Traitor Read online

  A cheer echoed throughout the room but was quickly stifled as the Speaker continued. “I’m afraid that’s the only good news. The Vice President is believed to have been in the West Wing. From the initial reports of the damage, it is unlikely that he has survived. The President is currently incapacitated and as such I will take office while he recovers.”

  A more somber audience watched the Chief Justice step forward and swear in the Speaker of the House as the Commander and Chief of the United States for the first time in its history. Maria Lopez became the first Speaker, female and Hispanic, to ascend to the highest office in the land.

  “Madame President,” concluded the Chief Justice before leaving the Operations Center.

  “Miss Franks?”

  Frankie stepped forward from the doorway and into full view of the table of attendees when President Lopez said her name.

  “As I said, the President—sorry, President Mitchell,” she corrected, “wants you to be fully involved in the investigation. As such, you will be the Secret Service’s representative on the task force. Please take a seat.”

  A few grumbles echoed around the table, none of which President Lopez made any attempt to stop, making it abundantly clear that she herself disagreed with Frankie’s involvement. Bill, however, smiled warmly and gladly gave up his seat for her before leaving to resume his normal duties.

  “So what do we know?” asked President Lopez.

  To her right, the Deputy Director of the FBI, Paul Turner, stood up. A headshot of Nick Geller was displayed on the bank of screens that surrounded the room.

  “This man,” he said, looking directly at Frankie, “Nick Geller, while receiving the National Intelligence Cross for services to the country, suddenly and without warning, produced a weapon, shot the President, and fled via the Truman balcony to the grounds below. From there, he made his escape under cover of a massive explosion that has all but demolished the West Wing of the White House.”

  Hearing it out loud for the first time still did not make Frankie believe it was true. There had to be a catastrophic mistake.

  “Run VT,” said Turner.

  Any lingering suspicions of Nick’s innocence were instantly quashed. The video feed from the presentation of Nick’s medal played out before them. President Mitchell, smiling warmly, walked towards Nick, the medal in his hands ready to be placed over Nick’s head. Bill stood off to the side, relaxed in the presence of the President and a man who had proved to be beyond reproach. He was a man who had risked everything for his country. He was a hero.

  Frankie gasped when Nick dropped his hand and in a flash produced a small pistol-like object. He fired it once directly at the President, who fell immediately to the floor. Nick dropped the pistol and ran for the balcony door. Bill rushed forward to assist the President, simultaneously drawing his gun. He managed one shot towards Nick as he desperately tried to stem the flow of blood from the President’s wound. Frankie rushed through the door, her gun drawn and was directed onto the balcony. That was the last scene before the screen went blank.

  It was also the first time Frankie realized that the shot she had reacted to had not been Nick’s but Bill’s. Whatever weapon Nick had used had not only been undetectable to the scanners but it was silenced. It also put an end to any doubt about Nick’s guilt.

  “Tell me more about this Geller guy,” prompted President Lopez.

  “Up until 9:55 a.m., Madame President, I would have said he was the all American hero. A former Ranger and Delta Force soldier, he moved into the DIA’s Defense Clandestine Services where he’s been for a number of years as a specialist in the war on terror. Most recently he infiltrated and assassinated the recently appointed head of Al Qaeda.”

  The murmurs around the table started as this revelation came to light. Geller’s assassination of the Al Qaeda leader had been a closely guarded secret and the reason for Geller’s private presentation ceremony by the President of the highest award to an intelligence officer: the National Intelligence Cross. Nick Geller had been about to join the ranks of very, very few elite. Along with his previous Medal of Honor, the National Intelligence Cross would have elevated him to the equivalent of a double Medal of Honor winner.

  The President motioned for quiet, shaking her head in bemusement. “Do we have any idea how on earth…” she began but struggled to find the words to convey how bizarre the situation really was.

  A few heads turned questioningly to Frankie, who didn’t look up, not wanting to engage with anyone on the inner mind of a man who up until a couple of hours ago she would have sworn she knew inside and out.

  Before anyone could offer an opinion, the door swept open to reveal another entourage of suits. The Director of National Intelligence led the group and held up a DVD as though it were his invitation to crash the party.

  “Madame Speaker,” he interrupted, before noting the very subtle but deliberate shake of Deputy Director Turner’s head. “My apologies, Madame President,” he corrected, “I think you will want to see this and I’m sure it will answer a few questions for you.” He handed the DVD to an aide on her left.

  While the room waited for the DVD to be cued up, all eyes were on the TV screens displaying news broadcasts from the grounds of the White House. Buried deep in the ground, out of reach of every conceivable manmade weapon, there was no safer place for them to be.

  “Don’t press play!” commanded the President. The sound in her voice conveyed the fear that all in the room shared.

  Before she could say any more, the red phone in front of her began to ring. A direct link to the Pentagon and the military sat at her fingertips. She looked at the TV screen showing hermetically-sealed biohazard-suited soldiers surrounding the White House perimeter.

  Frankie watched in horror as the newly pronounced and acting President of the United States listened, failing to hide her terror at whatever was being conveyed to her by the military chiefs. She slowly replaced the receiver and turned from the screens to her captive audience.

  “Well, things just got a whole lot worse,” she said nervously. “It appears that we may all have been exposed to a highly contagious and deadly virus. It seems Mr Geller may not have failed to kill the President after all.”

  Frankie began to shake; it was too much. Nick loved her, he hadn’t been faking it, couldn’t have been, but he knew she would be there. If he had exposed the White House to a deadly disease, he had inevitably exposed her too.

  The President looked directly at Frankie. “Miss Franks?” she asked coldly.

  Frankie shook her head, she had to pull herself together. “I don’t know…I feel fine, Madame President,” she said.

  “That’s yet to be proved,” said the President. “They want to check you first, you’re potentially patient zero. Mr Geller may have used you as the delivery method.” The President paused, watching Frankie break down into floods of tears, before adding with little feeling. “Unwittingly, of course.”

  Chapter 5

  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 m
embers 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.

  Chapter 6

  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.