Traitor (7 page)

“Other than she’s a Secret Service agent, obviously trusted by the President, despite her boyfriend trying to kill him and blowing up his house, and the fact that he insists she is part of the investigation, very little.”

“Well I suggest we learn a lot more very quickly. Her mother’s a Saudi princess.”

Turner’s head snapped back again to look at Frankie. “No fucking way!”

Carson nodded. “I’ve got her file being sent to me as we speak. I’ve just been to her house, trust me, it’s not bullshit. She lives in a mini palace behind Mom and Dad’s full sized one.”

“Do you think…” Turner didn’t want to finish what he was about to say.

“Honestly, no. However, Nick Geller is a very smart cookie and he may just have been using her for more than a booty call,” interrupted Carson.

“We’re just about to debrief her but it may all become a bit irrelevant very shortly,” suggested Turner, checking his watch again for the tenth time in less than two minutes. Almost on cue, the desk phone rang. Turner let Carson answer it.

Carson listened for a few seconds before replacing the handset.

“We got them,” he smiled triumphantly.

“So are the French going to hand him straight over to us?”

Carson looked at him strangely. “Why would the French have them?”

“Because they just captured them at Le Touquet,” replied Turner, somewhat confused.

“No they didn’t, we just stopped them getting to France!” said Carson.

“I thought you sent a team to get them when they landed?’ asked Turner, his mind spinning.

“Le Touquet’s in the middle of fucking nowhere. Do you think we’ve got Special Ops teams all over the world, ten minutes from anywhere?” asked Carson irritably.

“No but—”

“I sent two fighter jets to stop them landing in France and getting away.”

“Fighter jets? What the fuck have you done?” Turner shouted. He worked for the FBI. They followed process, they followed the law. They were not judge jury and executioner.

Carson laughed awkwardly. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough,” he said cryptically before leaving an infuriated and dumbfounded Turner to stew.

“Come with me,” ordered Carson, slamming Turner’s door behind him.

Frankie looked at the infuriated Turner before quickly following Carson.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

He turned into an office at the end of the gangway. A plaque stamped DOD adorned the front of the door. Two officers sat at two of the four desks that took up half the room. The other half had a conference table with ten chairs.

“Out!” barked Carson at the two officers.

Neither questioned the authority with which he had evicted them. They just assumed and correctly, that if somebody barked an order at them, it was presumably someone of a higher rank.

“Sit,” he ordered Frankie, pointing to the conference table.

Frankie stood her ground.

Carson glared at her, she glared back. Carson smiled sarcastically, she smiled sarcastically back. Carson smiled warmly. “My apologies, please could you take a seat?”

Frankie sat.

Carson took a seat opposite her and put his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, Turner just really pissed me off.”

“What did he do?”

Carson laughed. “You know, I’m not really sure. He just acted like an FBI guy does, you know?”

Frankie smiled. “Hmm, yes,” she said nodding. “Like we’re all beneath them and their standards.”

“Exactly,” said Carson snapping his fingers and pointing at her. “He assumed I had the prince’s plane shot down, like I’m some sort of trigger-happy lunatic.”

“Did he apologize?”

“What for?”

“Being wrong.”

Carson smiled wickedly. “I didn’t tell him he was,” he shrugged. “If that’s what he thinks of me.”

“So what have you done with it?” she asked wondering what had become of Nick.

“We’re just about to find out,” he said, hitting a dial button on the teleconference machine that sat in the center of the table. “Either, they’re on their way back to Lakenheath or…” he shrugged again.

“Or they shot it down?” she gasped.

“Only if the pilots failed to follow directions,” explained Carson, realizing he had in fact given the order Turner had accused him of so outrageously. “I suppose we have a reputation for good reason.”

Frankie held her breath as the confirmation came through. The Gulfstream had followed directions and would be landing at Lakenheath within the hour.

Carson killed the phone line and retrieving a laptop from one of the desks, pulled up an email that had been sent to him in the previous few minutes.

“Okay, Frankie,” he said, “it’s time we find out a little more about you and Mr Nick Geller.”

Frankie shifted uncomfortably. “I assumed I’d be speaking to the FBI.”

“You will, I just want to know you’re telling them the right thing.”

“I’ll tell them the truth,” she replied quickly.

“Of course, I’d just like to hear it first please,” he said.

Colonel Valerie Barnes slipped into the room quietly and took a seat next to Carson. Frankie eyed her carefully while Colonel Barnes smiled at her warmly.

“Colonel Barnes,” said Frankie nervously.

“Please, just Val. I’m a doctor who just happens to work for the Army.”

“Doctor Barnes,” corrected Frankie.

“Does he know?” asked Val.

“Does who know what?” asked Frankie, looking from one of them to the other.

“Does Nick know?”

Frankie’s barrier broke and she shook her head, tears trying to flow once again. Frankie pushed them back. She wasn’t a crier.

Carson was struggling to keep up when he finally understood. “Shit!”

“It’s the hormones, they’re raging inside you at the moment. They’ll calm down,” promised Val.

Frankie removed another piece of toilet tissue to dry her eyes.

“But how did
you
know?” asked Carson.

“The blood test for the virus,” she replied.

“You see,” said Carson, “there’s something the FBI don’t need to know and not telling them isn’t not telling them the truth.”

Frankie looked at him warily. “But why?”

“Nick Geller was one of ours,” he said. “The fallout is going to be huge and the Secretary of Defense and the President would like me to manage that. Politics is a difficult enough power game. Let’s just say there are some within the corridors of power who may try and use this situation to their political advantage. There are many in Washington who would like to see the Defense Department on its knees, irrespective of how it makes us look to our enemies or even how it affects the security of our nation.”

“Okay, but I want to see President Mitchell first.”

The Gulfstream jet drew to a stop as indicated by the ground controller. A section of Lakenheath’s apron had been sectioned off specifically for its arrival. The welcoming party that awaited them caused instant panic inside the prince’s jet.

The pilot grabbed his mic. “Your Highness, just what the fuck is going on?” he asked across the internal P.A. system, the panic in his voice evident.

The prince unbuckled himself and rushed into the cockpit. The sight of dozens of men dressed in full biohazard suits was not a sight anyone wanted to see, particularly when you weren’t wearing one yourself.

The prince, although panicking, tried to regain his composure. His Caliph needed him. His Caliph had
selected
him.

“Just stick to the plan,” he said, looking intensely into the eyes of the pilot and co-pilot. “I’ll double what we’ve already agreed!” They may be mercenaries but even they had their limits. “Okay, ten times!” the prince blurted. The subtle smiles told him he had just hit theirs.

The Prince drew himself to his full royal stature and made his way to the exit where the stewardess opened the door. He was greeted by a wall of armed men dressed in hazard suits.

“What is the meaning of this!” he shouted in his most indignant voice. He did indignant very well. “This is an outrage!”

The Base Commander stepped forward. “We have reason to believe that you are harboring a wanted fugitive on board.”

“If any of my staff are international fugitives, please take them away,” he said angrily. “But I seriously doubt that any of them have done anything to warrant this treatment. I demand to see the Foreign Secretary!”

“If you and your staff will exit the plane, I’m sure we can sort this out very quickly,” replied the Colonel.

“Of course, but I must ask, is it safe?’ he asked, looking across at the field of hazard suits in front of him.

“These are to protect us from the fugitive.”

Outwardly, the prince didn’t flinch. Inwardly, his intestines wanted to explode. What the hell had he been exposed to? A whisper from behind him asked “Double again?”

He nodded slightly before walking down the steps ahead of his pilot and co-pilot who had just earned a $40 million bonus between them. The stewardesses followed next, and behind them a woman dressed head to toe in full burka.

“Feel free to check,” announced the prince waving the armed guards towards the plane.

Base Security searched the plane, every square inch, before exiting and with a shake of the head towards the Colonel, confirmed it was empty.

The Colonel checked the photo of Nick Geller once again against the two pilots, the stewardesses, and the eyes of the woman behind the burka. He called a female airwoman over.

“Your Highness,” he asked, “would you mind if my female colleague took the lady aboard and confirmed she is not who we are looking for?”

The prince looked at the Colonel in disbelief. The burka, although covering the woman’s body and face, could not hide her eyes. They were as beautiful as any woman’s eyes could possibly be, emerald green and sparkling.

“You obviously have a different type of man where you live,” he snorted and waved his acceptance with one sweep of his hand towards the plane.

The airwoman and burka-clad woman boarded the plane before reappearing shortly after the woman in the burka had shown her face to the airwoman. The airwoman, unsurprisingly, shook her head as she exited the plane.

“May I ask why you wanted to change your plans and land at le Touquet?” asked the Colonel politely.

“I do not see why it is any of your business,” snapped the prince haughtily. “But if you must know, my friend,” he said, pointing to the lady in the burka, “has been unwell and a plane is no place for a beautiful lady to be sick.”

The Colonel nodded and excused himself for a few moments to make a call. After speaking to a furious and highly embarrassed Supreme Commander, he was routed directly to Deputy Director Turner, the man in charge of the investigation. Carson was nowhere to be found.

“Deputy Director Turner,” said the Colonel, “I’m the Base Commander at USAF Lakenheath in Engla—”

“It’s your guys that shot down my suspect?” Turner cut in disgustedly.

“Shot him down? What the hell are you talking about? They were in a civilian aircraft!”

Turner stopped in his tracks and revisited the conversation with Carson. He hadn’t ever said he was shooting it down, just that he was not letting it land in France.

“Sorry, it’s been a long day. How can I help?”

“You can help by telling me why I have just diverted a seriously pissed off member of the Saudi royal family for no good fucking reason!”

“You’ve got them there?” Turner asked excitedly.

“Touched down a few minutes ago,” he confirmed. “We’ve searched the plane, your man’s not there.”

“He has to be!”

“He’s not.”

“He was disguised in a burka,” said Turner.

“Well he’s had the best sex change operation in history, because trust me, under that material is a very beautiful, and I mean
very
beautiful woman.”

“But the woman in the burka was bent double and struggled to board the plane here.”

“The prince said she was unwell earlier,” replied the Colonel.

“Shit! And the two pilots and three stewardesses aren’t talking?”

“No, they’re just standing there wondering what in the hell we crazy Americans are… wait a minute, you said
three
stewardesses?”

“Yes, three!”

“There are only two here,” said the Colonel, rushing back to the plane.

Nick hit the water hard. The cold Atlantic waters bit into his skin and deep into the bone. His breath left him as the water began to drag him down into its depths. The water-logged parachute weighed over twenty times its dry weight, the perfect anchor for the disposal of unwanted bodies. Nick managed to grab the knife from his belt and slash at the cords. The parachute drifted down towards the ocean bed and he was propelled upwards. When he breached the surface, he gasped desperately for every breath of air.