WHATEVER THE COST: A Mark Cole Thriller (16 page)

8

The mood throughout the White House Situation Room had been buoyant and enthusiastic after the first transmissions from General Cooper
– the hostages and ship were safe, and Liang Kebangkitan had been subdued without any serious US casualties. President Tsang Feng had also been delighted with the news, and there had been an air of excited satisfaction within the members of the National Security Council.

But then Cooper had patched Commander Ike Treyborne through directly to the NSC, and the mood had been soured immediately.

Could the hijacking of a cargo ship
really
have just been for the sake of one small box? A small box of unknown origin, which could contain anything?

‘What else can we get from Suprapto?’ asked Catalina dos Santos, worry across her handsome features.

On the satellite video uplink, Treyborne shook his head sadly. ‘Regrettably, Arief Suprapto was killed before we could finish questioning him. But I think we need to take this seriously and start making some moves. On the one hand, we need to pursue the Jemaah Islamiyah lead and find out where the cargo went, and on the other, we need to trace the cargo
back
to wherever the hell it came from so we can find out exactly what it is we’re dealing with.’

‘
Thank you for your advice, Commander,’ Jeb Richards said, ‘but let me establish something here. All we really have – in terms of suspecting this wasn’t just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill hijacking – is the word of this unknown operative?’ Richards asked. ‘Nobody else knows anything about it?’

‘Captain Yang was also there
when Suprapto was questioned, but at the moment he’s been sedated and is unable to be of any help.’

‘
How convenient,’ Richards said. He took a drink of his coffee, set the cup down, and cleared his throat. ‘So let me get this straight. The pirate leader winds up dead, this
Asset
claims that Yang shot him, and then comes back with a report of a mystery weapon from North Korea? Which we can’t really corroborate now, one way or another?’ Richards looked around the room. ‘Does that strike anybody else as a little hard to believe?’

‘I’ll vouch for the man,’ President Abrams said forcefully.

‘Ah, Ellen?’ Clark Mason interjected smoothly, and Jeb Richards watched in anticipation, knowing that Abrams’ confidence was about to be somewhat curtailed. He took a long slurp of coffee and waited for Clark Mason to begin in earnest.

‘
Yes?’ Abrams asked impatiently.

‘It’s just that you might not want to pin yourself too closely to this
Asset
. I’ve received intelligence that this operative is the former agent known as Mark Cole, one of Charles Hansard’s hired assassins.’

Mason paused as there were collective gasps from around the room, and Richards admired his sense of theater.

‘Although he was believed to have been killed in Austria, at the time of his supposed death there was still an arrest warrant out for him, relating to the deaths of dozens of our own agents throughout Europe.’ Mason looked around the room, all eyes turned to him. ‘He was also implicated in the death of Bill Crozier, who at the time was Director of the CIA’s National Clandestine Service.’

‘Those agents who were killed were all later suspected of being tied to Hansard’s own group,’ Abrams fired back, ‘and there was never any evidence that this man had anything to do with it.’

‘Nevertheless,’ weighted in Milt Staten, the Attorney General, ‘having spoken to Clark and some of our other colleagues, it is clear that this Mark Cole – if it is indeed him – should be brought in for questioning on charges of assassination, treason and murder.’

Abrams looked around the room, disbelief on her face; it was clear that she felt she’d been set up, betrayed. Richards’ smile only widened.

‘I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up a warrant for his arrest,’ Staten concluded with a grave tone, ‘if you’ll beg my pardon, Ellen. I felt time was of the essence.’ He turned then to the image of Commander Treyborne, who was waiting patiently yet furiously as the politicians went about their self-interested cliquish little games back in the capital. ‘Commander Treyborne,’ Staten instructed the military officer, ‘as Attorney General of the United States, I order you to arrest Mark Cole and bring him back to the United States for questioning and possible trial for the aforementioned charges.’

Richards nodded across the table at Mason, still smiling.
Assassination, treason and murder.

Perfect.

‘And I suggest,’ Richards added, just to get his own little dig in, ‘that we take whatever this killer has to say about mystery crates and North Korean agents with a
very
large pinch of salt.’

Treyborne’s face was grim as he entered the bridge, where the Asset and his troop leaders were now going through the day’s events.

He saw Navarone and the other leaders noticeably tighten up as they saw his face; they instinctively knew something was about to happen.

And when Treyborne raised his H&K MP-10 submachine gun in the direction of the mysterious agent, they all immediately followed his lead and went for their own weapons, until they were all trained on the man they knew only as the Asset.

Mark Cole looked around at them, not making any sudden moves, hands rising slowly in surrender. ‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.

Treyborne shook his head sadly. ‘I’m sorry, son. I really am. But I’ve just been ordered by our attorney general to place you under arrest and bring you back to the United States for questioning on charges of assassination, treason and murder.’

Cole nodded his head in understanding. Someone had talked.

‘Okay,’ he said, looking around at the confused but determined faces of the men surrounding him. ‘But you were right before. We
do
know each other. And before you go through with this, maybe I should tell you who I
really
am.’

The Lion emerged from a cell in the second basement of the Ministry of Interior building, hood, robes and camera equipment stored safely back in the briefcase he carried at his side.

Abd al-Aziz Quraishi had just made another recording for his followers throughout Saudi Arabia and around the world, another call to arms under the banner of Arabian Islamic Jihad. As he waited for the elevator that wou
ld take him back up to his fourth floor office, he reveled in the irony. The basement cells were for torturing enemies of the regime, and here he was, inciting revolt from within. It was beautiful, a poetic justice that could only come from Allah.

As he rose upwards through the building, cell phone service was restored and he felt a vibration in his pocket. He took out his phone and read the message, anger rising instantly to the surface.

The Americans had re-taken the Fu Yu Shan.

He controlled his breathing, his self-mastery overriding his initial anger immediately. What did it mean? What would they be able to learn?

At a push, they might get Suprapto to talk, and he might let slip that he was hired by Jemaah Islamiyah to hijack the ship. But it was unlikely in the extreme that they would be able to find out that Jemaah Islamiyah had in turn been instructed to hire the pirates by the Lion’s own organization. And even more unlikely that they would know about the crate, or be able to find out what was in it. And they certainly wouldn’t know that the crate was now in an AIJ safe house, under the protection of Amir al-Hazmi, the Hammer of the Infidel; being examined by a team of loyal scientists in an underground laboratory while his volunteers waited above to be called to action.

But it was a matter for concern nevertheless, and as soon as Quraishi was back in his office, he placed a call to al-Hazmi on his secure phone.

‘Amir,’ he began in his melodic voice, ‘there have been complications. We will have to move our timetable ahead. Tell the scientists to start the procedure.’

He received confirmation from his trusted second-in-command, and replaced the receiver.

Everything happens for a reason
, he considered as he paged his secretary for a cup of jasmine tea.

If the timetable was being moved up, then it could only be the will of Allah.

The West would just have to fall sooner than planned.

PART FOUR

1

Dan Chadwick wasn’t looking forward to this. The flight from Dallas/Fort
Worth International was nearly nineteen hours, and his destination wasn’t exactly the Caribbean.

He’d never been to Dhahran before, and yet the thrill of discovery was noticeably absent. It was, after all, in Saudi Arabia – an Islamic country still ruled by a monarchy with its strict shariah law, and not one he had ever had a desire to travel to. And yet Dhahran was the seat of
Saudi National Oil, the world’s largest oil company, and was therefore a very common destination for executives from his own company.

Chadwick had only joined Texas Mainline Oil last year, and this was to be his first meeting with his opposite number at
Saudi National Oil. But the unexpected call from Ezzard Kaplan, TMO’s chief executive, had been unequivocal; Chadwick was to drop everything and make his way to the airport for the flight to Dhahran that very evening.

His meeting was to be with Abdullah Al-Zayani, Senior Vice President of Finance, Strategy and Development
; a potential investment deal was in the offing between Saudi National Oil and Texas Mainline Oil, and Kaplan wanted Chadwick – as TMO’s Vice President of Finance – to start discussing the money. Chadwick could see why Kaplan was keen – the deal could potentially be worth over a billion dollars a year to the American company.

It did mean, however, that t
he pressure would be on right from the start, and Chadwick knew that the nineteen hours aboard the plane would be spent in harassed preparation for the endless meetings ahead.

At least he would have the comfort of the executive lounge before setting off, he considered as he stepped out of the company limousine,
into the baking Texan heat, right outside the terminal’s entrance. Maybe he could start the day off with a nice martini to steady his nerves.

Jim Yancy watched the limousine pull up to the main airport entrance, coming to a smooth stop right outside the door. The trunk was popped open and the bags whisked away even before the passenger had been let out by the uniformed driver.

It was definitely him – Dan Chadwick of Texas Mainline Oil.

Right on time.

Yancy nodded at the man opposite him, who held up the hypodermic needle and nodded back.

He then checked out of the van’s blackened windows once more, turned to the man next to him and nodded again.

The van’s side door was immediately slid open, and Yancy burst into action.

Chadwick
watched as assistants came to take care of his bags, and started to move slowly towards the electrically sliding doors of the airport terminal.

He was still thinking about that dry martini when everything changed
.

The first thing he heard was the noise of a vehicle pulling up behind him; then a door sliding open; and then the he felt arms reaching out for him, a sharp stabbing sensation in the side of his neck; and then there was nothing at all.

Lt. Commander
Nelson Iboria nodded to Lieutenant Yancy, who held the unconscious body of Dan Chadwick, and banged hard on the partition to the van’s cabin, alerting the driver. The van pulled away immediately, heading for the airport exit.

From Chadwick stepping out of the limousine, to being drugged and unconscious in the moving van, had taken no longer than four seconds – a short enough period of time for any witnesses to doubt the possibility of what they had seen.
It had been like a magician’s illusion, a trick which nobody would be able to fathom. And now Chadwick was safely in the van, the next part of the plan could commence.

The operation had been planned by Commander Treyborne with incredible speed, but time was definitely of the essence and Iboria was just glad that he’d got to play a part in it.
After all, it wasn’t strictly speaking an authorized mission.

But, as Treyborne had explained to all
the men, it was absolutely vital to American interests that Chadwick be intercepted at the airport; and that was good enough for Iboria. Let the politicians play their little games in their ivory towers, but when there was work to be done, Iboria was the man to do it.

And – authorized or not – Dan Chadwick of Texas Mainline Oil was now in the custody of SEAL Team Six.

Mark Cole strolled through the gates of Dallas/Fort
Worth International, his passport bearing up to the scrutiny of two independent sets of airline security.

He was now travelling as Daniel Jordan Chadwick of Dallas, Texas; the real man would soon be comfortably ensconced in the nearby Hyatt Regency for the duration of the operation, courtesy of Commander Treyborne’s Red Squadron SEALs.

Back in Sumatra, Treyborne had been all set to arrest Cole; but when Cole had told him who he really was, Treyborne’s old friend Mark Kowalski, the SEAL commander had been so surprised that he had listened to Cole’s entire story – his recruitment into the SRG, his time in prison, his rescue by Charles Hansard and his new identity.

Treyborne had known Cole was on the level; after all
, he’d been the best man the commander had ever worked with. And so he had continued to listen as Cole explained what they needed to do.

It was clear that the hijacking wasn’t all it seemed, but it was also equally – and unfortunately – true that certain people at the White House didn’t want to know about it, and would make any further operations difficult to get off the ground.
Plans probably
would
get made, but not rapidly enough to deal with the situation effectively.

Cole’s name was muddied by the accusations,
and – despite the safe retrieval of the Fu Yu Shan and its crew – anything he said was going to be regarded as tainted. In fact, it seemed that some elements on the National Security Council were questioning how Cole had managed to find the pirate lair in the first place, insinuating that perhaps he was involved in the enterprise somehow himself.

But no matter what the politicians said,
Cole was happy that Treyborne still trusted him. The SEAL commander believed what his old colleague told him about Arief Suprapto’s information, and – to Cole’s delight – was willing to stand by what he’d told President Abrams; the leads to both Jemaah Islamiyah and North Korea should be followed up.

Cole knew that the NSC would be slow to follow up on the first; after all, the only evidence to link the hijacking to Jemaah Islamiyah had been Suprapto, who was now dead. And so Cole had suggested that he follow up the lead himself; he could do so quickly, and such undercover work was his specialty.

The connection to North Korea was easier to sell to the men higher up the chain, and Treyborne had managed to convince first Scott Murphy, the DEVGRU commander, then General Cooper, and finally General Olsen, that he should be allowed to assign some of his men to an investigation.

And so – to both Cole and Treyborne’s immense relief – DEVGRU’s Red Squadron had received unofficial authorization from General Olsen to follow-up on the leads stemming from the container which had been taken on at Dalian, and the two mysterious sailors who had boarded with it.

But for Cole to pursue the leads to Jemaah Islamiyah, he was going to have to avoid being arrested by the SEALs; and it had therefore been agreed that he would manage to ‘escape’ the island and go on the run.

Cole was immensely grateful to Treyborne; he knew any help he received with this part of the mission – such as the abduction of the
real
Dan Chadwick – would be completely unauthorized, and potentially illegal. It was a big ask, but Treyborne was a patriot first and foremost, and understood that something big was about to happen; and if he could help, then he would, and hang the consequences.

And so Cole had ‘fought’ his way off the small island and escaped the SEALs who were supposed to arrest him.

He had immediately started making his enquiries, checking out local airports and downloading flight plans and logs while also scouring intelligence databases around the world for information on Umar Shibab, Suprapto’s alleged Jemaah Islamiyah contact.

And i
t was the confluence of these two factors which had led him to Abdullah al-Zayani and Saudi National Oil, and his current task of impersonating Dan Chadwick.

Decryption and translation of Shibab’s recent emails by the NSA showed several
messages regarding financial transactions between Shibab and Dhahran Mainframes, an engineering subsidiary of Saudi National Oil. And at the same time, Cole’s research into recent flights from the Sumatran mainland to places of interest revealed that a private jet had left Kuala Namu International Airport, in nearby Medan, for Saudi Arabia just two days after the Fu Yu Shan had been hijacked. And what was especially interesting about the plane was that it was registered to the Orex Chemical Company which – like Dhahran Mainframes – was also a subsidiary of Saudi National Oil.

Further digging revealed that – after all the cut-outs – the man who’d signed off both the transacti
ons through Dhahran Mainframes and the private flight by the plane owned by the Orex Chemical Company was Abdullah al-Zayani, Senior Vice President of Finance, Strategy and Development at Saudi National Oil.

Cole immediately realized that this al-Zayani
could potentially be a chief financier of terrorism; perhaps embezzling funds from the fabulously wealthy oil company to fund an extremist group of some kind or another. After all, when a company was valued at over a trillion dollars, and made a further billion dollars every single day, who was going to miss a measly twenty million here or there? And the Senior Vice President of Finance, Strategy and Development was the perfect man to siphon off funds and make sure the crime was never discovered.

The only problem was finding out which group al-Zayani was financing; if Cole could find that out, he would be one step closer to locating whatever weapon had been stolen from the Fu Yu Shan.

He had been in touch with his old friend Ike Treyborne, and together they had hatched a plot to get Cole into a meeting with al-Zayani. It had been complicated, but they had discovered a potential business venture between Saudi National Oil and a relatively young US company called Texas Mainline Oil. Seeing the opportunity, an urgent meeting had been arranged for Chadwick to meet his opposite number to discuss numbers. Both sides thought that the meeting had been the idea of the other; the reality was that Treyborne’s men had arranged the whole thing. And because Chadwick was new to the company and had never been to Dhahran before, Cole would be able to assume his place with nobody ever the wiser.

He hadn’t even had to disguise himself too much; his own photograph had been put on the expertly forged passport, and there weren’t any photos of Chadwick on the internet that anyone could check anyway.
The fight with the Korean agent had left him with broken cartilage in his nose, but he’d managed to reset it by hand and it now looked as good as new; perhaps, he thought, even straighter than before.

And so it was that Cole boarded the eleven o’clock flight to Saudi Arabia, and his meeting with the
suspected terrorist financier known as Abdullah al-Zayani.

If the man knew anything at all about the cargo of the Fu Yu Shan, who had
it, and what they were planning on doing with it, Cole would do everything in his power to find out.