Traitor (21 page)

Carson laughed, now understanding Turner’s confusion. “That’s the Hawkeye’s camera, not a fighter’s. Nothing’s happened yet. Still plenty of time to try and overrule me,” he added with a wink, pointing to the handset Turner was holding from which the irate voice emanated.

The C40B taxied across the Abu Simbel runway and drew up next to the only other aircraft at the airport. The Boeing V22 Osprey had two oversized propellers and stubby wings. Frankie had seen one before but from the look on Reid’s face, she hadn’t.

“The wings rotate so it can work like a helicopter as well,” she explained as they walked down the aircraft steps.

“Ah, I see,” said Reid staring at the strange looking machine. “We’re not going on it though are we?”

“Ladies, Barry sends his regards,” offered the soldier that awaited them at the bottom of the stairs.

Frankie involuntary shivered at the mention of his name.

Reid noticed and just managed to stop herself from having the same reaction. However, Barry didn’t look at Reid the way he looked at Frankie. “You’ve never met Barry, have you?” she asked of the soldier.

“No,” he said.

“Trust me,” she replied, “you don’t want to be handing out his regards.”

Frankie nodded wholeheartedly and the soldier got the point. “Ladies, welcome to Abu Simbel, your chariot awaits. I believe you have some amateurs that want to tag along?” he said with a smile, as Flynn appeared with the Delta team ready for action at the top of the aircraft stairs.

Smiles and high fives were shared amongst the CIA and Delta teams, many of them having worked together before. All joking and rivalry was set aside. As consummate professionals, they were on the same team and would have each other’s backs. The twenty assembled men made up a fearsome team. They would die to save one another, irrespective of who issued their paycheck, DoD or CIA.

Frankie and Reid were suited up in body armor before being allowed anywhere near the Osprey. Once kitted out to the level required by the Delta and CIA team leaders, the Osprey took off. They were just over two hundred and fifty miles from the coordinates and thanks to the Osprey’s capability, just under one hour away and able to land anywhere they wanted.

Flynn and the two team leaders pored over the charts that had been created over the previous few hours. The satellite imagery had been mapped and rises and falls in the landscape plotted to allow a 3D image of the terrain. A plan was formulated. Points were selected for fire teams and other areas selected for exit and entry of assault teams. With thirty minutes to spare, they repeated the exercise and were pleased to see that they still agreed with everything they had already planned. They were good to go.

The training camp was spread along a valley on the desert floor. Its natural walls obscured the camp’s structures, other than from above where their natural coloring ensured only the most observant viewers would see anything unless viewed in very high definition. At one end, the valley swept up on three sides from the desert floor, creating a perfect natural amphitheater and location for Nick to carry out his exercise to maximum effect.

Nick stepped into the center of the natural stage and surveyed the hundreds of jihadists crowding on the slope, desperate to prove their worth to him. He laid his box down and turned to face the twenty men Ibrahim had selected. As Nick suspected, Ibrahim, aware that some of his men may not survive, had selected men for their fanaticism, not for their ability. Nick had watched many of the groups train in the few hours he’d been there and none of these men had stood out in anything he had witnessed.

“Ibrahim!” he shouted. “You have selected well, my brother. All of these men, I am sure, are more than happy to die for Allah but that will not be today!”

Nick dismissed them with a wave and began to lay out the vests. Each vest was wired with a detonator switch which Nick carefully placed down on the ground, ensuring he didn’t trigger any in the process.

From the bottom of the box he produced a small video camera that he set up on a tripod. He selected a view that offered no clue as to their location and tightened the bolts to stop the camera from moving. A further check offered a perfect view of the crowd as a backdrop. Nick paced forward and drew a cross in the desert floor with his foot. Once again, he checked the camera’s view and, happy with his work, he turned to an audience that was transfixed by his every move.

“Gentlemen! Today I am going to offer a number of you the opportunity to strike fear into the heart of every American! You are going to join our founder and father, the Caliph and Allah in paradise! They are, as we speak, preparing your seventy-two virgins!” he shouted to a great cheer.

Nick, with his aging hair disguise removed, stepped in front of the camera and with a small remote, hit ‘Record’.

“Ladies and gentlemen of America,” he began, before once again spouting a hate-filled tirade at America’s excesses and abuses and describing in detail how they had witnessed the death of the Ebola victim. This, he promised, was only one part of what was to befall America. He motioned towards the army of men behind him and promised they were coming to a street near them soon, armed with machine guns, explosives and a desire to die for their cause.

“It is that desire that I wish to demonstrate to you today,” he said, ending his diatribe to the camera. He turned to his audience and asked for volunteers. Every hand in the audience was raised. Nick paused the recording.

He then selected, much to Ibrahim’s disappointment, fifteen of the most impressive men he had witnessed during training, along with the benefactor’s son and his four friends. Not surprisingly, the benefactor’s son and friends were in no way eager to join the suicide party.

“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.”

“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.”