THE SPANISH REVENGE (Craig Page series) (4 page)

5

MADRID

Craig wasn’t surprised that the two a.m. meeting took place in the ornate residence of Prime Minister Zahara or that the Prime Minster was not only attending, but was seated at the head of the polished wooden table in the library. From their prior meetings, Craig concluded that the handsome sixty-year-old politician with coal black hair, slicked down and parted in the center, was very much of a hands-on leader, and the stakes were now high.

For the Spanish government, the Prime Minster was joined by General Alvarez and Carlos Sanchez, Alvarez’s Deputy Defense Minister, whom Craig knew from his resume to be forty-two, but who had a young man’s face, making him look like twenty-five.

When Craig, Elizabeth, and Giuseppe entered the room, Alvarez and Carlos were seated at one side of the table. Two walls with floor to ceiling shelves were filled with books, so neatly arranged that Craig doubted anyone ever took one off its shelf.

Craig made the introductions. “Giuseppe Maltoni, the Assistant Director of the EU Counterterrorism Agency based in Rome, and Elizabeth Crowder, a personal friend who has expertise which I believe will be valuable.”

Alvarez was twirling his mustache and glaring at Craig. “You omitted to say that Elizabeth is a reporter with the
International Herald.
We’re having a confidential meeting on a critical issue. Not a press conference.” He was raising his voice. “It’s outrageous of you to bring her.”

Craig refused to let Alvarez intimidate him. “As I said, she’s a personal friend.” Craig was speaking calmly. “She has something to contribute and her confidentiality is assured.”

Now Alvarez turned to the Prime Minster. “We can’t let her stay.”

Zahara looked at Elizabeth. “I know who you are. I read your articles and usually like them.”

“Usually,” she said.

“I didn’t appreciate the one a month ago about the weakness of some of our banks.”

“Actually, I thought I was being kind.”

“Perhaps. Back to this. I understand Jose Alvarez’s concern. On the other hand, Craig says you have something to contribute. Will you promise not to report anything about this situation unless I give you approval?”

“Absolutely.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

Alvarez was fuming. “This entire meeting is ridiculous. All for a prank. The note was prepared by some kids or a nut. I can’t tell you how many threats I get every day that turn out to be nothing.”

“I don’t think so,” Craig said with confidence. “Not this time.”

“Why?” the Prime Minster asked.

“The name typed at the bottom of the note was Musa Ben Abdil.”

Craig’s words were met with blank stares by the three Spaniards.

“Tell them who Musa Bin Abdil was,” Craig said to Elizabeth.

Everyone was looking at her.

“In 1491, when the Muslims were surrounded in the Alhambra, the Islamic leadership wanted to surrender to Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand. Musa Ben Abdil, a famous Muslim general, insisted on fighting the Christians to the bitter end. On horseback, he stormed out of the Alhambra with his sword and killed as many Christians as he could, until they killed him.”

“That doesn’t prove a thing,” Alvarez said. “The prankster could have read a history book and picked up the name.”

Craig turned to Zahara, “My gut tells me we’re dealing with a viable threat made by an Islamic fanatic intent on declaring war on Christians in Spain.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Alvarez said.

“And this train bombing may be only his opening salvo. He has to be stopped early.”

Alvarez scoffed. “We’re dealing with kids playing a game.”

With his eyes, Alvarez was shooting poison darts at Carlos.

“How do you propose to stop this bombing?” Zahara asked Craig.

“That won’t be easy. A huge number of trains leave Madrid every morning.”

As if on cue, Carlos reached into his briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers. “The train schedule for tomorrow,” he said, and slid it across the table to Craig. “The beginning of a school holiday.”

Glancing at the schedule, Craig confirmed his instinct. Scores of trains were scheduled to leave Madrid tomorrow morning, heading in every direction. Craig was impressed with Carlos, who was conscientious and organized. What a contrast to his boss, that bag of hot wind.

“How do you propose to stop this terrorist who calls himself Musa?” the Prime Minister asked Craig.

“Thwart the train bombing and capture one of the perpetrators, who can lead us back to Musa.”

“That won’t be easy,” the Prime Minster said pointing to the schedule Carlos handed Craig.

Craig was ready with the plan he had developed with Elizabeth’s input on the plane ride from Paris. “Soldiers with bomb detectors will check each train in the Madrid station before we let passengers board. Other army units around the country will examine train tracks leading from Madrid. Finally, high tech body and baggage scanners will check passengers before they board.”

Alvarez groaned. “You know how long that will take? None of our morning trains will leave before noon.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t think Prime Minster Zahara wants a disaster.”

The Prime Minster nodded.

“Nor does he want the political fallout from chasing pranksters,” Alvarez shot back.

Zahara was rubbing his hand over his chin, looking at Craig “You’re the expert. If you’re telling me I would be foolish to brush off this threat, then I have to follow your advice. Is that what
you
are telling me?”

Craig gulped hard. “Yes, Mr. Prime Minster.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

“We’ll have a public relations nightmare,” Alvarez said. “We’ll never be able to conceal the reasons for the extra security from the people. Rumors will fly.”

“I don’t want to conceal it,” Craig said. “Quite the contrary. I think we should inform Madrid radio and televisions stations that a threat has been made to blow up a morning train and the government is trying to stop it. Let people planning to travel decide whether or not to chance a train.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Alvarez said.

“Having Prime Minster Zahara conceal the information would be a lot worse.”

“Agreed,” the Prime minister said with a ring of finality. “Carlos,
you prepare a statement for Craig’s review. I want you, Carlos, to be a spokesman with the Spanish media.”

Craig glanced across the table. Carlos looked pleased, but a little embarrassed. Alvarez was scowling, twirling his mustache, definitely not having a good night.

“One other thing,” Craig said. “Elizabeth, can you still get a short piece in the
International Herald’s
morning edition?”

She glanced at her watch. “If I call in the next fifteen minutes. But regardless, it’ll be on our website.”

“I’d like you to publish the note from the man calling himself Musa Ben Abdil. Also, include your name and contact information at the bottom. Would you be willing to do that?”

“Sure, if it would help,” she said without hesitation.

“What do you hope to accomplish?” the Prime Minster asked.

“An alternative route to Musa. We’ll try to trace any call she gets. Route it into the Defense Department’s IT Center. Also, pick up the originator of an e-mail message. These people may want to make a statement. We’ll hang Elizabeth out there as the bait.”

“I thought he was your friend,” Zahara said to Elizabeth.

She smiled. “I thought so, too.”

If Elizabeth were reluctant to do it, Craig knew she would have said so. Nothing shy about her. And she was never intimidated by him.

She took the laptop from her bag and drafted the article.

Craig said to Carlos, “I’ll work with your IT people to set up the logistics to trace calls and incoming messages.”

“Meantime, I’ll assemble a military liaison for you,” Alvarez said, now wanting to be part of the team. “For the security checks.”

“I’ll be available to help at any point,” the Prime Minister said. “Nobody sleeps tonight. We have to stop that bomb.”

6

ATLAS MOUNTAINS, MOROCCO

With the sun rising in the eastern sky Friday morning, Musa sat down at the desk. He removed the Glock pistol from the holster strapped to his waist and placed it at his right hand. Then he booted up his computer. He was eager to get online. Why the hell did it take so long?

He had learned years ago that the Western media could be effectively manipulated to support any cause. Reporters—print and television—were like pigs at a trough in a constant feeding frenzy. Their sustenance was the stories or, even easier, the handouts anyone cared to give them to fill hours of airtime or the pages that separated advertisements.

He had carefully thought through his media plan for the Spanish train bombing. Now he had to see if he was receiving the attention he craved.

He stroked his neatly trimmed beard, waiting for that damn
computer. Let’s go. At last he was online. He began with the
Madrid Times.
On the front page he saw a short item entitled “Possible Train Bombing.”

It’s more than possible, you fools, he thought. Then he read on: “An unidentified terrorist has threatened to bomb a train leaving Madrid this morning. Authorities have increased security at the station and on trains. Speculation has centered on Basque separatists groups.”

That was all. The whole article. He re-read it and bristled. Why didn’t they publish his note? Why didn’t they include the name Musa Ben Abdil? And he wasn’t a terrorist. He had a cause. He was seeking justice for Muslims in Europe. He despised being called a terrorist.

He went to another Madrid daily. Exactly the same article. Verbatim. And ditto for a third.

The Spanish government was managing the news. Issuing their own story and requiring all the papers to publish it. Conspiring to deprive him of the attention he deserved for this daring attack. Well, they’ll suffer in a few short hours.

There was another possibility. He went online with the
International Herald.
There, under Elizabeth Crowder’s byline was an article entitled: “Spanish Train Bombing Threatened.” He continued reading: “Spanish Authorities received a note this evening stating: ‘One of your trains leaving Madrid tomorrow morning will be bombed.’ It was signed by Musa Ben Abdil.”

Now Musa was pleased. His name was in print. And Elizabeth Crowder had written the article. Musa knew from the internet, purveyor of intimate details of peoples’ lives, the greatest privacy invader in the history of the world, that Elizabeth was Craig Page’s lover. Her byline confirmed that Craig was involved. Not merely that fool Alvarez. They were taking him seriously.

His eyes dropped down to the bottom of the article. Elizabeth provided her contact information.

That made him smile. They were inviting him to call her and take credit for the bombing, so Craig could use his high-tech tracing equipment to locate Musa. Did Craig really think Musa was such a fool?

No, he had his own plan for media manipulation to take credit for the bombing. Yasir was in Paris, ready to move as soon as Musa called him. He had the tape. By this time tomorrow, everyone in the world would know who Musa Ben Abdil was. Who the Spanish Revenge was. Their objective. And Craig Page, the great counterterrorism expert, would be tearing his hair out.

He heard a knock on the door and looked up. “Yes?”

“It’s Omar.”

“Come in.”

“We have a problem,” Omar said.

“What happened?”

“You asked me to watch Kemal.”

“What’s that sniveling coward doing now?”

“Planning to quit and leave the base. He’s in the barracks packing.”

“When we came here, I told him quitting was not an option.”

“I reminded him of that, but he says he doesn’t care. He told me that this morning he called his sister, Lila, in Marseilles on his cell phone. He wouldn’t tell me what he said to her.”

Furious, Musa shot to his feet. “I gave an order. No cell phones. Unless used properly, they’ll permit our enemies to locate us. Bring Kemal over here. I’ll talk to him myself.”

Musa’s tone was hard, and cold as ice. He watched Omar cringe, then look at the ground as he marched out. He knew Omar wouldn’t dare defy him and help Kemal escape. Omar had always feared him. Done what Musa told him.

Ten minutes later, Omar returned with Kemal, who looked belligerent and defiant.

“I hear you’re leaving,” Musa said.

“Yeah. That’s right. We’re heading for a disaster, because you
insisted on giving the Spanish advance notice of the train bombing.”

“I’ve explained to you a couple of times why I’m doing that. It shows our strength to the world. We’ll gain respect. It’ll help us raise funds for further operations.”

“That’s nonsense. It was a mistake. They’re on alert. They’ll arrest Ibrahami. He’ll tell them all about us. When the bombs start falling here, I don’t want to be looking up into the sky, then running for cover.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t be.”

“What do you mean?” Kemal said, anxiety in his voice.

Musa picked up the gun on his desk and walked toward Kemal.

Retreating, cowering, Kemal said, “If you feel that strongly, I won’t leave.”

“What did you tell Lila on the phone this morning?”

“I didn’t talk to her.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Kemal glanced at Omar. “Bastard,” he hissed.

Musa felt betrayed. “I told you no cell phone calls.”

Kemal pulled the phone from his pocket and held it out.

Musa ignored it. “What did you tell Lila?”

“Nothing.”

Musa grabbed the gun by the barrel and savagely smashed the handle against the side of Kemal’s face. Blood poured from his nose and mouth. He dropped to his knees, the cell phone falling from his hand.

“What did you tell her?”

“I asked if she heard about a Spanish train bombing today. She said it was on the news.”

“Did you tell her where you were?”

“No. Not a word. As Allah is my judge.”

Musa didn’t know whether Kemal was telling the truth. But he was convinced he’d never find out. He was also convinced that Kemal was now a huge liability, with the potential to destroy
everything Musa had worked so hard to establish. He raised the gun and pointed it at Kemal.

“Please, Ahmed. We grew up together. The three of us. We’ve been friends since we were five years old. We …”

Musa pulled the trigger and fired a single shot to Kemal’s heart. As he collapsed, Kemal’s arms were flailing on the ground, his movements spasmatic. And then, in death, he was still.

“Get his body out of here,” Musa said to Omar. “He disgusts me. And clean up the blood from my floor.”

Watching Omar take away the body, Musa thought how completely he had severed his ties to the past. He refused to be distracted. Now was not the time for sentimentality.

Once Omar cleaned the floor, Musa returned to his desk and thought again about the logistics for this morning’s train bombing. Everything was in place. Ibrahami knew what he had to do. And he couldn’t be taken alive. With Craig Page now involved, Ibrahami would never be able to hold out if captured. He’d disclose Musa and the location of their base. Operation Spanish Revenge would be wrecked before it ever swung into high gear. But he was confident that wouldn’t happen. Ibrahami wasn’t Kemal. Craig Page would be helpless to stop the bomb. It would kill scores of people.

Musa Ben Abdil and the Spanish Revenge would be known around the world. And this is only the beginning of our struggle for justice and equality.