Redback (15 page)

Trust the French not to know what's going on in their own backyard, he thought. It's not like
it's even a very big backyard.

A Texan by birth and disposition van Louden naturally compared everything in the world to his
home state, and right now he was figuring that the whole country of France was not quite the size of
the state of Texas. He wondered how such a pipsqueak nation could have a completely different
language -
well, dang, and a completely different history
- to that of Germany next door, and
England across the way. As for Luxembourg, where the train had blown up, that could be popped into
south-west Texas somewhere between Houston and the Mexican border and nobody'd know it was
there.

Van Louden's thoughts were hijacked as the main door was thumped open by his own Chief of Staff
Harry Corbin who'd driven him to the Center just 20 minutes before and then disappeared to make a
hundred phone calls. Various State Department secretaries, executives and bureau advisors looked up
from their strategic huddles, papers and chitchat.

'Looks like we have an update, gentlemen,' Secretary of State Aiden Bonney said.

'Worse than that,' Corbin said, picking up the remote to raise the volume on the Fox News screen
which was now showing a different news item to the all others. One by one the coverage on the rest
of the channels, including Al Jazeera, switched to the same daylight view of a bomb-damaged street.

'Christ Almighty, it must be a full moon over there. Are they blowing up buildings now?' Bonney
exclaimed, removing his reading glasses to get a better look. 'Oh - my - God.'

'It's not over there; it's here - ten minutes ago,' Corbin was explaining. He put his hand on his
boss's forearm. 'Downtown Dallas, Nate. Some fuckers have blown a multistorey carpark to kingdom
come, and half of it landed on the Earl Cabell Federal Building.'

Van Louden felt physically assaulted by the notion that anyone would attack his state, his
territory, any part of his own goddamn backyard. Everyone else in the room stood staring in horror,
assailed by an awful creeping sense of déjà vu.

'Find out who did this,' van Louden said. 'Get the army, the FBI, those pansies from Homeland
Security, the friggin Girl Scouts down there. I want the arseholes responsible for this outrage
dragged here to the capital, so I can stick their heads on pikes in the White House Rose
Garden.'

'Assuming Osama's bomber-boys have got any heads or arses left,' said Bonney's executive
assistant Peter Shaw.

Van Louden's attention snapped from the TV screens to the Secretary of State and his clutch of
advisors. 'What? You think this is al-Qaeda?'

'I think we've got to start with that assumption, Nate,' Bonney agreed.

'Oh crap,' van Louden swore.

'Get Adam on the phone in London would you, Peter,' Bonney said. 'He'll have to tell the
President.'

'While you're at it, suggest they all get their butts stateside, asap,' van Louden declared, to
unanimous agreement.

10 Downing St, London
7 pm

Adam Lyall watched his boss, the leader of the free world, observing him like a
scientist who never expects to see a change in the micro- organism stagnating in his Petri dish.
Lyall knew that Garner Brock actually thought he was doing his personal best for the tragedy in
Europe by continuing to socialise with the remaining ambassadors and other guests, thereby filling
the space created by Prime Minister Buchanan's temporary absence from his own room.

The cell phone in Lyall's pocket vibrated again. It was the fourth time this evening and again he
chose to ignore it. Damn thing was like an alarm clock bringing him back to the here and now, by
alerting him to the wider world.

Lyall had taken a breather on an old chair next to a matching gilt couch on which were two minor
officials from the US and Australian embassies. The two women had bonded tediously over the train
disaster, but were now staring, shocked and blissfully silent, at the Persian carpet.
Time to
move
. He got up before more bad news started the fools next to him blabbering again.

Garner and his First Lady were still talking to the Australian High Commissioner, the PM's wife
and Rashid and Dawson. But as the SIS spy boss, Dick Thorpe, had just re-entered that equation,
things looked like they might get interesting so Lyall decided to rejoin them.

'Mr Lyall, excuse me sir.' It was the Prime Minister's Chief of Staff.

'Yes?'

'There's telephone call for you in the Cabinet Room. It's Washington.'

About time, Lyall thought. 'Lead on,' he gestured, and followed Hargreaves from the room.

President Brock watched his Deputy Secretary of State wander nonchalantly out of
the room and then forced his attention back to the two young - well youngish - American
entrepreneurs who were attempting to explain the latest breakthroughs in satellite technology.
Apparently Telamon was their big-deal institute in California and had already earned them a fortune
in civilian and Defense Department contracts back home. They were now working with a British group
to improve coverage for military navigation systems and civilian cell phone networking. Brock was
lost in the morass of acronyms and jargon; and just wished they'd work on their own communication
skills by speaking plain ordinary American.

The President
was
impressed with the attractive Aussie High Commissioner's obvious grasp
of their techno-babble, however. But then Telamon were apparently already dealing with Jennifer
Leland's government Down Under. Brock noted that Rashid, the Californian geek of Middle-Eastern
extraction was quite the charmer - he'd snaffled Jane Buchanan and Jennifer's attention straight
off. But Dawson was coming across like a surfer who'd washed up on dry land. Garner Brock knew that
feeling well.

He almost jumped when Adam Lyall, like the conniving son of a bitch he was, suddenly reappeared
at his elbow, evidently with something important to say.

'There's been a bomb blast in Dallas, Mr President.'

'Come again?'

'A bomb in Dallas, sir. It completely destroyed a downtown parking structure and shattered
windows along a quarter-mile stretch near the city's main federal building. There's 80 confirmed
dead, over a hundred injured. They're still looking for victims and survivors.'

Garner Brock stared down at Lyall in disbelief. 'Dallas, you say? Our Dallas?'

'Yes, our Dallas; I'm afraid so, Mr President.'

'Oh my Lord. Oh no. How terrible. My God', were the phrases uttered by Elaine Brock, Jane
Buchanan, and the others around the circle. The President continued to look taken aback, until he
found his indignation.

'Well, what the…good God man. What the hell is going on? Do we know who did this? Has any
group claimed, you know?' Brock's voice was rising in volume and hysteria with each question. 'Do we
know who's responsible, Adam? Do you know?'

My God, POTUS in a panic
! Lyall would have been tempted to laugh if the situation wasn't
so…public.

'No, I don't know, Mr President. I've only just taken the call from Aiden and Nate van Louden
back in Washington. It happened about half an hour ago, just before 1 pm Dallas time.'

A shocked cry from someone standing near the plasma screen became a ripple of gasps as the rest
of the 20 or so people still in the room realised there was a new disaster screening live; this time
coming at them from the other side of the Atlantic.

Garner Brock cricked his neck. He hated live television news. He truly longed for the days when
the President of the United States would get word of a disaster long before the general public and
have plenty of time to compose himself while people wrote the best response he could give. He hated
being out in the world and learning of bad things at the same time as everyone else.

'I've alerted Air Force One,' Lyall was saying. 'The Prime Minister would, obviously, like to
speak with you again before dinner.'

'Are we leaving early?'

'After dinner, Mr President. It's only half a day early, but I do believe it's advisable that we
return home.'

'Fine, but fill me in on what they're doing back home, Adam. Are there suspects? Have they
started rounding up any al-Qaeda members?'

'I'm guessing any actual known al-Qaeda operatives in the US would be in detention already, sir.'

The First Lady placed her hand on her husband's arm, partly to remind him of the others standing
in their group, but mostly to head- off the usual testy exchange between the two men on her left. It
was also as a courtesy to let everyone know they could pitch into the conversation if they desired.

'What about the suspected cells? There have to be suspected ones,' Brock insisted. 'Because
obviously, goddamn it Adam, someone is running around Texas blowing things up. Tell Nate to get the
FBI and Homeland Security to lock up suspected cell member's mothers and fourth-cousins if it will
help get the information we need.'

'Do you really think this is an attack by al-Qaeda, Mr President?'

Brock turned to his right to see who'd asked such a damn silly question. He had to swallow his
caustic reply when he saw that it was Thorpe, top guy of Britain's version of the CIA.

'Well I don't know for sure, Richard. It's just that I can't call to mind anyone else who hates
us enough to do us harm on our own soil. Again.'

'But Mr President sir.' It was Rashid, the Arab with the American accent. 'There are many other
terrorist groups at large in the world today who - shall we say - don't take kindly to westerners in
general; and to we Americans in particular.'

The President wondered if the man had inside knowledge.

'I'm sorry to say that Mr Rashid is right,' Jane Buchanan said.

'Just as we certainly have more than just Jeemah Islamiyah operating in our region,' the
Australian High Commissioner added.

God, here it comes. Lyall rubbed the back of his head.

'As evidenced by the hostage situation this very week on Laui Island,' Jennifer Leland continued.
'Now, they were just local rebels with a local agenda but they still managed to create an
international incident.'

'And the Paris train already today,' Thorpe said. 'That could have been perpetrated by any of the
countless European terrorist organisations.'

'True. But I still say that the group most likely to attack us within our borders is al-Qaeda,'
Brock insisted. 'It is their stated agenda after all.'

'Me, I believe that al-Qaeda has become the bogeyman,' said Rashid, rather bravely considering
his audience.

'Some damn bogeyman, young man. Those bastards are as real as my Aunt Hilda.'

'I don't mean they are not real and a very real threat Mr President, but they are simply not
alone in the world.'

'And that's some kind of understatement,' Thorpe said, nodding.

'What I meant,' Rashid continued, 'was that the name al-Qaeda has become something of a euphemism
for the thing that most frightens us - like the bogeyman.'

'Good point Darius,' Lyall agreed. 'The very name al-Qaeda does say it all doesn't it. Terror,
fear, car bombs, suicide planes, kidnappings, beheadings, you name it: al-Qaeda.'

'Well I'd like to point out, in support of that theory…' Mrs Buchanan began.

Has everyone gone doo-lally
? The President looked from once face to another.
Or are
they all just trying not to offend the Muslims in the room
?

'We currently have 49 proscribed terrorist organisations in the UK,' the PM's wife was saying,
'as well as over a dozen groups in Northern Ireland still outlawed under legislation made prior to
the Terrorism Act of 2000.'

'You have that many terrorist groups in England?' the First Lady was astonished.

'Good heavens no, Elaine,' Mrs Buchanan declared. She beckoned two hovering waiters carrying
trays of drinks and canapés.

'They are the international terrorist groups outlawed in the United Kingdom,' Thorpe explained.
'You have most of the same ones on your watch list, Mrs Brock. Groups like al-Qaeda and JI of
course, but also Al Ittihad Al Islamia in Somalia, Islamic Jihad in Egypt, and the Groupe Islamique
Combatant in Morocco.'

Rashid reached for a glass of orange juice and added, 'Also there's Hamas, the ANO and Hezbollah,
for instance, who want to annihilate the State of Israel, but who are also hostile to any Arab
states that support Israel or have ties with the West.'

'And let's not forget that strange hodge-podge of a group that were caught in India last year,
Richard,' Mrs Buchanan said. 'You know the Asian militants from which that mercenary group managed
to save several Commonwealth Heads, when they uncovered the assassination plot.'

Thorpe smiled. 'They weren't really mercenaries, Mrs Buchanan. The Titan Guards are a
British-American security firm. They were providing protection for a number of the delegates in New
Delhi when they stumbled across the plot by members of Groh Sitaarah.'

Thorpe held up fingers to demonstrate his next point. 'There are also at least seven different
factions in Kashmir alone, including the Harakat Mujahideen, HUJI and Jaish e Mohammed, who all
fight for the liberation of their tiny disputed region from Indian control; although JeM also wants
the destruction of America and India.'

'Yes, well, we all know the subcontinent is something of a mess when it comes to insurgent
groups,' Mrs Buchanan stated, taking her first glass of champagne for the evening. 'Quite apart from
the Kashmiri ones, there are at least six others in India, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka. And, of course,
any number of tribal terrorist bands or guerrilla groups operating in the mountains of Pakistan and
neighbouring Afghanistan. And heaven forbid that we should ever forget the Taliban.'

'This is giving me a headache,' the President announced.

Thorpe pressed on, regardless. 'Then there's the Armed Islamic Group in Algeria; Basque Homeland
and Liberty in Spain and France and various armed organisations in Libya, Turkey, Uzbekistan,
Chechnya and Iran.'