Redback (23 page)

'Ari Carver, debt talks,' Scott said.
Thank God I didn't just throw Kaisha on a plane.
'How long will he be in Malaysia?'

'Home Sunday,' Hiroshi said. 'If you wish to speak with him you can come with me tomorrow when I
fly home. You are welcome to stay with us.'

Peshawar, Pakistan
Thursday 10 am

Mudge sat staring moodily at Brody's curry; or what was left of it. He picked up
his own tin cup of coffee and discovered it was as empty as his plate. He waved to the waiter for
some more.

'Spud mate, you gonna eat that?'

'Nope, be my guest, lard-arse,' Brody said.

'Nothing wrong with my bum, except boredom,' Mudge said.

Kennedy, who'd been off hunting and gathering cigarettes, soap and toilet paper, rejoined them at
the outdoor table in Saddar Bazaar.

'It's about time you used the dunny the way the locals do, Bamm-Bamm,' Mudge said. 'A good splash
of water's way better for the environment too.'

Brody's laugh came out as a snort.

'You laughing at me or him?' Kennedy asked.

'Both,' Brody replied. 'You for your pansy arse that still needs two-ply; and Mudge for using the
word environment and dunny in the same sentence. He has to flush three times, each time, to make
sure he gets rid of what he eats.'

'Well, I did just tell you my bum was bored,' Mudge said. He scratched the beardy-growth on his
chin. 'Why the hell are those bloody you-know-whats not doing whatever it is they're here for?'

'You want them to do something?' Kennedy asked.

'Well yeah, something. You know, anything. Only so we can guess what they're bloody up to, mate.
I'm sick of sitting around here waiting while they sit in a hotel shooting up shit on a
Playstation.'

'Better that than shooting up innocent people or blowing up buildings,' Brody said.

'Yes, but aagh!' Mudge growled. 'Come on Spud, can't we get a transfer back to Kandahar?'

'When this gig is over, we'll do just that.'

'If I just went in and, kind of, just shot them,' Kennedy offered, 'this gig'd be over in
flash.'

'And we'd still have no idea what Jamal Zahkri was doing here, or what these two fuckers are up
to and why it didn't happen on Wednesday,' Brody said, really sick of stating the obvious.

'Well, I reckon your company buddies,' Mudge said to Kennedy, 'lip-read wrong what the bastards
were talking about.'

'Unless it's next Wednesday, not yesterday,' Kennedy said.

'Or the one after, or the next ad-fuckin-nauseous,' Mudge said. 'We're gonna grow old here. And
my boy's gonna shrivel, because I haven't had a woman for like a month, and there's nothing on offer
in these hi-lls, and…'

'Shut up Mudge!' It was the first time Brody and Kennedy had agreed on anything.

Hotel Meurice, Paris
Thursday 6 am

US Secretary of Defense Nathan van Louden, his Chief of Staff Harry Corbin, and his
must-have party of secret service agents, had checked into a whole floor of the Paris hotel an hour
ago. The SecDef's entourage also included two CIA and several State Department bodies, as well as
the grieving parents of Justin West's friends.

It was only 35 hours since the attack on the Luxembourg train, just over 30 since he'd discovered
that half the next generation of his family had been killed in the ensuing catastrophic crash.
Despite the interminable few hours it took for his department to organise the secure flight to
France, van Louden had not been able to go home to Houston to console his sister Abigail, or his
nephew. But he had promised Nathan, whose wheelchair made any hasty trip complicated, that he'd
personally see to everything. He would identify Nathan's son and wife, and see to the safe return of
their remains and that of their friends.

Now, here he was, a couple of hours from the crash site, but it was so goddamn early in the
morning that he could barely get a
bonjour
out of anyone, let alone some decent
information.

The only good news the family had so far was that his niece, Nathan's sister Hilary, had not been
on the train at all. Although vacationing with Justin and the beautiful Cassandra, she'd been driven
to Paris in the limousine, just as the rest of them should have been.

Van Louden was still seething about that, about why they had departed from protocol. It was a
totally useless anger though because he didn't know where to direct it yet. Hilary was under
sedation in one of the other hotel suites, so there'd been no update on the why of anything.

'Why the hell were they on that goddamn train?' Van Louden didn't even realised he'd spoken out
loud, until the State Department's Peter Shaw said they still didn't know why.

Although he appreciated Aiden Bonney's gesture in sending Shaw, his own personal assistant, to
help facilitate things here in Europe, right now Nate van Louden really wished everyone would go
away and leave him in peace - to scream.

Harry Corbin hung up the phone and announced: 'Commissaire Coté of the Police Nationale
and a Marcus Boulier from the Direction Générale de la Sécurité
Extérieure - that's the French Secret Service, sir - are on the way up.'

Ten minutes and several security checks later, the two local officials sat down with van Louden,
Corbin and Shaw to deliver the news they had so far.

Claude Coté was a debonair, if slightly overweight man, whose English was quite good.
Boulier on the other hand looked suspicious of everyone - as spies so often do. In fact, van Louden
noted, just like most of his own men in the room were doing. Boulier's English was perfect, as was
probably his Arabic, German, Italian and his table manners.

'A group calling itself the
Brigade d'Etoile d'Euro
have claimed responsibility for the
train bomb,' Agent Boulier said.

'And who are they?'

'As yet, Monsieur van Louden, we do not know,' Commissaire Coté shrugged.

'What do you mean, you don't know?'

Boulier tapped his chin with perfectly manicured fingers. 'We have never heard of them before.
But the phone call, staking their claim on this disaster, met all the criteria. They had information
that only those involved would know.'

When van Louden looked expectant, the Frenchman added, 'That information is classified, we cannot
discuss the details with anyone outside the investigation.'

Van Louden looked astounded. 'I'm not outside anything. And quite apart from
who
I am, my
family were on that train.'

'For that, you have our deepest sympathy, Monsieur van Louden. But the specifics of this attack
cannot be made public, not to you or to anyone yet.' Boulier waved at the room, indicating the seven
other people who weren't the American Secretary of Defence.

In an effort to smooth the situation, Commissaire Coté added, 'Even we do not have access
to all the information yet. As you're no doubt aware, this disaster did not happen in France. The
train was blown-up and derailed in Luxembourg, that is across the border. All we are doing at this
stage is assisting with both the rescue effort and the investigation.'

Van Louden got to his feet and paced the room. 'Well what the hell can you tell us? For a start,
how can there be a terrorist group that you - that nobody - knows squat about? And how soon before
you
do
know, so that we can hunt them down?'

Boulier and Coté glanced at each other, as if to say, "we could see that one
coming".

'Oh, that's not what I meant,' van Louden snapped. 'I'm well aware this is your
jurisdiction.'

'And yet, as the Commissaire pointed out,' Boulier said, 'it is
not
in fact our
jurisdiction.'

Van Louden wanted to punch someone - preferably the nearest French bastard.

Corbin, who recognised the look on his boss's face, and had once even witnessed the
follow-through, stepped into the breach. 'How did this group claim responsibility?'

'A woman rang both the Luxembourg and French police to claim the attack in their name,'
Coté replied. 'And, that we do not know this group by this name does not mean it is their
first terrorist action. The name could simply be a new coat for an existing group. Often these
militants form sub-groups or new cells to cover their tracks, avoid detection, or prevent the entire
organisation from being compromised should some be captured. Individuals also form splinter groups
because the original may have become too extreme, or even not violent enough, for their taste.'

'Yeah, well we know all about terrorist cells,' van Louden said.

'And switching allegiances because the agenda changes,' Corbin said. 'That happens even with
minor protest groups back home. Remember the Green Cattle debacle in Arkansas a couple of years
back, sir? It started out harmless enough, with the group's members going on and on about reducing
methane levels; and then three of them started murdering cattle all over the state.'

Van Louden nodded and rubbed his forehead. 'Did this woman say why they blew up the train?'

'Because the American Coalition and NATO continue to wreak havoc across Central Asia, the Middle
East, Europe and Africa.'

Van Louden looked at Marcus Boulier. 'That's it? That's why?'

'Her very words. Is that not enough reason?'

'Did she claim affiliation with al-Qaeda or another
jihad
group?'

Boulier frowned. 'What makes you think they are Muslims?'

'What the hell else would they be? I mean they're objecting to us all being in the Middle
East.'

Inspector Coté smiled. 'But
we
are in Europe, Monsieur van Louden. And here there
are many militant
non
-Islamic groups who cite western troops in foreign countries as
justification for their own brutal actions.

'Yes, we have many angry and militant Muslims here in France; but we also have ETA, the
paramilitary Basque separatist group. Germany and other nations, including Scandinavia, have vicious
neo-Nazis, and there are new incarnations of the Red Brigade whose aim has always been to separate
Italy from the western alliance of NATO. Even in America you have your own troublemakers.'

'Our own troublemakers?' van Louden laughed. 'Cow killers don't make a ping on the radar when
we've got al-Qaeda bombing whole city blocks and attacking our military bases.'

'You believe al-Qaeda carried out those attacks in Dallas?' Boulier seemed as astonished as the
Defense Secretary was certain.

And I am certain, van Louden thought; and then immediately wondered if he was only sure because
that was the last intel he'd been given by the State Department. He sat down in the armchair again.
Maybe that had just been Aiden Bonney's opinion.

No matter. As much as he cared about what was happening at home, in his own state, to his own
people, right now he only cared about who blew up this train and his immediate family.

That was his next question: about his family, and their whereabouts.

'I am afraid that bodies and,' the Commissaire cleared his throat, 'body parts are still being
recovered from the wreckage. As far as we have been able to ascertain none of your family, their
travelling companions or the security people in their company have been found amongst the injured or
unharmed survivors.

'Some of their hand luggage, however, was retrieved from a compartment in the carriage that was
two prior to the lounge car where it is believed the bomb was set off.' Coté looked to
Boulier who continued the report.

'A mobile telephone was recovered from further along the track - nearer to the wreckage of the
carriage immediately before the lounge car,' he said. 'My contact at the scene verified that it
belonged to your nephew.'

'Justin was Mr van Louden's great-nephew, the grandson of his sister Abigail,' Corbin corrected.
'What do you think it means that his cell was not with their other belongings?'

Boulier shrugged,' Perhaps that the young man, and maybe his friends as well, were on their way
to dinner when the explosion occurred.'

'Oh my God,' van Louden said, dropping his head into his hands. For some reason this whole
nightmare felt worse with the possibility that Justin may have been so close to the blast.

'If that was so, it would have been quicker for him, Monsieur van Louden,' Coté tried to
sound reassuring.

'Yes,' Boulier agreed. 'It would have been better than being in the carriages as they derailed
and crashed, in fear of the outcome.'

'How long do you think the recovery of the passengers will take?' Corbin asked.

'Teams are working around the clock. Most passengers from the rear derailed carriages have been
accounted for. Emergency teams are still working on the three most damaged cars, two behind and one
ahead of the lounge car that was virtually destroyed. Obviously the wreckage in its entirety is a
crime scene, but particularly those four carriages.'

'When will the things - their belongings that have been found - be released?'

'As soon as possible Monsieur van Louden. Your great-nephew's mobile phone will have to be
analysed first, of course, but everything else should be released tomorrow.'

Van Louden glanced at his offsider with widening eyes, so before he could fly off the handle
Corbin asked the question. 'Justin's cell phone needs to be analysed? Why?'

'Monsieur, as I just said, the whole train is a crime scene. The first thing we must find is the
device which set off the bomb.'

'And you think…' van Louden began to bluster.

Commissaire Coté raised placating hands. '
Mais non, Monsieur
van Louden, we don't
think anything. But we also don't know anything - so all the evidence must be examined.'

'In the meantime,' Boulier said, 'we will make arrangements for you to travel to Bettembourg
where all the victims have been taken for identification.'

The White House, Washington
Thursday 11 am