The Trusted Page 7

  Chapter 24

  Salim leaned back casually in his chair. He looked at Sabena and smiled broadly. It was all in his grasp. Control of the world. The goal of super-villains from the movies was always thwarted at the last minute by a super-hero coming seemingly from nowhere. But this wasn’t the movies. There was no white knight on his faithful charger, nor some dumb prick wearing his pants on the outside of his clothes. No one was going to save the world. It was his for the taking.

  Sabena, as if reading his mind, twitched her nose with excitement.

  “We’re almost there, darling.”

  Salim nodded, a sexy twinkle in his eye. “Fancy consummating our success?”

  Sabena picked up her spoon, skimmed the froth off her cappuccino, brought the spoon to her mouth, and licked down the froth. Salim watched as the tip of her pink tongue licked the last bubble from the cold metal.

  “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

  Salim stood up, yanked her head back and kissed her with rough intensity. Sabena breathed heavily, slipped her hands through his hair, softly at first, but then she wound strands around her fingers and tugged him hard towards her.

  Another couple seated on a table nearby in the chichi, expensive café on Jumeriah Palm watched their display, disgusted but secretly jealous. Salim, knowing he had an audience, stuck his hand down Sabena’s low-cut top, and she in turn groped him with unashamed enthusiasm.

  It was only Sabena’s mobile ringing that disturbed what would otherwise have been a blatant show of exhibitionism. Disentangling from Salim, Sabena answered with her usual curt, snobby tone.

  “What?”

  She always made the caller feel uncomfortable, that they had no right to call her, and that she was doing them the utmost honor in answering at all. The fact that this call was to determine her status as the most powerful woman on Earth was neither here nor there. All callers were a nuisance. Especially those who called when she had a gorgeous man in her paws.

  “It’s done. We have his family,” Sabena relayed to Salim.

  Her lack of emotion was countered by his ebullience. He clapped his hands together, smiled and then laughed. It was a deep, throaty laugh with almost theatrical overtones as if he was hamming up a part on stage. A few more people turned to stare, but Salim didn’t give a shit. If he wanted to be loud, he could. If he wanted to shag Sabena senseless on the table, he could. If he wanted to kill everyone in earshot, he could. He could do anything. And no one could touch him. That’s what was all so wonderful.

  Of course, the world was looking for him. But his foot soldiers, the millions he’d help rise from the mega-slums around the world, were his eyes and ears. He’d given them life, and in return, they protected him. They served him. They died for him. He was their God. What he asked of them, they did without question.

  If they couldn’t do what he wanted, he just brought in those who could. He’d never met an intelligence agent from any country who hadn’t taken a bite of the cake he’d offered. Oh, yes, they’d pledged their allegiance, their loyalty to their flag and their country, but offer them ten million dollars, and that loyalty got lost in the rush to type the password to their blind account in the Cayman Islands.

  Salim knew how to be invisible whilst being as visibly vulgar as possible. It was all down to being connected. Right now, he was surrounded by his minions, watching, waiting, ready and equipped to make a move if they must. They were his perpetual audience and he was playing the lead man. It was a role he had honed to perfection.

  Sabena moved forward, rubbing his thigh.

  “Weren’t we in the middle of consummating our success?”

  Chapter 25

  Ellie awoke, looked at the clock, and panicked.

  “Shit! I’m late.”

  “Hey, hey. What’s happening?”

  Sam yawned lazily and made a grab towards Ellie. He fell into the empty space she made as she vacated the bed at speed.

  “Why are you up?” he asked. “It’s Saturday. Come back to bed.”

  “Saturday?” Ellie bit her bottom lip and looked sheepishly at Sam. “Oh, bloody hell. I don’t know where I am. I thought it was Monday. My head’s still not in the right place.”

  “Get back over here,” called Sam, as he beckoned her to bed.

  Ellie stared at him, her eyes like daggers, as she realized why she was still so confused.

  “After what you told me this morning, I shouldn’t stand being anywhere near you!”

  Sam’s eyes flashed with darkness for a second, and then he reached out, grabbed her and kissed her hungrily. “I doubt I’ll be able to stand if we carry on like this.”

  “Well then, let’s build up that stamina of yours.” Ellie giggled, and her bright eyes sparkled with naughty playfulness.

  Chapter 26

  Alexandria, a town of bureaucrats, politicians and servants of the flag, where red brick nineteenth-century townhouses grace the streets and the Potomac River winds through the center, making its way up to Arlington. Just eight miles out of Washington, DC, Alexandria is a place where deals go down and lips stay shut, where a walk through the park to the river can be so quiet, even the birds feel inhibited to chirp. It’s a place of unearthly silence as if Mother Nature herself was afraid to talk. Alexandria, a town where secrets are kept and truths are buried.

  That morning, someone was intent on burying a certain secret that had gotten out of hand.

  Matthew Kinley, Director of Science, Technology, Energy and the Environment (STEE) at the British Embassy in Washington, DC, had risen early. His wife continued to sleep peacefully while he slipped out and got dressed for his morning run. Kinley was heading towards forty-five but his strong, fit physique and face devoid of lines belonged to a man at least a decade younger.

  “My elixir is loving myself and loving life!” Kinley told envious middle-aged, stressed out friends. “Shit happens. You deal with it and move on.”

  His pragmatic, no-nonsense approach to life was one of the traits most admired in him by others. Of course, had they known his secret, they would have held his ability to maintain a deep cover double-agent identity whilst, in the process, saving so many lives in equal regard.

  Kinley opened the front door. A faint chill drifted in with the morning heat. He pulled on his jersey and zipped it up tight to his neck. Unlike other joggers, he didn’t listen to music. Kinley didn’t like distraction. He liked to know what was going on around him. Cocooned in a bubble of music would make him vulnerable. Never in his life had he shown vulnerability, and nothing was going to make him change his number one rule.

  Be aware at all times.

  Being an agent, Kinley had learnt the power of fear. It heightens the senses. Everything around you shifts into sharper focus and anything out of sync stands out with clarity. For instance, a person who walks slightly slowly. A glint of something metallic and an arm raising could mean someone is answering a mobile or getting ready to fire a gun. Having awareness heightened by fear afforded Kinley vital seconds to determine the difference. Kinley knew to be afraid was to be aware. And to be aware was to be safe.

  With this in mind, Kinley picked up a steady jog and breathed in the morning air. He knew he’d soon be leaving. Changes were already happening around him. Invisible wheels were turning and all that he knew to be his life would soon change in an instant. But for now, he had the morning, free and welcoming. Like a lost love, he basked in her warm, soft glow.

  Chapter 27

  “Want a coffee?” called Ellie into the lounge.

  The revelations of early morning were left mostly unmentioned, but their lovemaking had taken on a distinct edge of urgency. It felt as if their time together suddenly mattered again. Sam stepped into the kitchen half dressed in a silk shirt and boxers. His tie dangled unevenly around his neck. He draped his navy trousers over the kitchen stool.

  Ellie lifted a mug up in his direction.

  “Or do you want something stronger?”

  Buttoning his shir
t rapidly, Sam walked over, slipped his arms around Ellie’s svelte waist and kissed her neck.

  “Mmmm, looks like you want something stronger,” she said, and bent into him as Sam kissed her.

  “Oh, no. Just the coffee, ma’am.”

  Sam laughed, pulled away and reached for his trousers. Carefully, he stepped into them, pulled them up then smoothed and tucked in his shirt. Each movement was precise. It wasn’t the usual fumble that men do when dressing. Sam was exact. His dressing style was an acknowledgement of the life he led. A need for precision and a complete removal of errors. The path of errors led to death, a journey he had no intention of making.

  Wandering over to the mirror on the kitchen wall, he swiftly knotted and drew down his tie, which looked flush against his shirt. He looked in the mirror and nodded subconsciously. The tie Ellie had selected looked good. It was a splash of navy blue, pink and purple arranged in a slightly funky, almost modernist way, and it really worked.

  “You look gorgeous, stud. Here’s your coffee.”

  Sam smiled smugly. He took the mug from Ellie and sat down on the stool. A slither of coffee was still on the ridge, a remnant from the incident earlier that morning. Somewhere in the confessions and confusions, the reason why she had screamed had been lost. He had thought it was because she’d burnt her hand, but Ellie hadn’t disclosed more on the subject.

  “Must’ve been a hell of a shock,” said Sam.

  He spoke in a casual but affirmative tone, and examined Ellie intently for a reaction. It wasn’t just trivial conversation over the breakfast table. Sam was using a tried and tested interrogation technique: open the session with a statement confirming the captive’s secret was already known, and before long, they would confess. Sam had often made his prisoners believe that someone else had broken and confessed. Backed against a wall, the game of bluff played out with the inevitable result of the prisoner talking.

  Sam knew that the mechanics of this confidence trick, although outwardly appearing easy, were actually founded in complex psychology. In every person, there are two states. One state is the basic instinct to disclose and tell the truth. The other is the conditioned response of lying. The interrogation process worked on the principle of there being a crossover point, a place of intersection where Sam would work to push the hostile into a truth state.

  Sam used the technique as if it was second nature and didn’t care that the captive, in this case, was his own wife. He expected Ellie to react the same way as anyone else.

  “What was a shock?” she asked vaguely.

  “When you burned your hand. It must have really hurt you.”

  Sam’s tone was loaded with quiet persistence. His eyes trained on Ellie and read every twitch in her body.

  “Hurt me?” muttered Ellie hazily.

  Sam watched as Ellie looked out the window pointedly trying to avoid his all-consuming stare.

  “That is why you screamed, isn’t it?” asked Sam.

  He rose off the stool and stood in front of Ellie. With her view blocked, Ellie had no option but to look at him. She shrugged but without conviction.

  Then her usually open and expressive gestures turned closed and secretive. Her arms crossed and drew tightly into her body. Her neck went taut, her jaw line turned rigid and her pupils dilated. She looked downwards and to the right, and she blinked slowly. This indicated to Sam that Ellie’s brain was in creation mode rather than recall mode.

  Very few people were natural-born liars, and even consummate liars had tells. Sam, on the other hand, was a wizard of deception. No matter how hard someone tried to lie, Sam always made them deliver the truth. The ability that had served him so well in MI6 now delivered a truth he didn’t want to accept.

  His wife was about to lie.

  Chapter 28

  US President Jonathan D Treeborne flicked through papers on his desk. State business, official engagements and security briefings, they all ran into one long snaking mass of hand-shaking, obligatory thanks and vitriolic denouncements of the CIA’s ineptitude. As much as he wanted it to change, he couldn’t visualize it happening.

  Treeborne smiled as he looked at his watch. The date on his Rolex Oyster showed it was just three weeks ago that he’d met with his merry men: Al Hutchinson, Vice President, Frank Weitz, Defense Secretary and Dave Reiner, Chairman to the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

  Then it had been a very different situation. They’d had no way to win against Al Nadir.

  3 Weeks Earlier

  Al Nadir’s onslaught seemed impossible to beat. They had just struck across the Midwest, killing thousands of Americans in packed shopping malls. The bombings had been audacious and cruel. Women and children made up most of the victims. The public backlash had been unforgiving. Distraught family members screaming for Al Nadir’s blood openly blamed the government and the president for failing to keep them safe. The president felt they were all stuck in an Iron Maiden with the spikes getting closer.

  “What are you saying, Frank? We can’t handle this anymore?”

  Treeborne squared up to Weitz with an accusatory eye.

  Weitz trembled and tried to keep the conviction of his argument, but staring at the president, his courage melted away. Treeborne was an intimidating sight. Hard, cold eyes shouted zero tolerance for anyone who dared cross him.

  The US defense secretary had often been on the wrong end of Treeborne’s acid tongue, and he didn’t fancy another round.

  Full defenses on standby, Weitz replied, “Mr. President, we are fighting Al Nadir across the world. We’ve committed ground forces in seven war zones. Our intelligence services constantly monitor Al Nadir’s movements. Some of our agents have infiltrated Al Nadir, but they soon get rooted out and disposed of. Believe me, sir, we have mobilized everything in our power to eradicate Al Nadir. But their powerbase is just too strong.”

  Weitz stared hopelessly at the president and braced himself for the tirade that he knew would commence.

  Treeborne remained silent, hand over his mouth, his expression pensive. No one moved. No one spoke. Anxious glances were shot around the oval office.

  A sound of a bird could be heard just outside the window.

  “Hear that?”

  Treeborne looked around the room at the assembled commanders of his new world peace. Frank Weitz, Dave Reiner and Al Hutchinson listened. They all could discern the faint trill of a bird. With bemused embarrassment, they all subserviently nodded. But each were wondering why the president was referencing bird song in the middle of a security briefing.

  “That’s what I’m fighting for.” Treeborne pointed to the window. “I’m fighting for all life on earth. I want our children to grow up in a world free of war, free of hate and free of terror. Al Nadir must be destroyed, whatever the cost. Do whatever you have to do to achieve this objective. But I want it achieved. I want that little motherfucker, Salim Al Douri, at my feet. I want his alliances crushed. I want his intel dismantled. I want his forces immobilized. I want Al Nadir annihilated. Do I make myself clear?”

  The fury poured out of Treeborne as his delivery mutated from calm to frenzy in seconds. He stormed over and grabbed the flag behind his desk.

  “What does this represent?” he hollered.

  All in the room became mute. They were visibly terrified that any word spoken could be misinterpreted and their career cut short before a second breath was drawn.

  “Well, gentlemen? I asked you a question. What does our flag stand for?”

  Treeborne had descended into incensed rage. Their silence fueled his ire further. Weitz realized that someone had to intervene to stabilize the president’s erratic behavior.

  “Mr. President, it stands for truth, justice, liberty and freedom.”

  Weitz watched cautiously for the president’s reaction.

  “You bet that’s what it stands for. We have a duty to uphold our constitution, to fight for our freedom. And that’s why we can’t let these little fuckers win. What do you need? More money? Put pressur
e on our scummy chums south of the border. Let them know the DEA will be up their asses quicker than they can say ‘grand felony’ if they don’t pay up. Hike up the protection money on the towel heads. Rig the markets. Tax the French. I don’t know. I don’t care. Just do what you must. Just secure me with the capability to obliterate Al Nadir off this planet. Right?”

  Treeborne’s hawk eye scanned his men. What were their thoughts? Would they stand loyal or would they crumble, awash with humanitarian righteousness?

  Hutchinson spoke slowly. He thrust forward every syllable resentfully. He knew the consequence of his words, but he was steadfast in his reason to speak.

  “Sir, Mr. President, we cannot continue to engage in military conflict with countries on equivocal evidence of Al Nadir having bases and alliances in these countries. It is obvious that Al Nadir has strengthened their alliances in the Middle East, Southeast Asia, South America and Western Russia. But how far these alliances demonstrate a serious threat cannot be determined. Right now, Mr. President, we are facing a situation where Al Nadir is literally in every major country of the world. What are you going to do, sir? Bomb the planet? It’s the only way you’ll eradicate Al Nadir.”

  Hutchinson looked hard at the president. Treeborne’s face had reddened as he’d heard his vice president’s acrimonious account of the real state of play. He was furious at hearing such a reality: Al Nadir was an unstoppable power.

  “Can’t we just nuke them?” suggested Weitz, vying for points from the president.

  But Hutchinson’s quick-fire response tore him down. “Nuke who? That’s the problem. We’re not dealing with a country we can go to war with. We’re not facing a traditional dictator, someone who you can plan tactics and strategize against. Al Nadir is an insidious organization that has insinuated itself into zealous factions, terrorist regimes and crime states. Their power and wealth has enabled them to consolidate all terrorist activities so that all terror states are connected under the all-powerful banner of Al Nadir. They are unlike any other threat we have ever faced. Intel predicts that Al Nadir acolytes number tens of millions. Salim Al Douri is an evil, ruthless leader. But he’s not a Saddam Hussein. He’s not an Osama Bin Laden.”