Traitor (3 page)

Leesburg Executive Airport

30 miles NW of Washington D.C.

The Gulfstream G650 touched down and taxied the short distance to the small terminal building. The pilot looked again at the runway and winced; it was going to be very tight. He would have to do a rolling start, build up some speed on the apron before turning sharply onto the runway and continuing the takeoff. It was the only way with a full tank of fuel. The prince had insisted on filling up. He didn’t do refuels. The Leesburg officials wouldn’t like it but he doubted they’d ever grace their runway again. The G650 was the smallest of the prince’s planes and one he seldom used, certainly not for a transatlantic trip. With a fleet of private aircraft at his disposal, which included a Boeing 747 and an Airbus A380, it had been a surprising choice but the prince was not a man to be questioned, especially not at the exorbitant salaries he paid his staff. What the prince wanted, he got.

The prince, a great nephew of the king, was worth almost fifteen billion dollars and was one of the wealthier members of the Saudi royals. However, he was also one of their more visible and challenging members. His wealth had skyrocketed through the financial crisis. His father’s death, just prior to the economic crash in 2007, had left him an inheritance valued in the hundreds of millions, almost entirely in cash. The crisis had allowed him to leverage his cash strength to great advantage and resulted in his meteoric rise in wealth. With wealth came influence and with influence came power. It was a mantle the prince was happy to accept. Power suited him.

The short hop from New York to pick up their precious cargo had been an unexpected one. An afternoon lunch in New York had somehow resulted in the prince spending the night in Washington. The pilot had no doubt they’d hear all about it during the flight home. The prince enjoyed telling his staff how important and powerful he was.

The helicopter arriving to his left caught the pilot’s attention as he ran through the final checks with his co-pilot. They both hurried their progress. The prince was too important to wait for such mundane tasks, or so he told them. The pilot had previously explained how important such checks were, only to find his bonus curtailed that month. Losing fifty grand in a month was not something he planned to do very often, or ever again.

A knock on the cockpit door preceded the entry of one of the three most beautiful women the pilot had ever set eyes on. The other two were already on board as they prepared the rest of the cabin for their employer.

“He’s just landing,” said the stewardess. “Can I get you anything?”

The pilot could think of many things but unfortunately none of them were appropriate. He shook his head, as did the co-pilot.

After the door closed behind her, a knowing look between the pilot and co-pilot conveyed more than words ever could; a special language between men, for men.

The pilot watched the two bodyguards exit the helicopter and check the area before opening the door for their prince. The pilot waved to his employer, unnoticed, as the man walked directly onto the plane. More movement from the helicopter caught the pilot’s eye. This was unexpected since the prince had journeyed alone. An elderly woman struggled out of the helicopter. She was covered from head to toe in a black burka. Her walking stick managed to hold her upper half from falling forward. Even without the burka, all you would see was the top of her head, such was the degree of her stoop. The woman struggled unaided towards the aircraft. The pilot unclipped his seatbelt and was about to rush to her aide when one of the bodyguards finally turned back to assist her. The pilot observed that the bodyguards attended to the prince before the elderly lady who was probably the prince’s mother or an aunt. He shook his head in disgust. The prince’s self importance knew no bounds.

He wondered again if a tax-free salary of a million dollars a year was enough. He turned away from the scene and completed his safety checks in record time.

Two knocks on the cockpit door confirmed the cabin was ready for takeoff. Leesburg had become far busier in the last hour but their departure time had been booked and a healthy donation to the airport’s development fund would ensure a prompt and priority departure, befitting the prince’s status.

Less than three minutes from securing his seat belt, the wheels were up, the sleek G650 jet was heading east, and Nick Geller, the most wanted man in the world, was making his escape.

Nick stretched out and removed the burka, tossing it into the corner of the cabin. His muscles and bones slowly recovered from his enforced stoop and he was able to stand up to his full six foot two inches.

“Now tell me, Mr Geller, why I am saving you and not having you killed, like the dog that you are?” hissed the prince.

Nick smiled. “Because of this.” He handed the prince a DVD, the very same recording that the acting President had been handed in the White House.

The screen burst to life. Although grainy, one half of the image clearly showed Nick Geller facing the camera. The other half of the image was the face of the man Nick Geller had assassinated just two months earlier. The man that had led to Nick being regarded as the all-American hero. The man that Nick had killed to receive the highest honor in the land from the most powerful man in the world.

The man was the self-proclaimed Caliph of Al Qaeda. His full name was Caliph Zahir Al Zahrani and he had replaced Osama Bin Laden. He had immediately pronounced Al Qaeda as a Caliphate in the hearts of all its followers, in honor of their fallen leader. The Caliph smiled warmly at Nick before turning to face the camera.

“Following the death of our great founder, leader and father, Osama Bin Laden, our struggle has weakened. Our successes are a distant memory as the non-believers continue their daily lives, disrespecting Allah. My friends, it is time to strike back, avenge our father and breathe fear into the hearts of all non-believers.”

The Caliph paused and turned once again to face Nick, before turning back and smiling into the camera.

“This man is a gift from Allah himself. He will rain death and fear onto the hearts of our enemies. They think he is one of them but he is one of us, a true believer in the will of Allah.”

The Caliph paused again and his smile disappeared. “Sacrifice is the greatest gift we have for the furtherance of Allah’s will,” he said, his rhetoric building. “Sacrifice is something that I and our father before me have asked of many of our brothers. Sacrifice is what our father did for us. And what I must do for you!”

“In the name of Allah, I have asked Nick to assassinate me. I do this for Allah and you, my brothers. A plan to rid the world of non-believers is in motion and I ask you, my followers, and all true Muslims to help our brother Nick fulfill my dreams and those of our father and Allah.”

The Caliph stood up and faced Nick, taking his head in his hands. “I ask that you do my bidding in the name of Allah. I ask this of you as a son of Allah and a true believer in Allah.”

Nick nodded, a tear clearly running down his cheek and said “Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar…”

The tape ended.

The prince rewound the tape and replayed it, moving closer to the screen and analyzing every frame closely. He replayed it again, this time watching every movement. Convinced it was genuine, he turned to Nick and smiled.

“Whatever I can do to help my Caliph, I am yours. My monies, my properties, anything, just ask. The Caliph is a genius! This is genius!” he proclaimed.

“We had to keep it a secret,” Nick said. “The Caliph felt terrible about not making you aware of his plan. You were like a son to him, the son he never had. I was to reach out to you before any other person. He made me promise that you would know before anyone else that his death was his doing and his plan to fight back in the name of Allah.”

“Anything, my brother, anything!” the prince said, hitting the play button again. The man who had been his childhood tutor, the Caliph, came back to life. The man who had been more of a father to him than his real father spoke to him from beyond the grave. The prince stood up and wiped the tears from his eyes and knelt at Nick’s feet.

Frankie left the room. Hearing the words from Nick’s mouth was too much. She staggered into the corridor, barely able to hold her own weight. The biohazard-suited soldiers filling the corridor were only too happy to help her into a seat. They had a blood sample to retrieve and she was top of the list. Frankie’s arm was held out as medics accompanying the soldiers took a sample of her blood. She winced when the needle punctured her arm. It wasn’t the pain of the needle, it was the pain of what that needle may uncover— a deadly virus and the child of a murdering traitor.

The image on the screen faded, and the silence in the room lingered. Any doubt that Nick Geller would not have infected them with a deadly virus had just been dispelled. They had trusted Nick, some had worked with him for years and yet he had just exposed himself as one of the greatest traitors in the history of the nation, or even throughout history, period.

“It’s been thoroughly checked by the NSA. It’s real,” confirmed the Director of National Intelligence, removing any remaining hope that it was all a mistake.

A knock on the door preceded the entrance of a biohazard-suited team who made their way towards the President.

“Madame President,” the DNI turned to face the acting President, “would you please follow these gentlemen?”

“Why?” President Lopez asked as calmly as she could.

“You’re going to be placed in a secure room while we ascertain whether or not the virus has been released. You may still be free from it and we do not want you to catch it while the checks are ongoing.”

Acting President Lopez was about to discover that, when it came to her wellbeing, she was not in charge of her own destiny. The freshly drafted in and safely suited Secret Service agents placed a mask over her head and removed her from the potentially hazardous environment. A small office at the back of the Emergency Operations Center was awaiting her arrival. Airtight seals and a fresh smell of bleach welcomed her to her new home for the foreseeable future.

After the President left the room, the DNI turned to the FBI Deputy Director.

“Mr. Turner, I’m sure I don’t need to say it but whatever you need from the intelligence community is at your disposal. This man Geller has to be tracked down and brought to justice. If anyone gets in your way call me, 24/7,” he commanded before leaving the room with his entourage.

The message was as much for Turner as it was for the roomful of senior members of the intelligence community. The FBI was the lead and everyone was to jump to its tune.

Turner looked around the room at the team he had been given for the task. Some of them he recognized, others he had heard of, and others he had no idea who they were or which clandestine or secretive part of the community they worked for.

Before he had a chance to address them, the door opened and another biohazard-suited person entered the room. However, this time, the person took an empty seat and sat down.

“I’m Colonel Valerie Barnes, I’ve been seconded to this team,” she announced to the group through her glazed mask.

“On whose orders?’ asked DD Turner.

“The Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.”

Turner nodded his approval of two people he would allow to trump him.

“I head up the USAMRIID unit at Fort Detrick,” Colonel Barnes said.

Blank faces stared back at her.

After explaining what that meant, Colonel Barnes became the most popular person in the room. everyone clamored for information on what the disease was and the likelihood of their catching it.

With no confirmation that anyone was in fact infected, Colonel Barnes played down the impact of the disease as much as possible. The reality would come soon enough. However, even the sugar-coated version was enough to scare the life out of her captive audience.

Nick removed the DVD from the player, replaced it carefully in its holder and returned to his seat. The prince stared at him throughout, his eyes transfixed on the man who had martyred his tutor.

“Can you tell me the plan?” asked the prince, struggling to hide the awe in his voice.

Nick closed his eyes. “No. The Caliph was explicit. Nobody should be made aware of the plan, only what is required of them. That way, even if we have a traitor in our midst, they will not be able to stop us. Even the scale, which I assure you will honor our dead Caliph, will remain a tightly guarded secret.”

Nick sensed the prince’s disappointment. He opened his eyes and stared deep into the prince’s eyes. “But what I can tell you is that what we have planned will destroy the western world and lead to the birth of the one true global Caliphate.” He smiled conspiratorially.

“So where can I take you?” asked the prince, wiping tears of admiration from his eyes and breaking into a smile.

Nick pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to the prince. “This is all I need of you just now but rest assured, My Prince, you have a very important role to play but your day has yet to come. The Caliph was explicit as to how vital your part in his plans would be.”