“Nick?” asked Frankie.
“We believe so. The jet landed shortly afterwards on a deserted runway in Northern Italy where it was also torched.”
“All of this points rather ominously to the conclusion of at least some part of their planning, if not the complete conclusion.”
“Any way to track them from Italy?” asked Reid.
“We’ve no idea if they picked up a car, a train, or even another plane. He could be anywhere but I believe Europe is most likely to be the jumping off point for them and so I’ve moved a number of assets into place, including two Carrier Groups to cover the Atlantic on the European side and another two on this side. A further two groups will cover the Pacific.”
“You really think he’s going to do it?” asked Frankie. Up until that point, she really had thought there would come a point when Nick would see sense.
“I have no doubt in my mind,” replied Carson. “I have advised the President to begin enacting any recommendations that Colonel Barnes and FEMA deem appropriate to minimize the risk of the Ebola Virus in the mass populous. An emergency broadcast is going out this evening.”
“Oh my God, you think it’s that imminent?” asked Turner.
Carson nodded. “At least twenty men have been executed. I can only assume this was to ensure they did not disclose what they knew. From the positioning of how they were found, they died without a struggle, while praying. As for timescales, I think we’re down to hours, maybe days away from their attack. I’ve advised Homeland to double their checks on all US bound flights and particularly all non-US citizens boarding flights bound for the US. We’re effectively closing our borders to non-US citizens. The Coast Guard and Navy will be checking every boat that enters US waters. Anything they don’t like the look of will be turned away and they have orders to shoot first and ask questions later, if need be.
“What can we do?” asked Frankie.
“Pray that he uses one of those pre-paid cards,” said Carson. “I’m afraid that’s probably our last hope.”
Chapter 69
Frankfurt
Germany
Friday August 1st
After months of preparation, the day had finally arrived. Plans put in place as promised to the Caliph were about to become a reality. Those promises had been cemented with Allah, and Nick was just hours from making them come true. Despite the knowledge that his life would soon end, he was elated. The legacy he would leave behind would create a new and better world.
The image of a laughing Frankie lying on the bed flashed into his mind. It was a beautiful memory that he couldn’t and had no intention of erasing. It remained his only regret. He could never forget the first time he had seen her, sweeping through a corridor in the White House with the President. Her beauty shone across the room, her piercing blue eyes clashing with her Arabian looks. Looks that only ever seemed to exist on TV shows or on the movie screen. Her command of the area only added to his captivation. Her eyes scanned constantly, checking positions, people, her colleagues, while never taking her eyes off the President.
Despite their eyes only connecting for a fraction of a second across the length of a corridor, he knew there was something there. She had paused just slightly longer on him. It was then that a hint of recognition had sparked in his mind. He recognized something familiar about the eyes. The devastation of that recognition came many weeks later. Long after the consummation of their relationship, the image of the eyes of a much younger Frankie suddenly visited him. A photo that had been shown to him by the Caliph as he shared the deepest darkest secrets of his son, the victims that the Caliph had been aware of and had managed to suppress. Frankie, a much younger Frankie, had been the victim of a pedophile.
Nick had lain awake that night, questioning his motives, his desires, his actions towards the victim Frankie. Had he subconsciously wanted to protect her, keep her safe? Those feelings had grown over time, not immediately. They were feelings that were futile in any event. Frankie could more than look after herself. She had never once acted like a victim. She was a strong, career-orientated woman, the poster woman for positive attitude and desire. She was captivatingly beautiful. It was that simple. He had fallen for a woman for her looks, personality, courage and strength. Not one day had he ever felt sorry for her. He had asked himself a question: If Frankie hadn’t been a victim of the Caliph’s son, would he still have made a move? Hell yeah. Would he still have fallen in love with her? Hell yeah, he thought, realizing for the first time that he had in fact fallen in love. It was the best and worst moment of his life, a life he knew was coming to end just as the potential for a new life had begun.
Nick opened his eyes with the image of Frankie’s flawless body seared into his eyelids. It was not the time to reminisce, he chastised himself. A cold shower revitalized his body and mind for the task ahead.
After disembarking from the plane in Northern Italy a few nights before, they travelled by car across the Italian border through Switzerland and soon entered Germany. The racetracks, known as autobahns, were a wondrous motorway system. Nick had been on them before but never in a car that could cruise at almost one hundred and ninety miles an hour legally. The first two hundred miles of the journey took almost three hours as they stuck religiously to the speed limits to avoid unnecessary attention. The second half of the journey, once they crossed into Germany was covered in half the time, as Walid was keen to show them what the Porsche Panemera Turbo S could do. Not that Nick or Larbi were in the least bit interested.
Over the previous two days, his army was mobilizing across Europe. The first instructions sent each jihadist to a hotel in one of many European cities. Each would travel alone, unaware of his compatriots’ or leaders’ whereabouts. Were they intercepted, they would know nothing of their final destination or the whereabouts of any other jihadists. Nor would they have any idea of the numbers involved. Even the leaders knew only of their own individual group’s input. Even then, they did not know how many of those Nick would ultimately use in his plan. Those details would only be made known to the individuals in the final hours before their flights.
Over ten thousand hotel rooms had been rented across the various cities that would be used as the departure points for Nick’s army. Over ten thousand jihadists ready to fight and die for Allah. They were the most vehement supporters of the various sections within the Islamic faith. Sunni, Shi’a, Wahhabi, Sufi, amongst many other smaller factions had joined as one force, sending their most devoted and devout followers to fight for the cause. Those prepared to die for their cause, Allah’s cause, were waking up on a day that would change the world for Islam and the infidel.
Each of the ten thousand would log in to an email account and receive their e-ticket and learn their ultimate destination. The emails were pre-set to be delivered at 7:30 a.m. Central European Time (CET). The logistics of the operation were mindboggling but had been expertly carried out by the Albanian bookers. Ten thousand passports had been sent to ten thousand separate locations. Ten thousand hotel rooms had been organized and allocated to ensure men who knew each other were separated and unaware of each other’s locations. It was vital to ensure that the compartmentalization of the plan was followed through until the last moment. If any man were an impostor, his knowledge of the plan and of others involved would be minimal. Ten thousand cell phones had been pre-delivered to each of the rooms for use on arrival at their destination, along with Western style clothing. All the jihadists would be dressed from head to toe in American made and branded apparel. Messages were pre-set to be delivered on arrival at their destinations, detailing the next steps to meet up with their fifty-man strike team or to maximize the delivery of the virus they carried.
Nick checked the time, 8:03 a.m. CET. The couriers that had been sent out across Europe would be delivering the special containers that housed forty-nine vials of Ebola Zaire virus. Those who would carry the virus would discover their fate with the arrival of the vial. Their fate would be sealed before the op
eration commenced but with the knowledge that they would be responsible for more infidel deaths than any other Muslim in history. Their suicide would be greater than any suicide in history.
Nick, like every other member of the jihadists, had received his email at precisely 7:30 a.m. CET. However his email information was incorrect. He had changed his destination but the booking still showed the destination he had originally planned: Washington, D.C. As much as he wanted to take the fight to the heart of the infidel and Washington, he had decided against it. Even with the best disguise, the security at Dulles Airport would be far greater than at any other target airport. Even though he wanted to lead from the front, the dangers of him never even arriving were too great. Washington, New York, Chicago and L.A. were too high profile and his arrival at any of those was too great a risk to the operation.
Nick logged into a travel website and looked for alternative routes from Frankfurt. The nearest to Washington and New York that he could use to meet up with others was the Frankfurt-Philadelphia route. Another less obvious but slightly further route was to Charlotte, North Carolina. He tried to remember which flight Walid was on. He knew Larbi was definitely on the Washington Dulles flight. Walid was flying into Charlotte or Philadelphia. Not wanting to be on the same flight, he booked both while there was space and he’d use whichever one Walid wasn’t on. He used a separate pre-paid card to ensure as much anonymity as possible for each purchase and thinking what the hell, he went for business class tickets. First class was, as far as he was concerned, just a step too far, no matter whose money it was.
Nick Geller had just made his second mistake.
Chapter 70
1:35 a.m. EST (7:35 a.m. CET)
NCTC
Within one minute of the first transaction, Frankie’s phone rang, along with many others in the center. Frankfurt. A hotel near the airport was being pinpointed as the location of the transaction. Frankie contained her excitement. All of the card numbers on the watch list were not Nick’s. Some belonged to innocents whose purchases coincided with Nick’s. Three false alarms had already been triggered over the last few hours. However, this was the first transaction on the watch list of cards outside the US. Frankie was still rubbing sleep from her eyes when the transaction details came through. A business class seat on US Airways Flight 701 to Philadelphia leaving at 11:00 a.m. which she quickly realized was in just over three hours’ time.
Flynn was already at her desk. “Ramstein Airbase is just 80 miles away,” he told Frankie while simultaneously talking into his cell phone.
“We’ve got a Defense Clandestine team there and…” he stopped talking, once again focusing on what was being said to him on his cellphone.
Reid moved across to hear what was happening. She watched as Frankie’s screen opened to reveal a copy of an e-ticket purchased for “James Smith”.
“Holy shit! Result!” he grinned as he relayed his news. “There is a full Marine Special Operations Battalion on the base. They’re on a stopover on the way to Afghanistan. That’s about two hundred and fifty kick ass Marines ready and itching for some action!”
“Let’s just make sure it’s not another false alarm before we go starting a war in Germany,” said Frankie.
“James Smith is one of the most common names in America. It’s about the best pseudonym he could use.”
“As you said, it’s also a very popular name which means it’s more likely to be legitimate,” cautioned Frankie.
Flynn squinted at her. “How does that make it more legitimate?”
“If more James Smiths exist than any other name, statistically, it’s more likely a James Smith will book a flight than someone with another name,” she explained.
“But it’s also the reason you’d be more likely to use that name,” said Reid.
“Exactly,” said Frankie, confusing Flynn further.
“So what we’re saying here,” said Reid, “is that we’re both right. There’s a good chance it is Nick using the common name. But there’s a good chance it is just somebody with a common name booking the flight.”
“Clear as mud,” said Flynn. “Am I sending the troops or not?”
“How quickly can they deploy?” asked Frankie.
“The DCS team can leave now and are about 45 minutes away. The Marines a little longer but they’re already gearing up and prepping the Hercules. I’d say they’re an hour and a half, two hours max, to have the full force on site.”
Frankie turned to Reid who, in turn, looked up at the gangway. Turner was appearing from his office, having been awakened at Reid’s request. He joined them, rushing to catch up with the last few minutes’ manic activity.
“So what do you think? Send in the DCS team and hold the Marines until we’re sure?” he asked, looking for thoughts.
Two nods from Frankie and Reid had Flynn hitting the speed dial button and shouting, “Go!” into his cell.
“Do you think they heard you okay?” asked Turner, rubbing his ear.
“Sorry, but they were in the chopper with the rotor blades on.”
Frankie’s phone rang again. The second purchase had just been made. US Airways Flight 705 to Charlotte, North Carolina, departing 12:0 p.m. It had been made on another card, which had been purchased 1,500 miles away from where the first card was purchased. The chances of an innocent having purchased two cards at the locations Nick had withdrawn funds from the Jacques Guillon account were so close to nil they were inconceivable. Both flight purchases had been made on the same computer IP address, the Sheraton Hotel at Frankfurt Airport. The name was once again James Smith.
“That’s definitely him!”
“Or at least someone with one of his cards,” corrected Reid.
Frankie didn’t want to say it but she just knew it was him. She felt it. The fact that they were business tickets just added to her intuition. Nick wouldn’t fly first class, no matter how much money he had at his disposal. She had found him.
Flynn looked at Turner, who was still soaking in the relief that they had found him or least someone linked to him. However, he was of the same opinion as Frankie, something was telling him it was Nick Geller.
“What?” he asked the staring Flynn.
“The Marines?”
“Send the Marines.”
Chapter 71
London,
United Kingdom
Omar woke up for prayers just before dawn. It had been a terrible night’s sleep. More accustomed to the North African desert, the sound of the air conditioner chilling his room, much like the clear desert skies, was unbearable. The unit rattled and dripped with such irregularity that it wasn’t even possible to follow its rhythm. With the air off and the window open, there was nothing more than the noise of passing traffic and the temperature building relentlessly to the point that it, impossibly, was far hotter than the day had ever been. Even without the heat, it seemed that every other person in the hotel had taken turns to bang a door in the hall or stroll along the corridors talking excessively loudly.
Whether he would have slept anyway was another matter. The excitement about what was in store for him would surely have kept him awake. He had been chosen to fight for Allah against the infidel. His courage, bravery and fighting skills had been rewarded, as had his faith in Allah. He was one of the select group that had proven their faith to Allah beyond all others. Only the truly faithful and willing to die for Allah without a moment’s hesitation had been chosen and Omar was one of them.
He walked down to the hotel lobby and entered the small business center where a number of computers were provided for customers. It was 6:30 a.m. UK time, 7:30 a.m. CET. He checked his email. He stopped himself jumping for joy when he found that he had been selected to take the fight to America. He was a Fighter not a Protector. His job was to take the battle to America and show the Americans the strength of Allah and the jihad. He wondered how we would have felt had he been a Protector, ensuring the Caliphate was created and protected after the fall of America. He
would have been disappointed but still proud. He checked the screen again, the booking was there, he was definitely going to America. United Airlines flight UA35, departing at 10:45 a.m. for Los Angeles, the home of Hollywood, the home of the Muslim haters. Their portrayal of Muslims was abhorrent. He smiled. They didn’t know what was about to hit them.
He hurried back to his room and dressed in the Chinos and polo shirt that had been waiting for him on arrival the day before. The socks and boating shoes completed the look and Omar stared into the full-length mirror at a stranger. His beard had been removed two weeks earlier for his passport image. The whiteness of the skin underneath the beard had initially been covered with make up for the photo but after two weeks, the skin had blended to hide any evidence of a beard. Omar stared back at an infidel, not a proud Arab warrior, but not for long. The pretense would soon be over and, armed with his trusty Kalashnikov and as many explosives as he could carry, he would be taking the war, at last, to the streets of America.
It was now all about timing. His instructions were clear. He should remain in his room for as long as possible, minimizing his contact with the outside world. If he were to leave the room, it was only to be for a few minutes after 7:30 a.m. CET to pick up his travel details. Once at the airport, he was to proceed directly to his gate, keep to himself and not talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary. Once on board the plane, he was to take his seat, strap himself in and close his eyes as though he were sleeping. Sleeping, it was advised, was the best thing to do. Whatever the case, he should avoid interactions with other passengers wherever possible and under no circumstance should he acknowledge any other jihadist that may be sharing the same flight.
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