thing, they filed a flight plan direct to Riyadh but they’ve just commenced a descent towards an airport on the northern French coast.”
“Get me a phone. I’ll have the flight intercepted. That is exceptionally fast work!” congratulated Carson.
Turner pointed to the phone on his desk. Carson walked across the room and lifted the receiver. “What do we know about the prince?”
“Very wealthy, bit of a playboy, and up until now nothing other than a few rumors of funding a few militant groups but all covered as humanitarian support for refugees and the displaced. Nothing has ever been proved and to be honest, he has a number of friends on the Hill.”
“How much time until they land and where?”
Turner checked his computer screen. “Twenty minutes at Le Touquet, Northern France.”
Carson retrieved his cell, scrolled though his contacts and dialed a number that got him through to the Supreme Allied Commander of NATO forces in Europe. After a brief and exceptionally frustrating catch up, Carson finally got around to requesting the interception of the prince’s plane.
“How connected is this prince within the royal family?” asked Carson of Turner, removing the handset and covering the mouthpiece.
Turner checked his watch. They were down to ten minutes before the landing.
“What difference does it make?”
“Don’t be so naïve,” countered Carson sharply.
“He’s more connected here than in Saudi Arabia. He’s pretty much an outsider there from all reports.”
Carson relayed the information, giving the commander the ‘go’.
“All done,” he announced, replacing the handset.
“They’ll be landing in eight minutes,” said Turner, checking his watch again.
“No they won’t,” smiled Carson confidently.
Chapter 13
RAF Lakenheath was concealed deep in Thetford Forest, less than sixty miles from London and just 117 miles from Le Touquet, on the northeastern tip of France. Travelling at sixty miles an hour, it would take the same in minutes as the measurement in miles. However, a McDonnell Douglas F15 on afterburners will cover almost thirty miles for every minute, travelling at over two and half times the speed of sound, or 1,700 miles per hour.
Although called RAF Lakenheath, it was in fact almost exclusively manned by USAF personnel and equipment and was home to the 48th Fighter Wing. With two fighters on constant patrol, the two F15 pilots allocated the task by the Supreme Commander of European Forces had little to do but point their jets in the right direction and hit the afterburners. They would be on site in time to intercept the prince’s jet before landing and before hitting the French mainland, with two minutes to spare. Not that they had any issue with crossing over onto mainland France – the French would be more than happy to assist. They just wanted to minimize collateral damage wherever possible.
***
Nick readied himself for a fast exit. There wasn’t going to be lot of time. The pilot had made it very clear how unhappy he was. The money had convinced him to do it but no amount of money was going to make him happy about it. Fortunately, the pilot and co-pilot were blissfully unaware that Nick was the most wanted man on the planet. Once that came to light, the prince was going to have to dig even deeper into his pockets. Of course, there was the fact that if they ever did open their mouths, they would be admitting that they had not checked the identity of one of their passengers before departure. Nick had a sneaking suspicion that it may not take that much more money to keep them quiet. After all, pilots tended to be highly intelligent individuals.
He checked his backpack again, along with the slim metal briefcase that secured one of the most lethal viruses known to man. Nick did not enjoy carrying it around and looked forward to securing it in a safety deposit box as soon as physically possible. Maximizing the virus’ effectiveness required very precise timing and conditions. It was one of the last phases of his plan and until then, he just had to make sure the seals and the contents remained secure.
“You ready?” Nick asked the prince.
The prince’s face said no but he nodded. Nick turned to the stewardess who sat in the jump seat by the exit door. “Ready?”
She nodded, double checking her straps were properly secured.
Nick checked the door through to the bedroom. It was shut and the other two stewardesses were also strapped in and the cockpit door was secure.
“We’ve just been hailed by two American fighters,” came a panicked announcement by the pilot over the internal P.A. system. “They’re going to shoot us down if we don’t do what they say!”
“Okay, now!” Nick yelled to the stewardess, as a rush of air blasted into their faces.
***
“So why did you react when I mentioned the Saudi prince?’ asked Turner nodding towards Frankie out on the gangway. The silence, while they waited for an update, was deafening.
“How much do you know about her?” asked Carson warily.
“Other than she’s a Secret Service agent, obviously trusted by the President, despite her boyfriend trying to kill him and blowing up his house, and the fact that he insists she is part of the investigation, very little.”
“Well I suggest we learn a lot more very quickly. Her mother’s a Saudi princess.”
Turner’s head snapped back again to look at Frankie. “No fucking way!”
Carson nodded. “I’ve got her file being sent to me as we speak. I’ve just been to her house, trust me, it’s not bullshit. She lives in a mini palace behind Mom and Dad’s full sized one.”
“Do you think…” Turner didn’t want to finish what he was about to say.
“Honestly, no. However, Nick Geller is a very smart cookie and he may just have been using her for more than a booty call,” interrupted Carson.
“We’re just about to debrief her but it may all become a bit irrelevant very shortly,” suggested Turner, checking his watch again for the tenth time in less than two minutes. Almost on cue, the desk phone rang. Turner let Carson answer it.
Carson listened for a few seconds before replacing the handset.
“We got them,” he smiled triumphantly.
“So are the French going to hand him straight over to us?”
Carson looked at him strangely. “Why would the French have them?”
“Because they just captured them at Le Touquet,” replied Turner, somewhat confused.
“No they didn’t, we just stopped them getting to France!” said Carson.
“I thought you sent a team to get them when they landed?’ asked Turner, his mind spinning.
“Le Touquet’s in the middle of fucking nowhere. Do you think we’ve got Special Ops teams all over the world, ten minutes from anywhere?” asked Carson irritably.
“No but—”
“I sent two fighter jets to stop them landing in France and getting away.”
“Fighter jets? What the fuck have you done?” Turner shou
ted. He worked for the FBI. They followed process, they followed the law. They were not judge jury and executioner.
Carson laughed awkwardly. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough,” he said cryptically before leaving an infuriated and dumbfounded Turner to stew.
Chapter 14
“Come with me,” ordered Carson, slamming Turner’s door behind him.
Frankie looked at the infuriated Turner before quickly following Carson.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He turned into an office at the end of the gangway. A plaque stamped DOD adorned the front of the door. Two officers sat at two of the four desks that took up half the room. The other half had a conference table with ten chairs.
“Out!” barked Carson at the two officers.
Neither questioned the authority with which he had evicted them. They just assumed and correctly, that if somebody barked an order at them, it was presumably someone of a higher rank.
“Sit,” he ordered Frankie, pointing to the conference table.
Frankie stood her ground.
Carson glared at her, she glared back. Carson smiled sarcastically, she smiled sarcastically back. Carson smiled warmly. “My apologies, please could you take a seat?”
Frankie sat.
Carson took a seat opposite her and put his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, Turner just really pissed me off.”
“What did he do?”
Carson laughed. “You know, I’m not really sure. He just acted like an FBI guy does, you know?”
Frankie smiled. “Hmm, yes,” she said nodding. “Like we’re all beneath them and their standards.”
“Exactly,” said Carson snapping his fingers and pointing at her. “He assumed I had the prince’s plane shot down, like I’m some sort of trigger-happy lunatic.”
“Did he apologize?”
“What for?”
“Being wrong.”
Carson smiled wickedly. “I didn’t tell him he was,” he shrugged. “If that’s what he thinks of me.”
“So what have you done with it?” she asked wondering what had become of Nick.
“We’re just about to find out,” he said, hitting a dial button on the teleconference machine that sat in the center of the table. “Either, they’re on their way back to Lakenheath or…” he shrugged again.
“Or they shot it down?” she gasped.
“Only if the pilots failed to follow directions,” explained Carson, realizing he had in fact given the order Turner had accused him of so outrageously. “I suppose we have a reputation for good reason.”
Frankie held her breath as the confirmation came through. The Gulfstream had followed directions and would be landing at Lakenheath within the hour.
Carson killed the phone line and retrieving a laptop from one of the desks, pulled up an email that had been sent to him in the previous few minutes.
“Okay, Frankie,” he said, “it’s time we find out a little more about you and Mr Nick Geller.”
Frankie shifted uncomfortably. “I assumed I’d be speaking to the FBI.”
“You will, I just want to know you’re telling them the right thing.”
“I’ll tell them the truth,” she replied quickly.
“Of course, I’d just like to hear it first please,” he said.
Colonel Valerie Barnes slipped into the room quietly and took a seat next to Carson. Frankie eyed her carefully while Colonel Barnes smiled at her warmly.
“Colonel Barnes,” said Frankie nervously.
“Please, just Val. I’m a doctor who just happens to work for the Army.”
“Doctor Barnes,” corrected Frankie.
“Does he know?” asked Val.
“Does who know what?” asked Frankie, looking from one of them to the other.
“Does Nick know?”
Frankie’s barrier broke and she shook her head, tears trying to flow once again. Frankie pushed them back. She wasn’t a crier.
Carson was struggling to keep up when he finally understood. “Shit!”
“It’s the hormones, they’re raging inside you at the moment. They’ll calm down,” promised Val.
Frankie removed another piece of toilet tissue to dry her eyes.
“But how did you know?” asked Carson.
“The blood test for the virus,” she replied.
“You see,” said Carson, “there’s something the FBI don’t need to know and not telling them isn’t not telling them the truth.”
Frankie looked at him warily. “But why?”
“Nick Geller was one of ours,” he said. “The fallout is going to be huge and the Secretary of Defense and the President would like me to manage that. Politics is a difficult enough power game. Let’s just say there are some within the corridors of power who may try and use this situation to their political advantage. There are many in Washington who would like to see the Defense Department on its knees, irrespective of how it makes us look to our enemies or even how it affects the security of our nation.”
“Okay, but I want to see President Mitchell first.”
Chapter 15
The Gulfstream jet drew to a stop as indicated by the ground controller. A section of Lakenheath’s apron had been sectioned off specifically for its arrival. The welcoming party that awaited them caused instant panic inside the prince’s jet.
The pilot grabbed his mic. “Your Highness, just what the fuck is going on?” he asked across the internal P.A. system, the panic in his voice evident.
The prince unbuckled himself and rushed into the cockpit. The sight of dozens of men dressed in full biohazard suits was not a sight anyone wanted to see, particularly when you weren’t wearing one yourself.
The prince, although panicking, tried to regain his composure. His Caliph needed him. His Caliph had selected him.
“Just stick to the plan,” he said, looking intensely into the eyes of the pilot and co-pilot. “I’ll double what we’ve already agreed!” They may be mercenaries but even they had their limits. “Okay, ten times!” the prince blurted. The subtle smiles told him he had just hit theirs.
The Prince drew himself to his full royal stature and made his way to the exit where the stewardess opened the door. He was greeted by a wall of armed men dressed in hazard suits.
“What is the meaning of this!” he shouted in his most indignant voice. He did indignant very well. “This is an outrage!”
The Base Commander stepped forward. “We have reason to believe that you are harboring a wanted fugitive on board.”
“If any of my staff are international fugitives, please take them away,” he said angrily. “But I seriously doubt that any of them have done anything to warrant this treatment. I demand to see the Foreign Secretary!”
“If you and your staff will exit the plane, I’m sure we can sort this out very quickly,” replied the Colonel.
“Of course, but I must ask, is it safe?’ he asked, looking across at the field of hazard suits in front of him.
“These are to protect us from the fugitive.”
Outwardly, the prince didn’t flinch. Inwardly, his intestines wanted to explode. What the hell had he been exposed to? A whisper from behind him asked “Double again?”
He nodded slightly before walking down the steps ahead of his pilot and co-pilot who had just earned a $40 million bonus between them. The stewardesses followed next, and behind them a woman dressed head to toe in full burka.
“Feel free to check,” announced the prince waving the armed guards towards the plane.
Base Security searched the plane, every square inch, before exiting and with a shake of the head towards the Colonel, confirmed it was empty.
The Colonel checked the photo of Nick Geller once again against the two pilots, the stewardesses, and the eyes of the woman behind the burka. He called a female airwoman over.
“Your Highness,” he asked, “would you mind if my female colleague took the lady aboard and confirmed she is not who we are looking for?”
The prince looked at the Colonel in disbelief. The burka, although covering the woman’s body and face, could not hide her eyes. They were as beautiful as any woman’s eyes could possibly be, emerald green and sparkling.
“You obviously have a different type of man where you live,” he snorted and waved his acceptance with one sweep of his hand towards the plane.
The airwoman and burka-clad woman boarded the plane before reappearing shortly after the woman in the burka had shown her face to the airwoman. The airwoman, unsurprisingly, shook her head as she exited the plane.
“May I ask why you wanted to change your plans and land at le Touquet?” asked the Colonel politely.
“I do not see why it is any of your business,” snapped the prince haughtily. “But if you must know, my friend,” he said, pointing to the lady in the burka, “has been unwell and a plane is no place for a beautiful lady to be sick.”
The Colonel nodded and excused himself for a few moments to make a call. After speaking to a furious and highly embarrassed Supreme Commander, he was routed directly to Deputy Director Turner, the man in charge of the investigation. Carson was nowhere to be found.
“Deputy Director Turner,” said the Colonel, “I’m the Base Commander at USAF Lakenheath in Engla—”
“It’s your guys that shot down my suspect?” Turner cut in disgustedly.
“Shot him down? What the hell are you talking about? They were in a civilian aircraft!”
Turner stopped in his tracks and revisited the conversation with Carson. He hadn’t ever said he was shooting it down, just that he was not letting it land in France.
“Sorry, it’s been a long day. How can I help?”
“You can help by telling me why I have just diverted a seriously pissed off member of the Saudi royal family for no good fucking reason!”
“You’ve got them there?” Turner asked excitedly.
“Touched down a few minutes ago,” he confirmed. “We’ve searched the plane, your man’s not there.”
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