At 7:05 a.m. (8:05 a.m. CET), Omar found out why he needed to remain in his room. A knock on the door initially panicked him but when it was announced in hushed Arabic that there was a parcel to sign for, Omar opened the door. Omar accepted the parcel and opened it carefully. A small vial sat protected in a stainless steel case. Omar couldn’t have been prouder, he had not been chosen as a Fighter, he was an Infector. He was going to kill millions of infidels, not just a few hundred. He jumped about the room as though he had just discovered the last golden ticket and then remembered how fragile the vial was.
A small note described in detail how he was to administer the injection and when – the when being the most important. It was imperative for the safety of Islam that the injection be administered as near to his departure time as possible. He would be contagious within four hours of injection. The contagious stage must happen while airborne. Otherwise, the disease could spread across Europe and the Middle East and beyond. The details even described what he should do if his flight were delayed to the point that he would still be in Europe at the point of contagion. He read the detail but was sure that Allah would ensure it was not needed. Omar had a destiny that Allah had pre-ordained along with forty-eight other lucky jihadists who would share his honor in taking the virus into the heart of America.
***
Across Europe, the other ten thousand jihadists who would take the fight to the streets of America were discovering their fates, unknown to each other that they were all selected as Fighters or Infectors. Nick was leaving nothing to chance. He was taking every man who met his criteria into the battle. In hotels in Paris, Amsterdam, Zurich, Rome, Madrid, Barcelona among many others, those same ten thousand jihadists were preparing for their flights and a day that would see them immortalized in the history of Islam.
Chapter 72
The UH-72 helicopter touched down as close to the terminal as possible while remaining out of sight of the public windows. It was on the ground for less than six seconds while the eight-man Defense Clandestine team disembarked. The UH-72, although slower and smaller than the UH-60 Black Hawk, was far less recognizable as a military helicopter. Based on the extremely popular Eurocopter EC145, the UH-72 would not raise any concerns from its shape in the sky.
Dressed casually to blend in with the passengers in the terminal, the team members were armed with MP7A1 submachine guns hidden under their jackets, along with their side arms. Silencers were available for both should the opportunity for a quiet takedown occur. The Team Leader signaled for the men to speed up; it had only been fifty minutes since the transactions had occurred and there was still a chance to take Nick down in the hotel that was located directly across from the terminal building.
The security door opened as they approached the terminal building and the head of Airport Security introduced himself. He was a former commander in the German Federal Police Service and was very accustomed to dealing with Special Forces. He kept his information short and to the point, talking while he walked.
“Karl Brunner,” he said, shaking the hand of the Team Leader.
“Simon Klyne.”
“We’ve identified the room from the internet connection and the images that have been sent to the hotel,” said Karl, walking briskly towards the airport exit and hotel entrance.
“Excellent, let’s hope he’s still there.”
“We’ve checked the hotel lobby footage since the transactions and he hasn’t been seen. I have three men stationed in the lobby.”
“He is extremely dangerous,” cautioned Simon.
“They are former GSG 9 officers,” replied Karl. “Their orders are to follow and detain only if absolutely necessary.”
“Well, whatever the situation, we can handle it. We even have a Marine Special Forces battalion coming in behind us, should we need any more back up,” said Simon.
Karl stopped walking, causing the DCS team to stop abruptly to avoid walking into him.
“I have not been told about that. Who authorized it?!” asked Karl angrily. “I have called in the GSG 9 team. If there is any fighting to be done in a German airport, it will be done by German officers.”
“Time is of the essence,” argued Simon. “The Marines are probably thirty minutes behind us.”
“The GSG 9 team is based in Bonn, only eighty miles from here. They’re due in the next ten minutes. I’m only letting you attempt the hotel takedown since you are already here,” informed Karl curtly.
“Well let’s hope he is,” said Simon to the team behind him as Karl began walking once again, engrossed in an angry-sounding phone conversation.
On entering the busy hotel lobby, Simon and the team spread out. Wandering aimlessly amongst the hotel guests, they all headed in the same general direction but to the casual person did not appear to be together. Simon noticed the nod Karl gave his three men. He had to hand it to Karl, they were good. None stood out as overly observant to what was happening around them, although on closer inspection, they were totally attuned to everyone around them.
Four men waited in the lobby while Simon and three of the DCS team members joined Karl in the elevator. Karl hit button ‘4’.
“How did they know his room from the IP address?” asked Simon, as they ascended.
“Worried hotels know what you’re looking at, boss!” said one of the DCS team members, laughing as they prepared their weapons.
“Each floor has a number of Wi-Fi stations that cover a number of rooms. That way, everyone gets a good signal in their room. The IP he was using is the Wi-Fi station that covers about ten rooms on the fourth floor. From that, we knew the possible clerks who had checked those guests in and the cleaner who cleaned those rooms. Each were shown the photos of the various disguises and we pinpointed the room,” said Karl, ignoring the laughter from the DCS team. The imminent arrival of a battalion of US Marines at his airport had resulted in a complete and total humor bypass.
Simon placed a hand on Karl’s chest and stopped him exiting as the elevator doors opened to reveal an empty corridor. Two DCS team members eased out, their MP7A1 machine pistols, complete with attached suppressors and stock expanded, looked far more menacing than the slightly oversized handguns they had looked like previously. Simon followed with the third team member holding a hand up to instruct Karl to hold where he was. Moving quickly and silently down the corridor, they approached Room 416. The door was closed. A ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hung from the handle.
Simon turned his comms system onto the channel that would allow the NCTC center to listen into the team. Up until that point, their conversation had been localized to the eight team members.
“NCTC, can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” confirmed Flynn from three thousand miles away in the NCTC.
“Blow it?” the DCS team member at the door whispered to Simon.
Simon looked back at Karl near the elevator. He had a funny feeling that blowing it would make an already pissed Karl exceedingly more pissed.
“No, let’s try the card,’ he said, handing over the room keycard that Karl had given him.
With their weapons up and ready, the card was inserted and a green light on the handle appeared.
“Go!” said Simon.
Karl watched as the four-man team disappeared expertly into the room.
“Shit!” said Simon.
The room was empty.
Chapter 73
Nick finalized his disguise to match his passport photo. Almost twenty years older, even Frankie would struggle to recognize him. He would have loved to have undertaken the day as himself but there was no way Nick Geller would get past the hotel lobby, let alone airport security. Although still early, he left his room and joined Walid in his room. It was the last time they would probably see each other and Walid had been an invaluable assistant in the planning of the operation. A true believer and warrior, Nick wanted to thank him and wish him well before they left. He also, selfishly, needed to know which flight he was on.
“Walid, it’s me,” he said as loud as he dared, realizing Walid hadn’t recognized his new disguise.
The eye appeared again at the viewer before the door opened slightly for Walid to get a better view. Walid stared but did not open the door any further.
“It’s me, Nick!” he hissed, wanting to get out of the corridor.
Walid opened the door wide and stepped back.
“That’s amazing!” said Walid, looking at a man he knew but could not recognize.
“Thanks,” said Nick, brushing past him and into the room.
“No seriously, I can’t recognize any part of your face,” said Walid, studying him more closely.
“That’s the idea. Up until now, a simple disguise was all I needed. To get through security and the cameras that will be analyzing my every feature, it needs to be a little more robust.”
“Well it certainly works!”
To prove the point, Nick reached down into the back of his mouth and fished around at the inside of his jaw line. He pulled out a small pink mass and held it up to Walid, his jawline settled back to its more normal state. “I’ve got a few of these stuffed into my jaw and cheeks. They alter the shape of my face,” he explained, moving across to the mirror and replacing the filler back into his jawline.
“I’ve also injected a serum that loosens my skin. It’s like the opposite of Botox but wears off much quicker and rather than hiding wrinkles, it causes them. The effects will be gone in a day or two but in the meantime, it makes me look far older.”
“It’s fantastic! You’ll breeze through security. What time’s your flight?”
“Ahh, hold on,” said Nick, rummaging through his small bag for the details. “When’s yours?”
“12:30 p.m.”
“11:00 a.m.,” said Nick immediately in response. He did not have to check either. He just didn’t want to admit to having changed his flight booking and not wanting to fly on the same flight as Walid.
Walid checked the time, it was almost 8:30 a.m. “You should make a move, no?”
“Probably,” said Nick. “Although we’re practically in the terminal building,” he said, looking across at the terminal and runway beyond. “I suppose this is farewell then.”
Walid nodded, his eyes glistening as the emotion of the moment began to build.
“Yes, I suppose it is. I guess this is the last time we will see each other?”
“Never say never, my friend,” said Nick. “If not in this life, there will always be paradise.”
Walid smiled and nodded as he walked, speechless, to the door. Nick took him by the shoulders.
“Remember, the plan has a number of leaders that will be landing in areas without Ebola carriers. Those leaders will seek shelter until after the contagion does its worst.”
“Am I one of those leaders?” asked Walid. He had no issue with fighting and dying for Allah but to be classed as one of the leaders would be an even greater honor. He would be one of the few that would rise from the ashes of the Americans and build a new future grounded in Islam.
“Keep your cell close, you’ll find out when you land.” Nick had grown fond of Walid.
Nick opened the door and as always, since the first day of training, checked the area he was about to enter. He glimpsed down the hallway and saw all he needed to see to snap the door closed as quietly and quickly as he could.
“What’s wrong?” asked Walid.
“Four-man team at my room!”
“But how? We’ve been so careful!”
It hit Nick like a sledgehammer. He slumped on the bed. The pre-paid cards. It was the only mistake he had made. They were untraceable unless, of course, you had the full resources of the US government to cross-check withdrawals against card purchases.
“What do we do?” asked Walid, pacing the room.
“We don’t panic. We all checked in separately so there’s no link to anyone but me and my room.”
“But what about the flights?”
“This has nothing to do with your flight,” replied Nick confidently. He was certain that the two flights he had booked that morning had raised the alarm.
Walid continued to pace as his mind began to consider whether, after all their planning, they might have failed.
“Will you stop pacing? I need to think,” said Nick. After a minute of stressful silence, Nick spoke. “I need to make a few calls.”
Chapter 74
2:42 a.m. (8:42 a.m. CET)
NCTC
Frankie’s phone ringing stopped the murmur of disappointment that had befallen the center. They had thought they had him.
“Are you sure?!” said Frankie loud enough to catch the attention of everyone around her.
Frankie wrote down what was being said to her:
UA133 Munich to Dulles departing at 11:40 a.m. – James Smith. Transaction made in Munich airport.
Flynn grabbed a map of Europe and a ruler, quickly measuring the distance. “That’s nearly two hundred miles away!”
Frankie replaced the receiver. “It’s definitely one of his pre-paid car—” and was interrupted by her phone ringing again.
She answered curtly, then began scribbling again:
US717 Munich to Philadelphia departing at 12:15 p.m. – James Smith. Transaction Munich Airport.
“What the hell?” said Reid.
No sooner had Frankie replaced the receiver than the phone rang again:
UA953 Munich to Chicago departing at 1:00 p.m. – James Smith. Transaction Munich Airport.
Turner leaned forward across Reid’s desk and hit the comms button that connected with the DCS team in Frankfurt.
“Simon, when was the last sighting of Nick Geller?”
“I’ll check,” he replied. A minute later he answered. “Late last night, the turn down service. Why?”
“It may be a diversion,” said Turner.
“What do you mean?” asked Simon, unaware of the Munich purchases.
“He might not be in Frankfurt.”
“What do you mean he might not be in Frankfurt?” asked a heavily accented voice in reply.
“Who is this?”
“Karl Brunner, head of Airport Security.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brunner, but there’s a chance he may have tricked us.”
“So what do I tell the GSG9 team that is inbound as we speak?” asked Karl, struggling to hide his frustration.
“We should continue as though he may still be there.”
“Is he or isn’t he?”
“At the moment, there’s a chance he may be in Munich,” said Turner, further inflaming Karl.
“So I should alert GSG9 to go there as well? Anywhere else?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brunner, but we can only go on the information we have and since there has been a sighting in Frankfurt, we have to assume he may still be there.”
“So why do you think he’s in Munich?”
“I’m afraid that’s classified,” said Turner, receiving a torrent of what he assumed were German expletives in response.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Brunner.”
“No, I’m sorry, Mr. Turner,” replied Karl, calming down a bit. “It’s just that today is not a good day. We seem to be far busier than normal.”
“Busier how?” asked Reid, leaning across in front of Turner.
“Plane spotters, thousands of them. In the terminal and around the perimeter.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. I was called away to meet your team as the influx started.”
“You don’t have any experimental or new aircraft type arriving today?”
“No, we’re always advised of those events and well prepared. The arrival of the airbus A380 was the last really big event here.”
> An urgent shout cut across the operations center floor.
“Deputy Director!”
All heads turned to the corner of the room where the shout had originated. Turner left Reid appeasing Brunner and headed across to the young computer specialist from the NSA who was sitting at a screen that seemed to be scrolling a huge amount of text.
“What’s that?” asked Turner.
“E-mail addresses,” replied the NSA agent.
“For who?” asked Turner, a sickening feeling forming in his stomach.
“I don’t know but they all went out at the same time and from the same account as the one that went to Nick Geller’s IP address this morning.”
“How many?” asked Turner.
The NSA agent looked at the bottom of the screen and shrugged. “Hundreds.”
“What do they say?”
“Not sure yet, they’re password protected. I need to break the code.”
“How long?”
“I’ll know once I have a chance to look at them. I thought you’d want to know how many there were first.”
“No, no, that’s great work,” he said, patting the NSA agent on the back. “How’s it going?” he asked, approaching Frankie, not wanting to disturb Reid’s conversation with Karl.
“We think we may have found the source of the plane-spotting rush.” “What?”
“A Boeing 747,” she said, pointing to the main screen. It was on a website called airliners.net and had over 2,400 comments. The number of comments seemed to be increasing by the second.
“Who the fuck called in the Marines?” shouted Harry Carson, bursting into the operations center and killing all conversations and noise dead.
“Me,” said Turner confidently.
“I’ve just had a new asshole reamed, thanks to you, by the Secretary of State, who in turn just got reamed by the German Foreign Minister,” said Carson, marching over to the group.
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