Crisis Four Part 26

She wasn't going to give up.

"Look, I am the U.K. liaison in a contact group set up by the CIA. It's called the Counter-terrorism Center, and we're based at Langley. Our general remit is to disrupt terrorist--" "Sarah, I told you, shut the f.u.c.k--" Her voice got a bit louder. "--to disrupt terrorist operations; my particular cell is coordinating a U.S. effort with European and African nations to roll up Osama Bin Laden's networks."

"Bin Laden? What the f.u.c.k .. ."

She looked at me, waiting for me to continue. I didn't, but she knew I was now starting to take an interest. She drew a breath and continued.

"Yes, Bin Laden. We had a common cause while he was fighting in Afghanistan, that's true. But the problems began after the 'eighty-nine Russian withdrawal and his return to Saudi. As far as he was concerned, Nick, Afghanistan wasn't destroyed by the Russians, but by Afghans who had turned their backs on their religion and their country for money and power. Once he returned home, he saw the same corruption in all the Arab nations that had adopted Western values--above all, in Saudi, the land of the two most holy places, Mecca and Medina."

I looked at her blankly, wondering if she would be saying all this if she knew her life depended on it.

"The whole situation was made worse by the Gulf War. To him, the presence of hundreds of thousands of American and other foreign troops on Saudi soil was a desecration of Islam, the return of barbarian Crusaders to defile Islam's holy places. He vowed to wage war against their presence in Saudi and against the Saudi leaders who had brought them into the country. As far as he was concerned it had become an American colony. He wanted to strike back at the West--in fact, at anyone who was non-Muslim and in Saudi.

"The thought that former mujahedin would one day come to the United States and conduct operations didn't enter anyone's head at the time." She allowed herself a small smile.

"The CIA has a word for it: blowback--a poisonous fallout, carried on political winds, drifting back home from a distant battlefield." The corners of her mouth went serious again as she added, "Bin Laden has become, over the last several years, the international terrorist posing the most serious threat to Western interests. He has an incredibly effective infrastructure and, of course, he has lots of money to fund it all himself. The ASU at the lake was funded by him.

That's why I was there."

I shrugged.

"Listen, if there's s.h.i.t on, call Washington, London, whatever.

Let them sort it out. There's the phone, call them."

She looked across at the bedside cabinet, but made no movement toward it. Her eyes stayed fixed on mine. I wasn't too sure if she was actually listening, or just waiting for me to say more.

I got up and went over to the vanity unit outside the bathroom. It had a sink, mirror, shaving plug, soap and hand towels; it was time to clean up my arm. If she were telling the truth, all she had to do was pick up the phone.

I took off my jacket, pulled up the shirtsleeve, and surveyed the damage: two rows of nice clean puncture wounds that any German Shepherd would be proud of. If I collected any more scarring I'd start to look like the Cabbage Patch doll Kelly said I was. I turned on the taps and Sarah remained silent for a few seconds as I rinsed the dried blood and mud off my arm. The puncture wounds were deep, but less jagged than I'd expected.

"Nick, don't you imagine that I've already thought of that?"

I glanced in the mirror and saw her sitting on the bed.

"Making contact with anyone is not an option, because it's not a solution."

I washed the wound slowly with soap and waited for that first horrible stinging to die down, trying to work out if what she'd said was any more than her usual c.o.c.ktail-party performance. The room heater was working overtime and making my eyes sting.

"Nick, how do you think the ASU was going to get close to their target here in the U.S.? Just walk up and give him a little tap on the shoulder?"

I shrugged. It didn't matter if I knew or not, she was going to tell me.

It came at me in a flood.

"Nick, Bin Laden has a highly placed source.

We think it's possibly as high as the National Security Council. Think about what that means: the group that blew up the World Trade Center ... and Khobar Towers in Saudi, remember? Nineteen American servicemen dead. They also did the 'ninety-five bomb in Saudi. Another five Americans killed.

"Those are the people who have someone within the administration.

That's why I can't just pick up the phone and get inside help: the source would find out, then close down for a few years and never be found. He is the key to stopping Bin Laden."

I could see the pa.s.sion in her eyes as she continued.

"Nick, the source has access to Intelink. Not only does that mean he would know before virtually anyone else of any contact I made, but just think about what information is being pa.s.sed on to Bin Laden and anyone else he then decides to sell or give it to. Don't you think I would love to call this in?"

Well, if all this was true, that was the phone call question taken care of.

Intelink is a top secret network, through which all the U.S. and some Allied intelligence agencies share information, very much like their own private Internet. Within it, all agencies also have their own intra nets separated by fire walls from the main system. There are about a hundred sites that need top secret security clearance to get access to. Whoever the source was, if he or she had access to it, then they must be big time.

I washed, thought and said nothing. If she was telling the truth and Netanyahu was killed and the source did exist, it would be a drama, but it wouldn't make much of a dent in my life. Come to think of it, would it affect anyone else's very much?

I could still see her reflection in the mirror.

"Hey, kill one Israeli prime minister," I said, "another pops up. So what?"

It seemed that something I'd said had amused her, because her nose twitched and a big smile lit up her face.

"They're not going to kill just Netanyahu, Nick. The main target is Arafat. Bin Laden hates him hates him even more than Netanyahu, for reining in Hamas and other Islamic fundamentalists and supporting the peace process."

I looked down at my arm, trying to hide my smile.

"He's not too keen on making friends, old Bin boy, is he?"

My joke wasn't appreciated; she just carried on as if she were Elizabeth giving me a brief.

"For Bin Laden, the important thing about this attack is what it will say to the world. When CNN asked him about his plans, he said, "You'll see them and hear them in the media, G.o.d willing." Since then, the Islamic Jihad group has sent the United States a warning: that they would soon deliver a message to Americans 'which we hope they read with care, because we will write it, with G.o.d's help, in a language they will understand."

"His message is that nowhere is safe for United States citizens and their friends. It's the logical extension of the bombing of American interests overseas. The one place that should be safe here in the U.S. isn't. Think about it, Nick. Two world leaders killed while guests of the most powerful nation in the world. A perfect demonstration that Allah's avenger can strike wherever and whenever he wants. Just think what a boost that would be for the fundamentalists. As you would say, there'd be s.h.i.t on. And the source is there, Nick, every step of the way."

She stood up and started to walk toward me. I concentrated on dealing with my arm. I said, "And what about the guy we were sent in to lift in Syria? Where does that fit in?" I hoped I wasn't sounding too interested.

"And you changed the data. London told me everything."

She was now standing next to me.

"Ah, London again. I killed him because I had to, Nick. He knew the real data. If he'd come back to the U.K.

the corrupt stuff I gave them wouldn't have stood up."

"Why change it in the first place?"

She sighed.

"To try to confirm if the source really existed, and where in the NSC food chain he was. Those were early days, Nick, nothing was confirmed. At that point he was just a myth."

She clearly felt more had to be said.

"Look, I needed to do it so that when the source if he existed got a look at the data, he would have to inform Bin Laden that everything was OK, nothing had been compromised.

That way, not only did it confirm he existed, but meant that perhaps he could be tracked down. Whoever sent you here will not know everything, Nick."

There was a lull. I knew she was waiting for me to ask another question.

I patted my arm with a hand towel, turned and leaned back against the sink. I looked at her, two feet away.

"We should have been told there was a change of plan once on the ground. You f.u.c.ked a job up that killed Glen" She looked at me, confused.

"Reg Three, remember?"

There was no reaction in her face.

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry about that." I knew she really didn't give a s.h.i.t about Glen. Come to think of it, nor did I anymore. It was a long time ago. Even in the Regiment he would have been long forgotten, apart from by his family and a few close friends on Remembrance Day. His wife would probably have married another member of the Regiment and would be getting on with her life.

I got back into the present.

"So why are you in the s.h.i.t about all this, if it was part of the job?"

She looked at me with her small-child-in-trouble face.

"That's the problem." She hesitated.

"They didn't know. I thought that if no one was aware there would be no leaks." She was starting to look depressed, as you would if you'd severely f.u.c.ked up.

"In fact, it was a c.o.c.k-up from start to finish. The FBI confirmed shortly afterward that the source did exist. They call him Yousef, but they didn't know at what level of the NSC he was. I decided not to tell them about anything I was doing. In fact, they don't even know about what I was doing at the lake."

It was all making sense now. It was so typical of Sarah to be going it alone, hoping to collect all the Brownie points and smooth her way up another rung of the career ladder.

"So now you want me to help you get out of your f.u.c.kup." I couldn't help smiling. Actually, it felt good.

"I couldn't tell anyone, Nick. If I had, the whole thing might have been compromised. I wouldn't couldn't risk it." But she was risking it with me. That also felt very good, which was making things even more difficult for me.

She turned back toward the bed, sat down and hit the "off" b.u.t.ton on the TV remote control, knees drawn up and her arms around them, counting the number of piles there were per square inch of carpet.

"The problem is, Nick, I still don't know the ident.i.ty of the source no one does.

No matter how I did it, that has been the aim of this last four years: to find him, and to force the whole network down."

She had finished with the carpet and turned back to me as I continued to tend my arm.

"The two others who were arriving at the lake today are the only ones here in the U.S. who know who he is. I've met them only once. I don't know their names, contact details, nothing. But my plan was to play along with the hit, and get them lifted I wasn't quite sure how.

But once we had those two, we'd get the source as well. It won't stop at Netanyahu and Arafat, unless we can neutralize the top man."

She brushed back her hair with her fingers as it was drying. My breathing was very slow and heavy as I tried to think of questions to help me feel right about what I was thinking.

"Nick, you are the only " The phone rang. Sarah jumped up and started to throw her things on, picking up her weapon and checking the chamber. With her jeans halfway up her legs, she pulled the curtain slightly to see outside. She shook her head. I picked up the phone. She carried on dressing.

It was reception; we exchanged a few words and I replaced the receiver.

"It's the car. Take everything, get into the shower room and wait." She picked up the rest of her clothes, towels and bag and took them with her. I put my jacket back on to hide the wound and the fact that my shirtsleeves were missing and changed channel, checking it wasn't on a news program.

I turned up the volume to cover Sarah.

There was a knock on the door. As I walked across the room, even I couldn't help noticing how dank the room smelled. I looked through the spy hole It was a young black guy wearing a blue T-shirt. He had all the forms on a clipboard under his left arm, and a runner for the credit card in his hand.

I sat down with him on the bed to fill out the forms. Showing my driving license was always a bit of fun, as most people outside the U.K. don't have a clue what they're looking at a damp piece of pink paper that says nothing much at all, and doesn't even have a picture. He was turning the page over for the details he needed, trying to appear as if he knew what he was about. I couldn't bear to see him in pain.

"The number's there." He smiled at me in relief.

As he got up, I could see him trying to work out the smell. I laughed.

"We were using a friend's car for our holiday. It broke down last night in the middle of nowhere."

He nodded, not really caring. When he left, Sarah came out of the bathroom, taking her jeans off again to dry.

If she were telling the truth, maybe I would take her back to London.

The problem was that although I hardly knew where I was with Sarah, I did with Lynn and Elizabeth. It might be G&Ts at seven, dinner at eight for them, but if I didn't carry out my job they would f.u.c.k me over big time, maybe even organize my own personal T104. I needed more information from Sarah; the fact that she'd killed the American gave me a pretty clear idea of whose side she was on, but I needed solid evidence. I sat on the bed as she finished undressing and put her clothes back on the heater.

"When are they going to do the hit?"

She came and sat next to me. She looked up at me with excitement, then her face changed.

"You still don't believe me, do you, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

She gripped my arm with her hand.

"You must help me. I'm the only one who can identify the two who are left, and I know them, Nick. They won't rest until they've finished the job." She stared at me. I didn't answer; I knew she was going to continue.

"What are we here for, Nick? How will you look at yourself in the mirror if you don't help me to stop it?"

Mr. Spock would have been proud of her. The emotional stuff didn't work too much for me, but the story did sound logical. But she'd already f.u.c.ked me over once, and looking at myself in the mirror had never been high on my list of priorities.

I got to my feet and went toward the door.

"I'm going for a cruise around to see if I can get us some clothes. What size are you?"

"Eight U.S." shoes six. Why don't I just come with you?"

"They're looking for a couple now. They may even have a video grab from the gas station. Sit here, I'll be back."

Out in the corridor, I closed the door behind me but didn't walk away immediately. Ripping two matches from the book I'd picked up I wedged them between the door and the frame, one a foot above the lock, one below.

I heard the locks being closed from the inside as I went downstairs.

The rain came down in a constant drizzle as I got into the car, a red Saturn, and turned over the ignition. The heater blew at its highest setting, the radio blared and the windshield wipers thrashed from side to side. The urgent bing bing bing told me to put my seat belt on. I did, inhaling the new car smell, put it into drive and headed for the road.