“I’m sorry, but these men are not ready,” Ibrahim said, stepping closer.
“Then they have no place amongst us!” shouted Nick. “Only men happy to die for Allah and his cause should be amongst us!”
A barrage of abuse began to rain down on the five young men.
Nick held up his hands to silence their discontent. “We are the soldiers of Allah. For us to fight, we need food, we need clothes, we need weapons. We need others who can provide these for us so we can fight for Allah. They are still our brothers, just not our soldier brothers. I need soldiers willing to die for Allah! There is no shame in not having that courage—there are plenty who have. Please, if you don’t have that courage, step forward now! We have many functions to fill, many areas where you can fulfill your promise to Allah. Look into your hearts as you watch these men strap the vests to their bodies,” he nodded towards the fifteen men as a sign for them to begin putting on their vests. “Can you do it with the courage that these men do? Can you pull the trigger and prove your courage to Allah? If so, I want you here in my army for our march to victory. If not, we will find other jobs for you.”
A silence fell and they all looked around at each other.
“I have five vests that need to be filled. If you can walk forward and happily wear one, then stay. If not, step forward now,” commanded Nick, authoritatively but with compassion.
Slowly two men stepped forward at opposite ends of the slopes, then another two. After three minutes, twenty-three men had stepped forward. Nick looked on as a good proportion of the hundreds who hadn’t stepped forward shook their heads in disgust.
“Do not be disappointed in our brothers admitting they are not true warriors! By doing so, they have shown as much courage as you have by staying! I would ask that they go and pack their belongings. They will be leaving this camp soon.”
The men trudged off, their heads held in shame. They joined the benefactor’s son and his friends and disappeared back into the camp.
“My warriors!” shouted Nick proudly and once again received a huge cheer.
“I have five empty vests,” he said, lowering his voice.
A number of men broke from the crowd and rushed to grab one of the five vests. The five to win the race proudly donned the vests.
“Not all of the vests are live,” Nick told them. “This is not an exercise in proving you can kill yourself, it is an exercise in proving you are worthy of killing yourself for Allah.”
Blank faces looked back at him. Nick needed to show them what he meant. He pointed to one of the first fifteen men he had selected and asked him to step onto the cross he had created in front of the camera.
The man stepped forward proudly and on Nick’s countdown, pressed his detonator, proudly shouting “Allahu Akbar!”
Nothing happened. The man stood on the spot and almost looked disappointed at not having exploded.
“You see! This man is happy to die for Allah! Today is not his time, but he has proved himself to all of us!”
Nick pointed to one of the last five volunteers to take his place on the cross in front of the camera.
Nick hit ‘record’ on the camera. The volunteer repeated the previous man’s proud shout to Allah and pushed down on the detonator. This time, Nick pressed a small transmitter in his pocket and, thanks to the components from the cell phones, he triggered a small explosive charge in the vest.
A huge cheer erupted as the small explosion took the volunteer’s head clean off his body. The image was safely captured for Nick’s next video of terror for the American public. Nick repeated the process for the other eighteen men and in each instance only recording the four remaining volunteers for whom he triggered the device as they hit the detonators. None of detonators would have worked unless Nick wanted them to. The frenzy of the crowd by the fifth beheading was electric and would strike fear into the heart of any enemy.
Nick was waging a psychological battle on the American people. His army was coming and it was an army that would die with a smile on its face to further its cause. Being at war was frightening even for the most battle-hardened soldiers. Fighting a war against men who were happy to die for their cause was going to strike fear across the nation on the scale of the Ebola virus itself. He was also recruiting every likeminded jihadist and terrorist in the world. He was showing them that the Jihad was coming and if they wanted to be part of it they had only to join but the message was clear, true believers and warriors only need apply.
Ibrahim dismissed his fully energized army and joined Nick while he was dismantling the camera and tripod.
“Thank you for not killing my stars,” he said.
“Allah’s will,” smiled Nick, pulling the small transmitter out of his pocket.
“What about the ones who left?”
“Send them home. They haven’t got the heart to fight. We need to know that now, not on the battlefield when we need them.”
“I cannot believe the energy, faith and excitement that your exercise has created. I have never seen the men so ready for battle, it’s a shame it’s not soon.”
“It will be,” said Nick. “Our time is near.”
Ibrahim winced. “Perhaps not our time. A truck has gone to collect the new Caliph. He is landing shortly. I was instructed to send transport just as your exercise started.”
“So he’ll be here in…” Nick looked at his watch, “about an hour?”
“No, he’s using a different landing strip. He’ll be here any minute.”
Chapter 48
“Harry!” Turner yelled through the doorway. “Something’s happening down there!”
Carson, slowly awakening, stretched and joined Turner on the gangway looking down at his team. The image on the screen showed a small aircraft being tracked across the desert, flying at a low level. Harry took one look and ran down to the main floor at a speed belying his age.
“What have we got?” he called as he ran.
“One Antonov 24 flying low, approximately one hundred miles from the target location.”
“Origin?” he asked, lowering his voice as he neared his team of specialists who had spent the night analyzing every piece of data from the Hawkeye and F18s that were circling the target landing area.
“The Hawkeye first picked it up on the Eritrean border to the East. From the aircraft’s range, it could have come from there, Saudi or Yemen. It was already of interest due to a lack of transponder but when it dropped altitude, it obviously became far more interesting, given its origin and destination.”
“Good work. It doesn’t look like it’s heading to the same spot though?” he asked, looking at the path being shown on the screen.
“No, and the altitude suggests he’s getting ready to land.”
“A meet?” asked Turner, having followed Carson down.
Carson nodded his head but continued to ponder what was happening. “Or maybe just coincidence?” he mused aloud. “How good is the camera on that Hawkeye?”
“Good but not a patch on the F18s, sir,” replied the specialist.
“If they land, do a fly-by with an F18 and get me some faces.”
“But that’ll let them know we’re on to them,” protested Turner, looking at the time. His team was only twenty minutes away.
“I know, I know, but these sly fuckers have rabbit holes and warrens they’ll bolt down and we’ll need a thousand men just to find all the exits,” replied Carson, ignoring the eyebrows being raised amongst his team, fortunately out of Turner’s field of vision. “If these are high value targets, I’m not missing my chance.”
“Jesus,” replied Turner looking more closely at the screen. “I didn’t know that!”
“Yup, they’ve spent years building tunnels throughout the desert to hide their camps,” lied Carson convincingly, causing more than one coughing fit amongst his DoD team. “Anyway,” he continued more honestly, “who’s to say that Nick isn’t being delivered back in that plane?”
“To a different location
?”
“These landing areas get torn up. They’re just dirt tracks, only good for a few landings.”
Turner looked almost convinced which surprised Carson, who hadn’t even convinced himself.
“Mr. Carson, it looks like they’re going to make a landing.”
“Sir?” a hand shot up a few desks over. “I have what could be a truck about three miles out from that location.”
The specialist flicked the main screen to his colleague who had spotted a truck. The image was very poor due to the distance and quality of the Hawkeye’s camera but something moving was indeed visible.
“Well spotted,” said Carson. “Now people, let’s time this right. I want a flyover with faces in the open!”
Turner grabbed his cell and desperately tried to call Reid. Her cell was switched off. He turned to Carson. “I need to contact the CIA team!” he said urgently.
“We’re all DoD here I’m afraid,” smiled Carson. “CIA don’t trust us with their numbers.”
“Will someone get me in contact with the CIA plane!” shouted Turner in frustration.
“Deputy Director Turner, I have Barry for you,” called a voice from across the operations center floor. A CIA team member had heard Carson’s bullshit and contacted Barry to update him.
Carson looked at his watch and noted the progress of the CIA team in their plane. They were fifteen minutes out. His orders were clear. A clean kill. Nothing else was acceptable.
Carson willed the AN-24 plane to land. He needed to know who was on it before the CIA team had a chance to complicate matters.
Turner watched the same screen, willing the plane to take its time. He had been informed that the warren holes and tunnels were utter nonsense. The desert was a dark hole in surveillance without the need for any burrowing. Camps came and went in the millions of square miles of barren and featureless terrain. Stumbling across one on satellite imagery was the equivalent of winning the Powerball every week for a year. It just didn’t happen.
DoD had an agenda, one Turner was unaware of and one he certainly wasn’t going to sit back and let happen. He wanted Nick Geller in custody. Period.
Chapter 49
The first moment Frankie knew there was an issue was when the CIA team leader started yelling at the pilots.
“Can’t this fucking thing go any faster?!”
The answer was as succinct; they were travelling as fast as they could.
The CIA Team Leader jotted down the new coordinates and walked into the cockpit, handing them over to the pilot. He took the note and set it aside. He had already altered their course.
“ETA twenty minutes,” he said, before the team leader could protest.
The team leader made his way back into the main body of the V-22 Osprey and was met by a sea of faces keen to know what was happening.
“Well?” prompted Frankie.
The team leader opted to let Barry update them. He dialed his number and hit the loudspeaker, explaining who was listening in.
“They’ve picked up another plane. We don’t know who’s on it but it seems Carson is hell bent on shooting the shit out of it,” said Barry, bringing them up to speed.
“And?”
“And there’s a chance it’s your boyfriend,” he said, immediately regretting taking out his frustration on Frankie.
“Uncalled for,” said Flynn, shaking his head in disgust.
“Pathetic,” said Reid.
Frankie remained unphased. Her boyfriend had died four days ago. The Nick Geller they were chasing was just a man she had known in a previous life.
“So what’s the rush, they’ll beat us—” she halted in mid-speech when she was suddenly thrown across the cabin and slammed into the side of the Osprey as it was blown across the sky, rocking wildly from a blast.
***
“You have a go,” said the DoD specialist from NCTC into the headset of the F18 pilots, thousands of miles away, above the Sudanese desert.
“Roger. Commencing reconnaissance run,” one replied, throwing the afterburners forward and rocketing towards the target. They had a two-minute window to catch the disembarking occupants while they waited for their inbound truck.
Staying just out of sight, they sped in low and would slow down over the area to ensure the best possible angles for the reconnaissance cameras to pick up even the tiniest detail on the pass.
“Watch the friendly ahead,” warned the first pilot to his wingman.
Both of their headsets buzzed to life. “Make sure they know you’re there,” ordered Carson, listening in and watching the scene play out thousands of miles away. “We wouldn’t want them getting in your way.”
Both pilots tweaked their direction slightly, thereby reducing the distance by which they would clear the Osprey. Within a second, both had blasted past the Osprey on either side at almost four times its speed. It rocked wildly and dangerously behind them.
“Shit! We may have cut that a little closer than we should,” said one of the pilots.
“Are they still in the air?” asked Carson.
The pilot looked back, just to make sure. “Yes.”
“Then you didn’t.”
Nearing the target, they began to slow down, aiming their cameras at the group of men scrambling on the ground to find cover at the sight of the US warplanes. A couple of bullets buzzed past the planes but it really was the equivalent of taking a knife to a gunfight, a very large and powerful gunfight.
“Okay, hang back while we check the images we have,” instructed Carson to the pilots.
***
With the new Caliph due to arrive any minute, Nick felt it was a good time to make a move. He had his video and the next phase of the plan was in place. The new Caliph was an issue but he was hoping that an enlightening conversation with his next group might elicit a change in the Caliph and a further endorsement of Nick and the original Caliph’s plan. Everything came down to money, and for Al Qaeda and a number of the fundamentalist groups Nick was looking to unite, that came from Saudi Arabia and the Emirates.
The four armed guards protecting Nasim’s small bunkroom were not a welcome sight. Nor was the information that Nasim would not be flying Nick anywhere by order of Ibrahim. Nasim was far easier to imprison than Nick and without him, Nick was trapped. It was a clever move by Ibrahim and far less confrontational than trying to imprison Nick.
Making his way to ‘discuss’ the situation with his ‘brother’, Nick heard a noise he shouldn’t have.
“Ibrahim!’ he shouted as loud as he could in the center of the camp.
Ibrahim appeared warily, a hundred yards away from the main building. He had no business being there other than to avoid Nick.
“Thunder,” he said, strolling casually towards a furious Nick.
Nick shook his head. “That, brother, was a fighter jet’s sonic boom.”
Ibrahim looked around the sky in a panic.
“Where is the Caliph’s landing strip?”
Ibrahim pointed to the area the clap of noise had emanated from.
“How far?”
“Twenty, thirty miles.”
Nick looked out across the empty sky. “They must have tracked him. Tell them to stay away from here!”
“I have no way to contact them,” Ibrahim shrugged despondently. “We will stand and fight!”
“They will massacre us. How can we fight warplanes!” replied Nick. “You have an evacuation plan?”
Ibrahim nodded.
“Well, let’s GO!”
***
Almost as soon as the faces were extracted from the images being beamed back by the F18s, the facial recognition software had identified them. Hit after hit confirmed the faces as the son of the former head of Al Qaeda Zahir Al Zahrani’s son and his bodyguards who were well known to the authorities.
Carson had a decision to make. With no identification of Nick and, as far as they could tell, every individual accounted for amongst the twenty two men that had landed in the AN-
24, should he send in the jets or let Barry and the CIA and Delta team deal with them?
He checked his watch. Barry’s team was still ten minutes away.
“What’s the ETA on the truck?” he asked.
“Two minutes,” came the reply.
“Take it out.”
Twenty seconds later, a flash in the corner of the main screen was all the confirmation they needed. The truck was out of the equation.
“Mr. Carson?” One of the CIA analysts attached to the team had ventured over to the DoD area.
“Yes?” he replied distractedly.
“We’re hearing that Al Qaeda has chosen the young Zahrani to take over as leader.”
Carson spun back and stared at the collection of men cowering in the desert thousands of miles away, looking down like some kind of god deciding if they were to live or die. “Are we 100% confident that Al Zahrani is the new Caliph?”
The resounding answer was yes. To kill or not to kill? he asked himself.
“Turner, it looks like you may just grab yourself a genuine live and nasty Al Qaeda leader. If you don’t fuck it up!” Carson turned back to his team. “Tell the F18s to offer whatever support the ground team requires.”
***
“Holy shit!” Barry exclaimed as he was fed the news of their teams’ ‘Go’ to capture the new head of Al Qaeda. He called the V-22 Osprey and gave them the news. “Lock and load boys,” he said, adding quickly for Reid and Frankie’s benefit, “and girls! Ten minutes!”
Chapter 50
Thanks to the F18s’ fly past, the Osprey pilot had an excellent image of the assault area. He altered course on their approach and came in behind the hill that obscured the landing site. A brief touchdown deposited the CIA and Delta teams out of sight of the terrorists before the Osprey continued up and over the hill. Armed with a .308 caliber mini-gun and .50 caliber Browning M2 machine gun, the Osprey could stand off in hover mode and lay down cover fire while the CIA and Delta teams initiated the assault on the ground.
ALL ACTION THRILLER BOXSET: THREE MURRAY MCDONALD STANDALONE THRILLERS Page 82