Nick tried to think of any areas he had failed to consider. He evaluated the risks many times. The passport issuers were a risk but extremely low. In their minds, they were helping to make their country stronger, not destroy it. His flight bookers knew at least a portion of the flights. But none would be allowed to leave the complex before the attack was underway and all communications were restricted to hardwire, thanks to Walid having installed a scrambler that would ensure nobody was sneaking messages out and exposing their position. The bookings themselves were being charged to hundreds of different and legitimate credit cards, whose billing dates were after the flights were due to depart. This was another brainwave of Walid who had stolen the details of the cards, once again thanks to his computing skills. They were all company credit cards with high credit limits, further minimizing the likelihood of them being queried.
The fighters themselves were a risk but the most they would ever know would be the individual flight they were boarding. Whatever the case, for the whole operation to be blown, the risks were minimal.
A loud knock on his door interrupted his thoughts.
“Yes!” he snapped angrily. He was not to be disturbed when he was in his office.
“It’s Walid, I must speak with you urgently!”
Nick pushed the map under the papers on the desk and made sure nothing of importance was visible.
“Come in!” he called, maintaining an angry tone and walking over to the door.
Walid rushed in with a camera, once the pride and joy of Gary Truman, in his hands.
“Larbi took this from the man who saw you swimming.”
Nick shrugged, uninterested; the man had been some distance away and not a threat.
Walid showed him the viewfinder and the clear image of Nick’s face.
“Don’t worry, the man’s no longer an issue,” Walid assured him. Nick’s interest level dropped. “But this is,” said Walid, holding out a SIM card. “Larbi isn’t used to technology so didn’t realize that the camera could be sending out pictures to the world on its own.”
“Shit! Do we need to move?”
Walid shook his head. “No, it’s fine, by the time I pulled it out, it had only managed to upload one photo out of hundreds. The signal around here is shocking. I’m surprised it even managed to find one!”
“What about tracking the SIM?”
“The signal is so weak it’s not an issue. Also it’s not like a cell phone, it’s far harder to track. Larbi will dump the camera minus your images into the sea near where the man’s body is. They’ll find the camera and not even bother trying to track it.”
Nick shook his head. “Where are we with the bookings?” he asked.
“All done,” replied Walid.
“Albania has served its purpose,” Nick remarked. “Prep the jet and assemble the bookers in the courtyard.”
Nick packed everything meticulously, ensuring no trace of the plans had been left behind, even down to destroying the desk blotter that he may have inadvertently leaned on while placing crosses on his map. With the room cleansed, he made his way out to the courtyard and addressed the men that had helped him make the plans a reality. Thirty eager and bright jihadists soaked up the praise he bestowed upon them and joined him in a prayer to Allah, praying for the success of the mission that would rid the world of the great infidel and also confirming their allegiance to Allah, Nick, and the cause for which they fought.
Nick asked them to wait while he went back into the main villa and appeared a minute later with Larbi and Walid. All three were armed with silenced assault rifles. Nick began shooting the men one by one systematically ensuring they were dead. The men understood this was their sacrifice for the cause. They knew too much and their knowledge was a risk that Allah could not afford for others to uncover. As with everyone he worked with, Nick had ensured the men doing his bookings were ready and prepared to die for the cause. All thirty men sat and waited silently and patiently for their turn to travel to paradise and enjoy their 72 virgins.
An hour later, Nick was settling into a deep sleep while the jet took them towards their next destination. The fire that engulfed the Villa complex below was so intense that it would take months to identify the number of bodies there, let alone their identities.
Chapter 66
The White House
Money, thought Carson. It was always the money. Follow the money and it inevitably leads you to where you want to go. He looked at the list of pre-paid card numbers that had been highlighted as ones that may have been purchased by Nick Geller. Over two hundred and fifty prepaid cards were loaded with various amounts in dollars, sterling and Euros, all equivalent to between ten to fifteen thousand dollars. They equated to more than the two million Euros taken from Jacques Guillon’s account but not all the cards would be Nick’s. There were some unsuspecting individuals who had bought cards and were about to discover that the anonymity of the cards wasn’t quite what they expected. Any transactions on these cards would soon have the full might of the US looking into them.
The news of Frankie’s discovery had resulted in a summons to meet with the President and Secretary of Defense Hammond. The request, or more appropriately the command, had been for Carson and Carson alone. Turner had unsuccessfully tried to hide his disappointment at not being included. Frankie and Reid were too busy to care. They had been coordinating the efforts of the majority of the team to track down the other card numbers.
“The President will see you now,” said his secretary.
Harry entered the private study and took the seat next to the Secretary of Defense, as instructed by President Mitchell.
“Great work,” began the President much to Carson’s relief. He had been nervous, not something he was accustomed to. But he had felt like a schoolboy summoned by the headmaster while he waited in the hallway.
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Is this the break we needed?” asked Secretary Hammond, not one for mincing his words.
“Yes, Bob, this is exactly what we needed,” replied Carson.
“What about timing?” asked the President.
“It’s good,” said Carson. “We have time to put our assets in place. That’s if you’re happy for me to do so?”
“Definitely,” replied the President. “Do you need me to make a call?”
“No, Mr. President, it’s fine, I think they’ll act on my orders.”
“Well, any nonsense, you just throw mine and Bob’s names around like candy and if that doesn’t work, I’ll go visit them myself.”
“Thank you, Mr. President, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ve been dealing with Colonel Travers for over a year. He’s a good guy.”
“Excellent. Gentlemen, I think we deserve a Scotch!” announced the President.
“Mr. President,” cautioned Bob, saving Harry, whom he noticed was squirming as uncomfortably as he was, from speaking up, “I think you might be a little premature.”
“You’ve just told me you have what you need and you wish to position our assets to deal with the terrorists, correct?” “Well yes, but—”
“Guys, we’ve had enough bad news to sink most governments. Let’s enjoy at least one piece of good news.”
The President swiveled his chair around and hovered his hand over a selection of different Scotches before finally swooping down and pulling out a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label.
“This was the VP’s favorite,” he said, pouring three large measures and handing them around.
“The Veep!” they said in unison, raising a toast to former Vice President Donald Brodie.
“Have you chosen a new VP yet?” asked Carson.
The President moved his eyes to the Secretary of Defense, Bob Hammond, who sat bolt upright in his chair.
“Me?!” said Hammond incredulously.
The President nodded.
“An excellent choice, Mr. President,” Carson said.
“A blood stupid choice!” said Bob, not amused in t
he least. “Who the hell’s going to be my successor?”
President Mitchell’s eyes swiveled to Harry.
“Never going to happen,” said Harry and Bob at once.
“Already done,” said the President, checking his computer screen as he spoke. “It’s amazing what you can get done during a crisis. Both the House and Senate have just confirmed Vice President Hammond. And the Armed Services Committee has just ratified Secretary of Defense Carson.”
“That’s bullshit!” said Harry, standing up in frustration. Holding office was something he had successfully avoided for over thirty years.
President Mitchell turned on the TV screen and the news channel banner displayed the breaking news of the appointments.
Carson sat down and gulped the rest of his Scotch. He had to hand it to the President, it was a masterful move. Carson was an outsider who knew far too much. Placing him in one of the highest offices in the land had just secured Carson’s secrecy beyond all doubt. The ultimate political player had just been outplayed and if you were going to be outplayed, it should be by the man you work for.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” said Carson reluctantly but with great admiration.
“Mr. President, Mr. Vice President,” he said as he exited the room.
Walking away from the President’s study, Harry was met by four men he recognized very well.
“Mr. Secretary,” said Jack Miller, head of Bob Hammond’s security detail.
“Hello, Jack,” said Harry, as he walked past him.
“Mr. Secretary,” Miller said again before Harry realized that Jack now headed up his security detail.
“Ah shit!” he said, resigning himself. “Come on then, I need to go back to the NCTC.”
Chapter 67
Carson was met by cheers of congratulations as he walked back into the NCTC. A much happier Turner than the one he had left was waiting for him.
“I suppose you’ll be moving over to the Pentagon?” asked Turner happily.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Carson mischievously. “But no, I think this is still the single largest threat to our nation, so I’m staying right here.”
“Oh… o-of c-course,” Turner stammered, surprised by the answer.
“Don’t worry, Paul. I’m not going to take over your investigation,” said Carson reassuringly.
Turner’s eyebrows rose slightly and he bit his tongue.
“What?” asked Carson, agitated. He had just inherited, against his will, one of the largest offices and workloads in the country.
“Nothing,” said Turner, turning to leave.
“You sure?” asked Carson, knowing exactly what was wrong. It had never been Turner’s investigation since he had joined the team.
“Yes and once again, congratulations,” said Turner.
Carson couldn’t help but feel sorry for Turner. Turner’s big chance had come, only to be sidelined by him. The problem was that Turner could not be privy to everything that was underway. Very few people could. One of those very few commanded an airbase 2,500 miles away and it was someone with whom Carson needed to talk to urgently.
“Could you shut the door please?” asked Carson, as Turner exited the room.
Carson lifted the receiver and dialed Colonel Travers at Creech Air Force Base.
“Ian, it’s Harry,” said Carson when the Colonel answered the phone.
“Mr. Secretary, my congratulations, sir,” replied Ian Travers formally.
“Just Harry, thanks, Ian,” said Carson, already fed up with the formality of the new role. Life was so much simpler when there was only your name on the door and no title. Ian’s silence told Carson that his protestations over being called Mr. Secretary were pointless. These were highly disciplined military men who believed wholeheartedly in the chain of command, a chain in which Carson had just taken the number two spot.
“How are things progressing?” he asked.
“Good to go,” replied Colonel Travers.
Carson had first met Colonel Travers eighteen months earlier. He had been conducting a review into the use of drones overseas and their effectiveness. Huge numbers of innocent casualties were being claimed by various insurgency groups but Carson found that ninety percent of the claims were either totally false or had been self-inflicted to put pressure on America. In short, the unmanned aerial vehicle program was a resounding success and saved many American lives.
Fascinated by the possibilities of the program, he had posed a challenge to Colonel Travers. The E3 Sentry AWAC aircraft were one of the key elements of the air force. However, as their mission was simply to fly over a designated air space and stay aloft as long as possible while the technicians looked at computer screens, would it not be possible to automate them, thus allowing the aircraft to remain on station without worrying about the crew tiring? He similarly argued that aerial tanking was also an area that could be considered in the same way. Once in position, the plane required little more than to remain steady, with no real skill being required of either pilot.
Colonel Travers had risen to the task and had, within a matter of months, created two test planes. One E3 Sentry modeled on a Boeing 707, which had four engines and one K46A tanker, based on the soon to be deployed Boeing 767 version of the tanker. The E3 was entirely automated and required no crew or technicians aboard. All communications and equipment could be controlled from the ground, anywhere in the world, as effectively as they could be onboard. Updating the four engines to more modern versions, the plane could happily cruise on just two engines at any time, allowing it to burn fuel far more economically and efficiently. It also allowed the E3 Sentry to stay aloft with almost continual in-air refueling.
There were hundreds of tankers and thirty-two E3s in the Air Force that could benefit from the upgrade. Those, however, were just the tip of the iceberg as far as Carson was concerned of what Colonel Travers and his unmanned Aerial Vehicle Battlelab team could deliver.
“How many have you got ready?” asked Carson.
“Twenty.”
“And controllers?”
Carson was referring to USAF Combat Controllers, some of the most highly trained Special Forces soldiers in the US military. Their motto, ‘First There’, said it all. They were invariably amongst the first US troops on the ground and would pave the way for a larger force. Multi disciplined, they were skilled fighters, air traffic controllers and communications specialists.
“More than enough,” replied Travers confidently.
“Excellent. Get them prepped and ready. I want them in Europe and the Middle East in the next couple of days.”
“Yes, Mr. Secretary, sir,” replied Travers. Carson would have sworn he heard a salute as well.
Carson still had some concerns, though not related to the unmanned vehicles. Those, he felt sure, would perform admirably. The controllers were about to be thrust into a role none of them had signed up for. Trained for the most dangerous missions imaginable, nobody could ever predict how some men would react in certain situations and it was that fallibility that could threaten the success of the mission. Computer-controlled vehicles, as had been proven many times, did exactly what they were told, every time.
Chapter 68
Frankie tried to grab some much needed sleep. She and Reid had worked around the clock to track down every possible card that Nick may have purchased. A second hit had proven her theory even further – a card had purchased a ferry ticket from Marseille to Algiers. At the time, they knew that Nick was in Marseille and that the ferry’s arrival coincided with the timing of Nick being in Algiers.
He had done exactly what he didn’t do; Nick had slipped up. He hadn’t connected the cards with the cash and he was now just a purchase away from being tracked down.
The single biggest problem they had was where that purchase would be and how they would react. With a finite resource of Special Operations teams and equipment, there were only so many places that were reachable in a short time. If Nick surfaced in Europe or
the Middle East, they’d be on him in minutes. Asia, depending on where, could be minutes, hours or days. South America and Africa were also sparsely covered across the vastness of their continents but well covered in the major cities. It had been the largest mobilization of Special Forces in US history and an absolute nightmare for the mission planners and logistics experts. There had been some positives as well. Flynn and Barry were pulling together and working as a team rather than counterparts.
Frankie jumped when her phone rang. Her head had been lying right next to it since she had fallen asleep at her desk. She grabbed the receiver, expecting a notification of a purchase. Her phone had only recently been installed and its number remained unpublished. Reid wheeled her chair over in anticipation. She too had woken up when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Frankie, can you pop up and see me? And bring Reid too,” said Carson, one of very few people who knew her desk extension.
“Of course, Mr. Secretary,” she said, as much for Reid’s benefit to let her know it was a false alarm.
“It’s Harry, just Harry, okay?!” replied Carson irritably and hung up.
When they arrived, Turner was already there. The room was silent and Frankie could only assume it was because Carson only wanted to say what he had to say once.
“We’ve just had a call into the Pentagon from the Albanian Deputy Minister of Defense. They’ve an incident that they believe may be related to Nick Geller.”
“Albania?” asked Turner, trying to picture where it was.
“Just north of Greece in the Eastern Mediterranean,” offered Carson helpfully, before continuing. “A fire has swept through a villa complex killing in excess of twenty people. From local reports, they were all devout Muslims and kept to themselves, at least until recently. A car was seen leaving just prior to the fire and from everything they’ve pieced together, it drove to the airport where three men dressed in Arab robes boarded a jet and left the country.”
ALL ACTION THRILLER BOXSET: THREE MURRAY MCDONALD STANDALONE THRILLERS Page 89