Traitor

by Murray Mcdonald

  Chapter 61

  NCTC

  Two weeks later, Monday 28th July.

  Reid walked back into the center, having spent the previous two weeks in various locations across the Middle East with Flynn. All had proven to be wild goose chases. Nick Geller had quite literally disappeared off of the face of the earth. With no new videos having surfaced over that same period, the news stations had even managed to broadcast unrelated stories. Some semblance of normality was returning across America. Food supplies had been bolstered in stores, although there was still a significant minority insisting on bulk-buying and perpetuating food lines that weren’t quite back to what they had been just three weeks earlier.

  Gas stations, however, had recovered more quickly. There was only so much fuel people could fit in their gas tanks. Once full, they were topping up just as they had when they had run their car at nearly empty. People weren’t using more gas, they just had more gas in their cars.

  Reid knocked on Turner’s door before entering. “Deputy Director Turner,” she said, as she walked into the office.

  “Special Agent Reid, good to have you back,” replied Turner, delighted to see his number two. Without her on site, he had spent more time on the main operations floor than he would have liked. He had also realized just how much work she did behind the scenes that he had been blissfully and happily unaware of.

  “Any news?” she asked hopefully.

  “Nothing. Not a sighting. Not a whisper, anywhere, even of his name,” he replied.

  Carson, having heard Reid arrive, crashed the welcome party. “Sarah! Good to have you back,” he said warmly.

  “Thank you, Harry,” she replied with a smile.

  “Quite a trip you had. Is there anywhere you haven’t been in the Middle East?”

  “I don’t think so. It was a fairly comprehensive trip but a complete waste of time.”

  “Nothing anywhere. Even the chatter has dropped to levels we’ve not seen in years,” said Carson.

  “The calm before the storm?” asked Reid rhetorically.

  Both Carson and Turner nodded, the worry of that exact thought etched on their faces.

  “Anyway, great to have you back,” reiterated Carson, heading out of the office.

  “I found Speaker Lopez’s mole!” Turner called after him, causing Carson to stop in his tracks.

  “You did?” asked Carson in surprise, closing Turner’s door as he stepped back into the office.

  “It wasn’t easy. I had to call in a few favors at NSA. They tracked all calls from all cells from this location on the day in question.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “They’ve just come back and informed me that there was nothing. No calls to Speaker Lopez or anyone connected to her.”

  “But I thought you said you found the source?” said Reid.

  Carson smiled, as did Turner.

  “What’s there to smile about?” asked Reid, looking at them grinning at each other.

  “There’s not a chance in hell the NSA would have run that check without Harry knowing. He already knew the result because he made sure that’s what it was.”

  Carson put on his best offended look.

  “Furthermore,” continued Turner, “the biggest winner out of that debacle was the President. Speaker Lopez has been put firmly back in her box by the media. Her trip here was a public relations disaster that will be replayed for years to come.”

  Carson nodded in agreement. “Yes, Madame Speaker was shown to be a little naïve when it comes to dealing with national crises. Don’t politicize or try to score points when people’s lives are at risk.”

  “Emptying the center was genius and couldn’t have played out better if it had been orchestrated,” Turner said, looking directly at Carson.

  “What, you think I set that up? Sending her a secret message from a ‘friend’ and telling her to bring a press pack and catch the center having a nap?”

  “Did you?” asked Reid, finally catching up.

  “If only I had thought of that!”

  Turner shook his head as Carson walked out of the room.

  “You think he did it?”

  “Of course he did. The son of a bitch plays us like a grand pianist plays the piano!”

  “Should you not tell someone?”

  “Who?” asked Turner, walking over to the door and closing it, something Carson seemed incapable of doing.

  “The Director? The President?”

  “My proof is a lack of it. I only guessed the NSA would run it by him first. He didn’t deny they had. Even then, what are they going to do? Speaker Lopez is back at her day job and keeping her head down.”

  “I guess that helps us too.”

  “I know,” said Turner, reluctant to admit that Carson’s maneuver, however wrong, was helpful.

  “So anyway,” said Reid trying to lighten the mood and change subject, “what leads are we working?”

  Turner pointed sullenly to the white board at the back of his office. Nick Geller’s name was written in large letters across the top. The board below was empty.

  “Nothing?” she said, unable to hide her disproval.

  “Not nothing. There are little snippets, sightings down on the floor. I leave this board for the leads I think are going to come to something. Leads that might actually help us catch him.”

  “Shit,” she said despondently, dropping onto the sofa. Silence filled the room and then she said, “What about Frankie?”

  Turner shrugged. “The same, nothing new.”

  “But she was hunched over her desk and too busy to even say hi when I came in.”

  “To be honest, she’s been a bit strange all week and come to think of it, ever since she got back with Al Zahrani.”

  “Strange how?” asked Frankie from the doorway.

  Startled, and a little embarrassed, Turner said, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Secret Service training. We open doors very quietly,” she said before pressing her question. “Strange how?”

  “Quiet,” said Turner.

  “After what Frankie’s been through?!” Reid snapped.

  “No, he’s right. I have been a bit off this week,” Frankie admitted. “I’d be buried under a blanket! I can’t tell you how in awe I am of how you’ve coped,” said Reid, patting the sofa next to her for Frankie to join her.

  “I appreciate that but I’m not here for sympathy,” she said. “I’m here because I’ve got something.”

  Chapter 62

  Sarande, Adriatic Coast

  Albania

  Gary Truman grabbed his camera and headed out. Daylight was still a half hour away but he planned to hike north into the hills and capture some dramatic early morning shots as the sun crept over the hills that framed the Adriatic Sea below. Albania was still relatively untouched by tourism, certainly from a European perspective, and offered miles of deserted beaches and coves that elsewhere in Europe would have been crowded during the summer.

  A keen photographer and wildlife enthusiast, he was also hoping to catch a few shots of the Mediterranean monk seals, one of the most endangered mammals in the world. Thanks to the tranquility afforded by the quite coves and bays of the Albanian coastline, the seals were residents in some of the underwater caves just to the north of Sarande, the tourist town in which Gary’s hotel was located.

  Gary walked out on to the street and followed the road as far as it took him into the hills, which wasn’t far. Albania was a country with a checkered history. During the communist era, it had all but closed itself off from the rest of Europe and due to successive regimes favoring a rail network for the people, roads were neglected and private transportation even into the 1980s was mostly limited to a horse and cart. Albania had come a long way in the two decades since the fall of the communist regime but had a lot of building to do to compete with other European countries and economies.

  Whatever the case, Gary was delighted when the road disappeared to be replaced by a dust t
rack. It meant that he was travelling the less trodden path and the chances of catching a shot of the seals increased.

  He couldn’t have been happier. The warm air of dawn was promising another beautiful day ahead. He was alone in the world. His view from the hillside stretched down into the deserted coves and along the coastline. The only sounds he could hear were his footsteps brushing through the dust. This was in stark contrast to his working life. Although being armed with a camera was no real change, the subject of the photos was somewhat different. He was a crime scene investigator with the Metropolitan Police Force in London. His work shots were not ones he would ever care to share on his Blipfoto account, unlike his holiday snaps.

  Gary witnessed daily what one human could do to another. Fortunately, he had always preferred his own company, and had always been regarded as a bit strange by his colleagues. However, no one doubted his diligence when it came to work. Gary Truman was a perfectionist and noted the tiniest of details that many others in his profession would miss. Mildly autistic, Gary was blissfully unaware of any of the idiosyncrasies that set him aside from the rest of the team.

  Having captured his sunrise shots, Gary trekked down towards Krorez Beach. He had heard from a local that the seals sometimes spent the early morning swimming in the bay. Snapping off shots as he went, it was only as he neared the beach itself that he noticed for the first time that he wasn’t alone. Still on the hillside above the beach, he spotted something in the water.

  What he had initially thought might have been a seal’s head when it emerged around the headland was, when he zoomed in, revealed to be that of a man, a swimmer enjoying an early morning dip in the warm seas. Gary had snapped a couple of shots before he even realized it wasn’t a seal. Slightly irritated, he packed his camera back in his camera bag. Any chance of seeing the seals had been thwarted by the selfishness of the swimmer. Gary turned and headed back for Sarande. He would just manage to catch breakfast if he hurried.

  ***

  Nick Geller felt invigorated as he walked out of the waters and onto Krorez Beach. His sunrise swim was his one outing each day. The deserted coastline offered a beautiful change from swimming laps in a pool and with the added current, a lot more of a workout. Swimming with the dolphins and seals that had accepted him as a non-threatening addition to their habitat was a very welcome bonus.

  He grabbed his towel and spotted the man in the distance, halfway up the hill. He was too far to be able to make out Nick’s features but he was climbing up the hill so had been closer when Nick swam ashore. The man’s pace was normal which suggested he was not rushing away after identifying Nick but he was, nonetheless a risk. Nick swept the hillside. The man was alone, or at least not with anyone he knew. Nick noted a slight movement a few hundred yards behind the man.

  Larbi, his ever-present companion since the meeting in Parachinar, was on the man’s trail. The meeting had gone exceptionally well. His arrival at the farmhouse had been marked by the sacrifice of a goat, expertly and ceremonially killed by the executioner armed with the scimitar. A celebratory meal in Nick’s honor had been prepared and a lavish feast was enjoyed by all. Leaders from across the jihadist world had congratulated him and offered their undying desire to be part of the Caliph’s plan.

  Nick had been exceptionally pleased to see two men in particular - the first was the highly reclusive leader of Jabhat-al-Nusra, the Syrian wing of Al Qaeda, a man with thousands of battle hardened and experienced men under his command. Whether they all fit Nick’s exacting criteria to participate in the Caliph’s plan Nick did not know, but the leader’s presence was a massive boost to the cause. The other man was the leader of the Iraqi wing of Al Qaeda, another man with thousands of jihadists under his command. Between just those two of the many leaders in the farmhouse that night, Nick would have been more than able to deliver for the Caliph.

  Nick had warmly greeted them all, again emphasizing that only the truly devoted were welcome. The point, it seemed, had been well made. The leaders, ready to produce lists of names there and then were stopped in their tracks. Once again, Nick made the point. The Americans had to be kept in the dark as to the scale of the attack. Names would be collected after the meeting, in secret and each leader should keep the list to themselves. That way, even if they themselves were captured, the greatest damage they could do was give away their own group. They all agreed, appreciative of the diligence with which Nick was protecting the plan.

  Nick explained how each man would receive information to be at a set location at a set time. Each jihadist would receive his own instructions. Only on the morning of the attack would they learn their final destination and role within the plan, fighter, infector or protector. The fighters would be taking the fight to the infidels, a great honor. The infectors, the chosen few, were given the even greater honor of taking the virus into the heart of America, killing it from within. And finally the protectors, they would protect the future of the Caliphate. As for numbers, he refused to be budged. He would not disclose a number. If the Americans caught anyone, they would have no chance of understanding what they faced.

  In all, over the previous two weeks, the leaders had offered over ten thousand names from across their groups of highly trained and experienced soldiers who had pledged their lives in support of the Caliph’s plan and were ready to take the war to the American streets.

  Nick had his army. The true warriors of Allah from across the Muslim world, irrespective of their individual allegiances— Al Qaeda, Taliban, Hezbollah, Hamas or any one of the smaller groups— had come together. The Caliph’s dream, eighteen months in the making, had been realized. A dream that would see all ten thousand men take the role of fighter. Nick would take all ten thousand jihadists with him, none would be left behind, fighters and leaders alike. This was a grand plan befitting Allah and the Caliph. To protect the plan, he had to keep the details of its scale as quiet as possible. Misleading the leaders meant none would know just how massive the attack would be until they were on their way to America. Compartmentalization of the detail was key to the success. The fewer people who knew, the less they could tell and the less chance the Americans would find out until it was too late.

  Larbi had escorted Nick back to his SUV after the meeting and the waiting Walid. He had surprised them both when instead of guiding them out he had joined them in the vehicle. Larbi was to be Nick’s bodyguard and constant companion. Wherever Nick went, Larbi would watch over him. He was a highly experienced Mujahedeen fighter and was at home on the hillside.

  Nick had never witnessed such a master at work. He blended into the hillside and followed the man above Krorez Beach with ease, remaining out of sight of his target.

  When they disappeared over the hillside towards the next bay, Nick could only speculate as to the man’s fate. He grabbed his robe and slipped on his sandals to begin his own trek back up the hill towards the luxury villa that housed Nick and his many assistants as he planned the downfall of America and the rise of the Caliphate. The word ‘villa’ did not, however, do the property justice. Built into a hillside of commanding views across the sea, it was more of a complex than a villa. Stretching out across the hill, the walled perimeter offered complete privacy from the various buildings that made up the summer home for one of Walid’s many cousins. The main house was over twenty thousand square feet in size, with many smaller properties on the grounds for housing servants and guests alike, should the need arise.

  ***

  Larbi sped up. He had spent hours walking the area over the last week and knew every stone and path that surrounded the complex. He knew the man was taking a route that offered a shortcut into the next bay. A narrow ledge with a treacherous drop deterred most walkers but to Larbi it was the second quickest route. There was another more direct route that was more suitable to mountain goats, the ledge so narrow that it was only possible to walk sideways, while looking down onto rocks over five hundred feet below.

  Larbi walked along the ledge without a second t
hought of falling. His feet were as certain as they were walking a paved sidewalk. His shortcut would allow him to overtake the man and double back, in order to meet him coming from the opposite direction.

  ***

  Gary was agitated. His plan for the day had been ruined by the swimmer. At that time of the morning, he should have had the beach to himself and the seals, he was sure, would have been there. He removed the camera from its bag and scanned through the photos as he walked. The images of the sun rising calmed him down. He had captured some great shots and was sure to get some fantastic comments from his Blipfoto admirers when he posted them online later that day. His Blipfoto followers were as close to friends as Gary had. Their comments, no matter how brief, always made him feel calm and more relaxed.

  Pausing as he neared the narrowing path, he came across the photos of the swimmer. Photography was Gary’s only hobby, his only outlet outside of work. Therefore, the quality of his equipment was second to none. His zoom lens picked up every detail the naked eye could not see from several hundred yards away. The image viewer on the back of the camera was clear enough to zoom into the face of the man who had disrupted his day. The image was that of a face that Gary had seen many, many times over the previous three weeks.

  He gasped at the realization of who the swimmer was. The face that had appeared from the water belonged to none other than Nick Geller, wanted terrorist.

  Gary placed the camera back in the bag and with renewed purpose, strode towards his hotel room, a phone and the authorities. He hadn’t even noticed the man approaching him nervously, tucked against the inside wall of the path, as far from the drop as he could get. Gary had no fear of heights and was happy to pass the man on the outside, uncharacteristically smiling a good morning to him. He understood just how big a discovery he had just made. Finding evidence was his job. Finding evidence that would catch the man at the center of the largest manhunt in history was something he had really not expected.