Traitor (12 page)

With his audience speechless, Nick told them what he needed from them. He needed an army of true believers, not just from Al Qaeda but from across the Muslim world. He needed men who were willing to give their lives to the cause but not those who simply offered those words vacuously. He needed men who had proved their worth, trained soldiers ready to fight and give their lives to Allah.

The group nodded as one and began to leave in a hurry. They had work to do. They had the jihadists within their groups to select for the Caliph’s plan - the men who matched Nick’s exacting standards and who would make their leader proud to be part of Nick’s army.

Nick took Mohammed to one side as the rest of the group left the building. “Have you got everything I asked for?”

Mohammed nodded and led Nick out of the prayer room and along the corridor to an exit staircase. One floor down, he led him to an apartment door being guarded by another two youths. The youths stepped aside and let the men enter. A bed sat in the middle of the room, enclosed within a plastic tent. A small generator ensured that filters cleansed the air leaving the tent.

Nick surveyed the room. “That was very quick,” he said, impressed.

“A lot of the people around here work at the local hospital. We immigrants are good for cleaning,” he said bitterly.

“And the guinea pig?”

Farsi led Nick through to the next room. Two women in full burkas and a man sat on the floor, bound and gagged. Fear raged in their eyes as Nick and Farsi entered the room.

“What are the charges?” asked Nick.

Farsi pointed to the first woman, her eyes pleading. “This one, adultery”. Moving to the second one. “This one, also adultery.”

Nick noted the area around the eye of the second woman was bruised.

Farsi moved to the man. “This man, rape,” he said with disgust for all three.

Nick walked forward and removed the veils that covered both women’s faces. They immediately dipped their heads to avoid his gaze but not enough to hide that they were both severely bruised.

“Did he rape them?” asked Nick.

Farsi nodded. Nick took a step closer to the rapist and forced his knee into the man’s genitals and pushed hard. The man tried to scream but the gag stopped him. Nick pushed harder and removed the gag. “How many others?” he asked.

“None!” said the man struggling against the pain. Nick pushed harder, feeling one of the man’s testicles begin to burst. “Six!!!!” screamed the man.

“The Caliph did not believe rape was an adulterous act,” said Nick. “It encourages scum like this to rape
our
women! There are six other women who have been too scared to tell what this man has done to them for fear of reprisals against them for his acts. Do what you wish with the women, the rapist will be my guinea pig.”

Farsi shouted for the youths to escort the women back to a holding room where their ultimate fates would be decided by the Al Qaeda-led council that ran the local community under strict Sharia law.

The youths returned after depositing the women and followed Nick’s orders. They took the rapist to the bed and strapped him down. Nick checked the camera that he had requested was in place and had a good view of the bed and the rapist. He also checked that the field of vision offered no peripheral insights into the location. Likewise, the names of any branded products were taped over to offer those watching no clues as to where or even in which country the recording was made. The man was stripped bare except for a small pair of medical pants to cover his genitals. His face was partially covered with a mask to stop any facial features being recognized.

Nick combed the specks of powder out of his hair with water and removed the spectacles. He double-checked everything then hit the record function and stepped into the camera’s field of vision.

“Ladies and gentlemen of America…” he began, then proceeded to spill out a hate-filled rhetoric of how disgusting and ashamed the Americans should be of their lives, how unworthy they were of Allah and how they were to be punished. Leaving the plastic tent briefly, he appeared back fully dressed in protective gear. His face, although behind a mask, was visible enough to confirm that it was still him.

Safely ensconced in his protective gear and within the tent, Nick opened the metal briefcase. A small hiss accompanied the seal being broken on the airtight case, revealing rows of vials with small amounts of liquid inside. Nick removed one, then took a syringe and removed the liquid. The rapist was fighting desperately and futilely against his restraints.

“This, ladies and gentlemen, is the Ebola Zaire virus,” said Nick, holding the syringe up to the camera, “one of the most deadly viruses known to man. It is highly contagious and has a 95% mortality rate. It acts fast and travels through the air with ease. If you wish to see how deadly and how fast it acts, this feed will continue live until the man lying here dies a horrific and painful death.”

Nick plunged the syringe into the man’s arm. With the virus delivered, Nick left the tent and sealed it behind him, leaving the man to his fate.

Farsi and the youths stepped back as he removed his suit. “It’s okay,” said Nick. “That was just for effect. The virus isn’t contagious until after about four hours in the bloodstream. Now let’s get that tape uploaded and put some terror into terrorism.”

“You need to see this!” said Colonel Barnes, barging into Turner’s office and taking control of his TV remote. She selected the Al Jazeera channel and was rewarded with an image of the plastic tent holding a man strapped to a bed. Frankie gasped when Nick appeared in the shot. The anti-Western diatribe that followed was shocking in itself and overpowering, particularly given that it was delivered by an apparent white American, the same white American who had been the subject of newscasts for the previous twenty-four hours.

“How long do we have to find him?” asked Turner, watching the syringe infecting the patient on the screen.

“He’s dead already,” said Barnes shaking her head. “There’s no cure. The moment you’re infected with the strain, it’s a death warrant.”

“Jesus! Can we stop this getting onto American networks?” asked Carson.

Turner shrugged, he didn’t know. However, when the website address scrolled across the bottom of the screen, any attempt to block the broadcast was deemed futile.

Turner rushed out onto the gangway and shouted to the floor below. “I want that IP location traced asap!” he shouted.

A number of nods from the techies below told him they were on it.

“He’s not that stupid,” said Carson.

Turner nodded. “I know, I know, you taught me that lesson yesterday but we have to try.”

The room dropped back to silence as the image of the man struggling against his restraints played out on screen. It was straight out of a horror movie but the desperation and fear shown by the victim was no act.

Colonel Barnes broke the silence. “In twenty-four hours, the fever and headaches will start, followed by diarrhea and vomiting shortly thereafter. A rash will precede open, bleeding wounds, and then death. This man will die a horrific death before our eyes in the next forty-eight hours.”

Turner hit his intercom and was instantly connected to his assistant. “Get me someone from Justice up here now!” he shouted.

An out of breath and very young looking man burst into the office. “Dan Gimenez, sir,” he said, “I’m from Justice.”

“Son, no offense, but I was looking for someone with a little more clout.” Turner turned back to his intercom.

“Sir, I work directly for the Attorney General. I graduated first in my class from Yale and spent two years clerking for the Chief Justice.”

Turner turned back round. With those credentials, there was every chance he’d be working for Dan Gimenez in a few years. “My apologies, Dan,” he backtracked seamlessly. “Have you seen this?” he asked, pointing to the website address on the screen.

Dan nodded.

“I want it blocked on Google, Yahoo, Bing or Bong or whatever you call it now, whatever providers we know and have some influence over, do you understand?”

“Ah, there may be a problem,” said Frankie, looking up from the laptop she was working on.

She turned the screen to Dan for him to read. There was a warning page. Dan scrolled down it as though scanning it and turned it back to Frankie.

“Did you read it?”

Dan nodded. “Miss…?”

“Frankie, just Frankie,” she said.

“Frankie’s correct. We have a problem. According to the notice on the page, they have a room full of patients. Any provider or search engine that blocks access to the website will have a new patient infected and added to the website wearing a T-shirt stating that provider or search engine killed them!”

Frankie nodded, impressed. “You read fast!”

Dan smiled. “Very.”

“Shit!” said Turner. “One step ahead,” he added under his breath.

“All right, thanks, Dan.”

Dan returned to the floor below, his ego and confidence leaving a little while behind him.

“We need to start preparing for the panic this video will cause,” said Colonel Barnes.

“Somebody does,” agreed Turner, “but what we need to do is catch this evil son of a bitch before he does something we can’t stop.”

“I think Paul’s right,” Carson said, “we can’t do both. We need to focus on catching and stopping him. I’ll give the President a call, get FEMA involved, and get the ball rolling.”

“I’ll prep a team for them,” said Barnes, who rushed out of the office, almost knocking Barry over in her haste.

“We’re certain the driver doesn’t know anything,” he said, entering Turner’s office uninvited. “Are you okay for us to release him?”

“Yes, yes,” replied Turner dismissively. He had forgotten all about the Clio driver.

“Also, we’ve pulled in a few more teams and stationed them around the EMEA area,” Barry said, referring to Europe, the Middle East and Africa. “We have six teams available. We can have a team at most major cities within an hour.”

“Thanks, Barry,” said Turner.

“Excellent. We have a lead he may be headed to Cape Town,” said Carson.

Barry was about to answer when he noticed the wicked grin on Carson’s face. He was playing with him. “Okay, North Africa. We can cover North Africa in about an hour,” he said, leaving the room and closing the door firmly behind him.

“You shouldn’t wind him up,” Frankie snickered.

“It’s too easy and those shits are loving this. They’d love to bring the DIA guy down and show us how it’s done.”

“We don’t have time for playground nonsense,” chided Turner. “Frankie, did you notice anything in the video that could help us?”

“Like what?”

“Phrases you recognized, gestures, movements, what he’s wearing. I don’t know, anything that reminded you of a time or a moment you were together.”

Frankie didn’t hesitate. “I have no idea who was in that video. Physically, I recognize him as Nick Geller but that’s it. There’s nothing about that man that I recognize. Jesus, we just witnessed him murder an innocent man strapped to a hospital bed!”

“Well, we’re assuming he was an innocent man. We don’t know who he was,” corrected Carson, drawing surprised looks from Frankie, Turner and Reid.

“I’m just saying,” he protested. “You never know.”

“Did you hear him? Did you hear what he said about the infidels not being fit to breathe Allah’s air?”

Carson held up his hands in defense. “Fine, forget I said anything.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“Where we were, only with the panic of a killer disease spreading fear across the nation and world,” summed up Reid.

With the meeting at an end, Carson, Reid and Frankie left Turner’s office. Agent Reid continued back to the main floor below, while Frankie followed Carson into his office.

Frankie showed Carson the photo of the message left by Nick.

“Where did you get that?” he asked angrily.

“On my mirror this morning,” she said defensively, pulling the phone away from Carson’s reach.

“Sorry,” said Carson. “I’m just a bit rattled with what Nick’s done. Best just delete it. He’s gone.”

“I know, I just thought it might help,” she said quietly, and left Carson’s office, making her way to a desk that had been set aside for her on the main floor below.

When the door closed behind her, Carson lifted his phone and dialed a number very few people knew existed.

“Target?” answered a voice on the other end of the line.

“Aisha Franks,” replied Carson.

“Purpose?”

“Background and surveillance,” he responded, ensuring he would know every detail of her life from that moment on.

With the video complete, Nick was free to change his appearance. His dark, wavy hair was cut shorter, bleached and then dyed a sandy brown color with gray streaks. Tinted contact lenses were a must. The one feature that stood out beyond all others was his piercing blue eyes. They had fascinated Frankie and were one of the first things she had spotted when they noticed each other. A pair of glasses completed the change. His two-day stubble would normally have been removed but further added to the disguise. Nick Geller was a changed man in every way.