The Camelot Code (32 page)

Owain returns with his wife and Lance Beaucoup. To his surprise, Mitzi is stood trance-like by the far window.

‘Lieutenant.’ He raises his voice to get her attention. ‘This is my wife, Jennifer, and my colleague Lance.’

She comes alive. ‘I’m sorry, I was miles away.’ She takes Lady Gwyn’s hand. ‘Mitzi Fallon.’

Jennifer adds a reassuring hand to the one being shaken by the detective. ‘You must be worried sick; let’s sit together and talk awhile.’

Owain drifts towards the door as his wife comforts Mitzi. ‘Please forgive me; I have a call in the office that I have to take.’

The ambassador returns to his study where George Dalton is on the phone, talking to Gareth Madoc in New York.

‘Owain is here,’ says the consul. ‘I’ll put you on speakerphone.’

The ambassador sits in his desk chair. ‘Gareth.’

Madoc comes straight to the point. ‘Khalid Korshidi has just met with Ali bin al-Shibh.’

‘Bin al-Shibh in America?’ Owain instantly pictures the man tipped to lead al-Qaeda one day. ‘You’re sure about this?’

‘He mentioned the CIA black site that he was held at en route to Guantanamo. The voice and facial match we’ve run came back with one hundred per cent confirmation.’

‘A creature like this doesn’t crawl out from under the rocks unless there’s a major target.’

‘Three targets,’ says Lance. ‘Hence the code word Trinity. He’s running Yousef Mousavi and Nabil in the US and no doubt someone else, someplace else.’

‘Any idea where?’

‘No. He only mentioned the US, but he confirmed dates.’

Owain hopes he’s wrong, ‘Tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’

‘Timings?’

‘No. We didn’t get that lucky.’

‘Any sense of whether they are fixed for the same day, same hour, or consecutive days?’

‘Afraid not.’

‘Damn.’ He tries to look beyond his frustration. ‘What’s Korshidi’s role?’

‘He’s a bigger player than we thought. Part of the smart new regime that al-Zawahiri constructed post-bin Laden. Seems he’s handling all the publicity because right now he’s unfurling banners and is preparing to shoot a video message with al-Shibh.’

‘Can we intercept the upload?’

‘Better than that. We have eyes and ears in the room – we’ll be able to see it being recorded.’

Owain gives Dalton a look that shows how impressed he is. ‘We’re going to have to share this intel with the Americans. I suspect Mardrid’s money is behind all this. As soon as you have the tape and some more solid information I’ll contact Ron Briars at the NIA and give him the heads-up.’

‘Understood.’ Madoc focuses on the video feed fizzing into life on a monitor at his desk. ‘Looks like we’re in “go mode” here. I’ll get back to you shortly.’

The line drops.

Owain kills the speakerphone and turns to Dalton. ‘Three separate attacks, all within the next twenty-four hours. What do you think?’

‘Unusual but not impossible. Did you see the matrix of VIP movements that the Watch Team put together for you?’

‘I did.’ The ambassador pulls it up on his computer screen. ‘I spent much of the early hours of this morning looking at it and narrowing it down.’

The consul gives his opinion. ‘The most obvious hit seems to be the new Pope. The pontiff has long been a moving target for all manner of groups and individuals, but with no ultimate success.’

Gwyn remembers Paul VI almost being stabbed by a Bolivian artist, John Paul II being shot in St Peter’s Square and Benedict, the last Pope, being attacked during Mass on Christmas Eve. ‘I see your point, George, but you know as well as I do that papal security is so tight that tomorrow when the Holy Father visits Wales he will undoubtedly be the most protected man on the planet.’

‘Maybe they’ll go for the old Pope
and
the new one?’

‘That’s a terrifying thought.’ Owain pictures the security inside the Vatican. ‘Benedict is well protected in retirement by the Swiss Guard, but I shall talk to them and flag the possibility.’

Dalton’s thoughts have moved on. ‘What about the US president? He’s always a target.’

Owain remembers the matrix. ‘He is in New York tomorrow at a fundraising concert for those affected by floods and hurricanes. Give me a third target.’

‘God’s banker,’ says Dalton. ‘Marco Ponti. The newly appointed CEO of the Vatican Bank will be holding his first board meeting with a committee of cardinals in Rome. Compared to the Popes and the president, he’s a soft target, but high-profile enough to be on a hit list.’

Owain pulls a face. ‘Why kill the Vatican banker
and
two Popes? The statement that all Christians are evil isn’t enhanced by shooting a banker. Nor, come to think of it, does the US president fit into a true religious trilogy.’

He’s about to re-examine the Watch Team’s list when the study door opens and his wife walks in.

Jennifer sees he is worried and is sorry that she has to add to it. ‘The policewoman – she’s taking another call from the kidnappers.’

Mitzi leans over a desk, pen in hand, notepad just below it. ‘I’m listening.’

The voice on the other end of the phone is the one she’s heard before. Male. Deep in tone. Electronically slowed down and distorted. ‘Do you have the files?’

There’s no hesitation in her answer. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. Be in Borough High Street, Southwark by seven. Come alone. And be in no doubt: we will know if anyone is with you.’

Owain and his wife enter the room as she scribbles down the instruction. ‘I need to speak to my girls.’

There’s the sound of the phone being put down. Movement away from the receiver.

‘Mom, I’m all right.’

The sweet pain of hearing Jade’s voice sucks the air from Mitzi’s lungs.

‘They haven’t hurt me. I’m all right, Mom.’

‘Baby, it’s all going to be okay.’ She feels tears sting her eyes. ‘Honey —’

There’s a click and the kidnapper is back on the line. ‘Be there and have your phone on, or it will be the last time you’ll hear her.’

‘Amber.’ Mitzi shouts the name out. ‘I talk to Amber, or there’s no deal.’

A distorted laugh rolls down the line. ‘You don’t say what happens.’

Mitzi digs deep, finds the courage she’s looking for and cuts the kidnapper off.

She feels herself shake.

An antique clock ticks twice in the heavy silence. Mitzi realizes she’s holding her breath and lets out a long sigh.

The phone rings.

She answers in a split-second. ‘Fallon.’

A young girl’s scream can be heard. It’s long and piercing. The cry isn’t of someone frightened. It’s of pain. Mitzi’s eyes tear up as the scream becomes muffled. It’s followed by the sound of someone being dragged away. Then, the noise of a chair being knocked over.

‘M–om,’ Amber’s voice fills the line. It’s broken, weak, barely audible. ‘They’ve c–ut me – Mommy!’

The phone goes dead.

Mitzi feels the world sway. Her stomach turns. She grabs the waste paper basket beside the desk and throws up.

Jennifer rushes to her side. Owain pours a glass of water for Mitzi and gives it to his wife. He stands back and waits until the American has composed herself, then he pulls a chair up close. ‘Are you okay?’

Mitzi takes a tissue from Jennifer. ‘I’m sorry for the mess.’

‘No reason to apologize. We have to talk about what to do now, how to respond to them.’

‘I know.’ She wipes her eyes and nose.

‘I presume you intend to give up the memory stick. Do you have it with you, or is it somewhere else?’

‘It’s with me. Very much with me.’

‘What do you mean “very much”?’

‘It was small enough for me to do what drug mules do. I swallowed it. They want the stick, they’re going to have to take me as well.’

Ali bin al-Shibh bears more than a passing resemblance to the late Osama bin Mohammed bin Awad bin Laden, his hero. He’s every inch as tall and equally thin. His facial features are so similar that there is speculation that the thirty-five-year-old is one of the terrorist’s twenty-plus children.

As he stands in Khalid Korshidi’s back room and wraps a white turban around his head, he looks exactly as he intends to – a chilling reincarnation of al-Qaeda’s founder.

‘I am ready,’ he announces with a final adjustment of the headpiece.

‘Please, take the seat.’ Korshidi guides the bearded leader to a stool in front of a cloudy backdrop of male faces, what the terror group calls ‘The Martyr’s Wall’. It includes bin Laden, his former number two Saeed al-Shihri and renowned propagandist Samir Khan, who was killed in a US drone strike.

‘I’ll only be a moment.’ Korshidi adjusts small portable lights and returns to the digital camera he’s mounted on a tripod. He puts on a pair of headphones, lifts the sound level a little and hits a button. ‘The camera is recording.’

Bin al-Shibh’s eyes close. His head tilts down and hands raise in adulation as he starts his message. ‘All praise is due to Allah, who built the heavens and earth in justice, and created man as a favour and grace from Him. And from His Law is retaliation in kind: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth and the killer is killed.’

The terrorist sits straight and his dark eyes burn into the centre of the lens. ‘People of the West, of capitalism, of false gods, of evil, you were warned. You were offered the Solution and you ignored it. Islam opened its doors and you turned away. You were given chances to avoid unwinnable wars and still you spilled the blood of our children. With it dripping from your infidel hands, you asked your priests to celebrate your innocence and heroism. The wise among you must have known that a Day of Reckoning was coming.’

The camera shot tightens and his bold eyes dominate the frame. ‘Al-Qaeda is the Reckoning. We are sent by Allah to destroy your false gods and false lives.’ The aggression dies from his face. ‘Take up the Koran, turn your backs on the Catholics and Jews and their lies about the Prophet of Allah Jesus. Do this and you will be saved. All praise is due to Allah, who awakened His slaves’ desire for the Garden, and all of them will enter it except those who refuse. Whoever obeys Him alone in all of his affairs will enter the Garden. Whoever disobeys Him will have refused and will perish.’

He lowers his hands and locks his eyes on the lens. ‘You were warned. You have been punished and will be punished again.’

Beam and his team pull together their basic Child Abduction Response Plan. While Helena Banks works on a psychological profile of the kidnappers, she has a geographical analyst map out the most likely exit routes from Ruth’s house.

Kay Podboj, a bright young academic fresh from Quantico, has been studying mileage, terrain and the location of airports and seaports. She approaches her boss’s desk with a folder full of aerial photographs and a face that says the early findings aren’t good.

Helena looks up from her own jottings and recognizes the signs. ‘That bad?’

‘Maybe worse.’ She spreads out the shots. ‘The Everett ranch is in a prime position. Must have cost a fortune. It’s remote but within striking distance of all major roads. They could have gone anywhere.’

‘Show me the most likely anywheres.’

‘Here.’ She fingers the first photograph. ‘The San Mateo Bridge is five miles away and on the other side is five thousand acres of the Eden Landing Ecological Reserve.’

‘Isn’t that just salt ponds?’

‘Mainly, but a whole lot of reclamation work’s been done. There are plenty of places to hide and miles of airstrips to fly from.’

Helena shakes her head. ‘I don’t think they’ve flown. Not yet.’

‘I agree. They could be out at West Waddell Creek State Wilderness. It’s an hour from the snatch point and has six thousand acres of dense redwood and Douglas fir to give them good cover.’ She glances at a map on the wall. ‘An hour would also get them out to Napa.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Yep, the Lord himself and all his disciples could hide out there and never be found. It’s eighteen square miles of sparsely populated valley. South is bad. Within two hours they could have reached Austin Creek.’

‘How big’s that?’

Kay looks at the map again. ‘More than twenty miles of countryside, with camp sites and remote cabins all over the place. The girls were taken late at night, right?’

‘Not so late. We guess between nine and ten. They’d come back from a day at the aquarium. Their aunt had been clearing up after dinner and they were outside playing a board game when the unsub pulled up.’

‘Okay. My point is this – the kidnappers did the pro thing. They knew within an hour of the snatch they’d have cover of darkness, meaning they could drive further in a shorter period of time because there’s less traffic and fewer cops on the road. There are also fewer night flights and they would know that the authorities would be able to quickly search overnight manifests for planes leaving California.’

‘I buy all that, but so what?’

‘Well, driving far at night means you have to know where you’re going and you must already have a place to go to. One owned or rented.’

‘Not owned,’ insists Helena. ‘They wouldn’t mess on their home lawn.’

‘So, we’re looking for a rented safe house, lodge or cabin somewhere out in the wilds. Ideally, they’d go for something a good hour from the ranch but not too far from an airport.’

Helena nods. ‘I agree. Once this is finished, they are going to fly. Possibly out of the country rather than just the State.’

Kay taps several of the pictures in front of her boss. ‘Then for me, the most likely exit airports are Oakland, Half Moon and San Fran International.’

Helena makes the first cut. ‘I’d rule out Half Moon. There are a lot of private planes and hangars there, but the coast guard, air ambulance and Medevac also fly from that old strip and I think the local sheriff as well.’

‘That leaves San Fran and Oakland.’

The psychologist crosses to the map on the wall. Oakland sits almost directly across the Bay from San Fran and she knows in recent years it’s become a booming airport with hundreds of flights per day across the States, Mexico and Europe. ‘Let’s start here,’ she says decisively. ‘Give me a geo profile on where the kidnappers would hide out in this area. I’m going to recommend to Beam that this is where we centre our resources.’