Redback

by Lindy Cameron

  It was only 35 hours since the attack on the Luxembourg train, just over 30 since he’d discovered that half the next generation of his family had been killed in the ensuing catastrophic crash. Despite the interminable few hours it took for his department to organise the secure flight to France, van Louden had not been able to go home to Houston to console his sister Abigail, or his nephew. But he had promised Nathan, whose wheelchair made any hasty trip complicated, that he’d personally see to everything. He would identify Nathan’s son and wife, and see to the safe return of their remains and that of their friends.

  Now, here he was, a couple of hours from the crash site, but it was so goddamn early in the morning that he could barely get a bonjour out of anyone, let alone some decent information.

  The only good news the family had so far was that his niece, Nathan’s sister Hilary, had not been on the train at all. Although vacationing with Justin and the beautiful Cassandra, she’d been driven to Paris in the limousine, just as the rest of them should have been.

  Van Louden was still seething about that, about why they had departed from protocol. It was a totally useless anger though because he didn’t know where to direct it yet. Hilary was under sedation in one of the other hotel suites, so there’d been no update on the why of anything.

  ‘Why the hell were they on that goddamn train?’ Van Louden didn’t even realised he’d spoken out loud, until the State Department’s Peter Shaw said they still didn’t know why.

  Although he appreciated Aiden Bonney’s gesture in sending Shaw, his own personal assistant, to help facilitate things here in Europe, right now Nate van Louden really wished everyone would go away and leave him in peace - to scream.

  Harry Corbin hung up the phone and announced: ‘Commissaire Coté of the Police Nationale and a Marcus Boulier from the Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure - that’s the French Secret Service, sir - are on the way up.’

  Ten minutes and several security checks later, the two local officials sat down with van Louden, Corbin and Shaw to deliver the news they had so far.

  Claude Coté was a debonair, if slightly overweight man, whose English was quite good. Boulier on the other hand looked suspicious of everyone - as spies so often do. In fact, van Louden noted, just like most of his own men in the room were doing. Boulier’s English was perfect, as was probably his Arabic, German, Italian and his table manners.

  ‘A group calling itself the Brigade d’Etoile d’Euro have claimed responsibility for the train bomb,’ Agent Boulier said.

  ‘And who are they?’

  ‘As yet, Monsieur van Louden, we do not know,’ Commissaire Coté shrugged.

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

  Boulier tapped his chin with perfectly manicured fingers. ‘We have never heard of them before. But the phone call, staking their claim on this disaster, met all the criteria. They had information that only those involved would know.’

  When van Louden looked expectant, the Frenchman added, ‘That information is classified, we cannot discuss the details with anyone outside the investigation.’

  Van Louden looked astounded. ‘I’m not outside anything. And quite apart from who I am, my family were on that train.’

  ‘For that, you have our deepest sympathy, Monsieur van Louden. But the specifics of this attack cannot be made public, not to you or to anyone yet.’ Boulier waved at the room, indicating the seven other people who weren’t the American Secretary of Defence.

  In an effort to smooth the situation, Commissaire Coté added, ‘Even we do not have access to all the information yet. As you’re no doubt aware, this disaster did not happen in France. The train was blown-up and derailed in Luxembourg, that is across the border. All we are doing at this stage is assisting with both the rescue effort and the investigation.’

  Van Louden got to his feet and paced the room. ‘Well what the hell can you tell us? For a start, how can there be a terrorist group that you - that nobody - knows squat about? And how soon before you do know, so that we can hunt them down?’

  Boulier and Coté glanced at each other, as if to say, “we could see that one coming”.

  ‘Oh, that’s not what I meant,’ van Louden snapped. ‘I’m well aware this is your jurisdiction.’

  ‘And yet, as the Commissaire pointed out,’ Boulier said, ‘it is not in fact our jurisdiction.’

  Van Louden wanted to punch someone - preferably the nearest French bastard.

  Corbin, who recognised the look on his boss’s face, and had once even witnessed the follow-through, stepped into the breach. ‘How did this group claim responsibility?’

  ‘A woman rang both the Luxembourg and French police to claim the attack in their name,’ Coté replied. ‘And, that we do not know this group by this name does not mean it is their first terrorist action. The name could simply be a new coat for an existing group. Often these militants form sub-groups or new cells to cover their tracks, avoid detection, or prevent the entire organisation from being compromised should some be captured. Individuals also form splinter groups because the original may have become too extreme, or even not violent enough, for their taste.’

  ‘Yeah, well we know all about terrorist cells,’ van Louden said.

  ‘And switching allegiances because the agenda changes,’ Corbin said. ‘That happens even with minor protest groups back home. Remember the Green Cattle debacle in Arkansas a couple of years back, sir? It started out harmless enough, with the group’s members going on and on about reducing methane levels; and then three of them started murdering cattle all over the state.’

  Van Louden nodded and rubbed his forehead. ‘Did this woman say why they blew up the train?’

  ‘Because the American Coalition and NATO continue to wreak havoc across Central Asia, the Middle East, Europe and Africa.’

  Van Louden looked at Marcus Boulier. ‘That’s it? That’s why?’

  ‘Her very words. Is that not enough reason?’

  ‘Did she claim affiliation with al-Qaeda or another jihad group?’

  Boulier frowned. ‘What makes you think they are Muslims?’

  ‘What the hell else would they be? I mean they’re objecting to us all being in the Middle East.’

  Inspector Coté smiled. ‘But we are in Europe, Monsieur van Louden. And here there are many militant non-Islamic groups who cite western troops in foreign countries as justification for their own brutal actions.

  ‘Yes, we have many angry and militant Muslims here in France; but we also have ETA, the paramilitary Basque separatist group. Germany and other nations, including Scandinavia, have vicious neo-Nazis, and there are new incarnations of the Red Brigade whose aim has always been to separate Italy from the western alliance of NATO. Even in America you have your own troublemakers.’

  ‘Our own troublemakers?’ van Louden laughed. ‘Cow killers don’t make a ping on the radar when we’ve got al-Qaeda bombing whole city blocks and attacking our military bases.’

  ‘You believe al-Qaeda carried out those attacks in Dallas?’ Boulier seemed as astonished as the Defense Secretary was certain.

  And I am certain, van Louden thought; and then immediately wondered if he was only sure because that was the last intel he’d been given by the State Department. He sat down in the armchair again. Maybe that had just been Aiden Bonney’s opinion.

  No matter. As much as he cared about what was happening at home, in his own state, to his own people, right now he only cared about who blew up this train and his immediate family.

  That was his next question: about his family, and their whereabouts.

  ‘I am afraid that bodies and,’ the Commissaire cleared his throat, ‘body parts are still being recovered from the wreckage. As far as we have been able to ascertain none of your family, their travelling companions or the security people in their company have been found amongst the injured or unharmed survivors.

  ‘Some of their hand luggage, however, was retrieved from a compartment in the carriage that
was two prior to the lounge car where it is believed the bomb was set off.’ Coté looked to Boulier who continued the report.

  ‘A mobile telephone was recovered from further along the track - nearer to the wreckage of the carriage immediately before the lounge car,’ he said. ‘My contact at the scene verified that it belonged to your nephew.’

  ‘Justin was Mr van Louden’s great-nephew, the grandson of his sister Abigail,’ Corbin corrected. ‘What do you think it means that his cell was not with their other belongings?’

  Boulier shrugged,’ Perhaps that the young man, and maybe his friends as well, were on their way to dinner when the explosion occurred.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ van Louden said, dropping his head into his hands. For some reason this whole nightmare felt worse with the possibility that Justin may have been so close to the blast.

  ‘If that was so, it would have been quicker for him, Monsieur van Louden,’ Coté tried to sound reassuring.

  ‘Yes,’ Boulier agreed. ‘It would have been better than being in the carriages as they derailed and crashed, in fear of the outcome.’

  ‘How long do you think the recovery of the passengers will take?’ Corbin asked.

  ‘Teams are working around the clock. Most passengers from the rear derailed carriages have been accounted for. Emergency teams are still working on the three most damaged cars, two behind and one ahead of the lounge car that was virtually destroyed. Obviously the wreckage in its entirety is a crime scene, but particularly those four carriages.’

  ‘When will the things - their belongings that have been found - be released?’

  ‘As soon as possible Monsieur van Louden. Your great-nephew’s mobile phone will have to be analysed first, of course, but everything else should be released tomorrow.’

  Van Louden glanced at his offsider with widening eyes, so before he could fly off the handle Corbin asked the question. ‘Justin’s cell phone needs to be analysed? Why?’

  ‘Monsieur, as I just said, the whole train is a crime scene. The first thing we must find is the device which set off the bomb.’

  ‘And you think…’ van Louden began to bluster.

  Commissaire Coté raised placating hands. ‘Mais non, Monsieur van Louden, we don’t think anything. But we also don’t know anything - so all the evidence must be examined.’

  ‘In the meantime,’ Boulier said, ‘we will make arrangements for you to travel to Bettembourg where all the victims have been taken for identification.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The White House, Washington

  Thursday 11 am

  ‘The President will make a statement now,’ the White House official informed the waiting press in the Rose Garden. ‘After that there will be 15 minutes for questions before he flies to Dallas.’

  Garner Brock stepped up to the plate visualising, as his Pilates instructor had suggested, that he was about to talk about his favourite sport rather than a national crisis. Leaning his left elbow casually on the lectern, he directed his attention to an empty space beyond the front row media.

  ‘Good morning ladies and gentlemen. First, I would like to reiterate my heartfelt sadness at the dreadful loss of life that occurred in Texas on Tuesday. My condolences, and that of the First Lady, go out to the families and friends of those who lost loved ones in those horrifying tragedies. Our thoughts and prayers are with you all, and with the seriously injured and wounded.’

  Brock took a serious breath and then, with his fingertips touching, rested his wrists in the centre of the lectern’s edge to remind him to stand straight and firm for the rousing part of his speech.

  ‘Once again our great nation has been attacked by the enemies of freedom and democracy. These shocking strikes at the very heartland of this United States are an affront to civilised and right-thinking people everywhere. And I go on record, right now, right here, in promising you that they will not go unpunished. The perpetrators of the bomb that devastated downtown Dallas and the brutal assault on the brave military men and women at Fort Hood will be caught and punished.

  ‘Now, it’s a pretty safe assumption at this stage that these twin attacks were part of the same vile and violent plan. And when we ascertain the architect of this carnage - no matter who he is and where he’s hiding in the world - he will be brought to justice. Or, we will bring justice to his door.’

  Brock took a moment to take in the faces of the press, without actually meeting anyone’s eye, then leant on his left elbow again so his right hand would be free for dramatic emphasis.

  ‘You know, folks, the crazy thing about these terrorists is that they seem to think that committing an atrocity like this will make us stay home, that it will make us give up the fight, that it will make us turn our back on the wider world…on a world that they would control by bloodshed, fear and repression.’

  He gestured expansively to include the nation and the world who’d be watching him through the TV cameras. ‘But mark my words, this only reinforces our determination - and our duty as Americans - to meet the threat of terrorism wherever it arises. These foreign aggressors should not be mistaken, people, they should not underestimate our resolve on this matter.

  ‘Yes, they’ve attacked us on our own soil again. Yes, we have lost innocent American lives to a brutal cause that we, as law abiding, freedom-loving people, cannot be expected to comprehend.

  ‘Our enemies despise our freedoms and our prosperity. We understand that. We know that most of the recruits to terror, take that path of violence because their anger at the world is fuelled by poverty and despair.

  ‘They are without doubt easy prey for the likes of Osama bin Laden and al-Qaeda. And once they choose to follow, they’re educated in anti-western propaganda and in subterfuge, and they’re given frightening skills in order to plot wicked and appalling destruction against us.

  ‘The horrifying reality is that some of these death dealers have again managed to slip undetected through the protective net cast by Homeland Security and our federal and state law enforcement bodies. This only tells us that we cannot let down our guard. Not for a second. We cannot become complacent, people. These terrorists, these jihadis, think nothing of living amongst us, of moving into our neighbourhoods, of enjoying our freedoms while they lie in wait, like rattlesnakes, to strike at any time.’

  He took a breath and stabbed his finger at the lectern with every statistic he delivered. ‘Well, two days ago 84 Americans died in the dual attacks in Texas, 141 more were injured. Another 15 US citizens died in the horrifying train bombing in Europe, including friends, staff and two family members of our own Secretary of Defence, Nathanial van Louden.

  ‘The reason for sending our forces to Afghanistan to rout the Taliban for harbouring Osama bin Laden; the reason we invaded Iraq to rid the world of the tyrant Saddam Hussein; the reason for our troops being in Pakistan, in Somalia, in the Sudan and other deadly and dangerous places around the world; that reason - that evil - has attacked our citizens at home again.

  ‘And terrorism is evil, folks, pure and simple. It may well be the only real evil that there is in this world, the one true evil that all ideologies and all theologies preach against.

  ‘Well I’m done preachin, folks.’ He paused, and looked into the lens of the CNN camera. ‘It’s time to deal with this scourge, time to combat this plague that would wipe people of good character and honest ambitions off the face of the earth.

  ‘Today we put the architects of terror on notice. You will not shake our resolve to do the courageous thing, the honourable thing, the only thing that true patriotic Americans would want us to do. We will fight you where you stand, where you live, where you train. And we will do so until you are annihilated.

  ‘We will defeat all those who would do harm to Americans and their allies at home and abroad, we will continue our war against al-Qaeda and other terrorist groups that take inspiration from the Islamic radicalism of Osama bin Laden.

  ‘And we won’t be alone when we shine a light
on your pointless violence. We know we have our good friends in Great Britain, Australia, in Europe and the Middle East who will stand shoulder to shoulder with us in our clash against your darkness.’

  Brock stopped, nodded and looked thoughtfully defiant. He even managed to remain that way when the shouted questions began coming at him. It always seemed like there were more waving hands than there were reporters. As usual, Brock chose Jim Fenman from the Washington Post first.

  ‘Mr President, what can you tell us about the rumours that a Civil War group was involved in some of the destruction at Fort Hood on Tuesday?’

  Brock smiled to cover the fact that this was the first he’d heard of this. ‘Now Jim, you know what I think about rumours,’ he said. ‘They should remain unspoken until there is at least evidence of the possibility. In regards to your question, what I can say is that ‘involved’ would obviously be the wrong word. There were, I believe, a number of civilians on the base on Tuesday - whether or not they were harmed in the attack I cannot say.’ Brock searched the front row and pointed. ‘Jill.’

  ‘Thank you Mr President. Is there any further news about Mr van Louden’s family?’

  Brock answered that question, in the negative, and three more before he was rescued from the conference and hustled back into the Oval Office. The heads of Homeland Security, the CIA and the FBI, two of the Joint Chiefs, Secretary of State Aiden Bonney and, oddly, the Vice President were all waiting for him. He did not like the look of things.

  ‘What’s happened now?’

  His own Chief of Staff, Rob Martin, broke the news. ‘There’s a chance, Mr President, that the attacks in Dallas were home-grown.’

  Brock shrugged. ‘Yep, wasn’t I just telling the press something like that?’

  ‘We’re not talking about secret cells of foreign terrorists living amongst us, sir. We’re talking about American citizens,’ Bonney said.

  ‘And?’ the President prompted. It wasn’t because Garner Brock was obtuse that he didn’t understand what they meant; it was simply that his advisers were, as usual, not making themselves clear.