While Laura was surprised Nerd 27 even realised that information actually existed outside a
computer, she was impressed that he had, in fact, thought outside that box. Particularly as that was
exactly where their first clue came from.
'Scott honey,' Laura said, 'could you please answer your cell; or ring whoever it is back; or
tell them not to call you at the FBI; or, if you're not going to do any of the above, turn the damn
thing off.'
'Sorry, I don't recognise the number so I might not want to talk to them,' Scott said. 'But if I
turn it off, it won't be on when someone I do know, rings me.'
'I thought I was your only friend in the world, Scott. So who else would be calling you?' Laura
grinned and took the lid off another box, this one marked,
Conventions
.
'Oh hang on, I know; you've got a new girl-friend and you don't want to talk to her in front of
me. Go ahead, I don't care. Really I don't.'
'Laura, I do not have a new girlfriend.'
'A stalker then. It must be. He-she's rung every eight minutes for the last hour. No one else
would bother to…' Laura stopped mid-insult and stared at the photo she'd just removed from the
box. She turned it over, she turned it back. She checked the next five in the pile and then she
looked up to find Scott waiting for the 'Bingo', so she said it.
Scott relocated a pile of files from his lap to the large table and moved around to see what she
had found.
Each of the six photos showed almost the same group of men milling around - though not
necessarily together - the same wide display aisle of what appeared to be a software or games
convention, called the Dallas War Fair. The photos, obviously shot a few moments apart, each
featured at least five of the same men, plus others. The attention of the photographer, however, was
clearly focussed in each instance on the two men in every foreground. According to the caption on
the back, one was Jamal Zahkri al Khudri and the other was Assad bin Khalid al Harbi.
'Well I'll be,' Scott declared, as his phone rang again. He hit the mute button. 'That there is
most definitely an Assad bin Something. I did not, however, expect to find him in a photo with the
born-again Emissary of Atarsa Kára. And even if I had, I doubt I would've picked a games
convention in Dallas for their photo shoot. Obviously my expectations are limited by my
imagination.'
'That wasn't a games convention.'
Laura jumped as that voice had come from behind her. She turned to find the Special Agent in
Charge of the Dallas Office looming over her.
'Sorry Laura, didn't mean to startle you.'
'That's okay sir. What sort of convention was it then?'
'An arms convention or, as the sign says,' he pointed to the photo, 'the Dallas War Fair. It was
a really big deal a couple of years back. We had arms companies and manufacturers and buyers and
sellers, the military - both ours and foreign friendlies - of course. At least they were then.'
'And known arms dealers,' Scott added, tapping the person known as Jamal Zahkri. 'What's with
that? And who's this other guy when he's at home?'
'Don't really know,' said the SAC. 'Am also wondering why we didn't take Zahkri into
custody.'
Scott and Laura glanced at each other but to avoid making a smart comment Scott rolled his chair
back to the computer terminal and typed in the name Assad bin Khalid al Harbi.
'I can tell you who that cowboy is in the background though,' the SAC said, as if it made up for
leaving a terrorist at large within the borders of the United States of America.
'Who?' Laura asked. 'Oh, ooh! You mean him? Scott, come take a look.'
Scott did as he was told, while the SAC said, 'No, not that photo;
that
one.'
'That one can wait a sec, sir,' Laura interrupted, as she pointed to a different photo. 'Because
that
is Micah O'Brien, our dead Fort Hood conspirator.'
'Curiouser and curiouser,' Scott remarked. 'So who is your guy?' he asked the Special Agent.
'He's the Lieutenant-Governor of Texas, George Gantry.'
'You're joking. Why would he be with these men?' Scott asked.
'I don't think he is,' Laura said. 'I think he's just in the same place. What's his story,
sir?'
'Gantry is a small 'm' oil magnate. He tends to mouth off at anything the current Administration
and the Military does, that he doesn't feel is up to par. This is despite being himself a two-time
Republican presidential candidate; and even though his other business supplies the very people he
complains about.
'Gantry owns Landstar; which builds tanks and other armoured vehicles - hence his legitimate
presence at the Texas War Fair. Apart from that, he's just a regular Texan, aged in his mid 60s,
widowed.'
And there sure ain't nothing as 'regular'
- Scott held his breath and returned to the
computer -
as an oil-drilling, tank-building, loud-mouthed Republican Texan.
'Small bingo,' he said. 'Whatever Assad bin Khalid al Harbi was back then, he's not that anymore.
He was killed in a tourist bus crash in Paris just over two weeks ago. He was a student
- a mature age one obviously because he was 33 - studying Engineering at Berkeley. He was on
vacation in France, blah, blah. Here we go. Assad was the son of Khalid bin Tariq; also,
obviously, of the al Harbi family. They're one of the richest of the non-royal clans in Saudi
Arabia. His father and uncle are commonly known as 'the Brothers' Khalid and Salman.
'The late Assad - the guy in our photo here - was 17th of 28 children. One of his brothers and a
cousin are, get this, "legitimate dealers in arms". So, I guess that accounts for Assad's
presence at the Texas War Fair.'
Laura raised a finger. 'It might also explain his meeting in Nuevo Laredo with a software pirate
and a couple of hillbilly gunrunners.'
'One of whom is also now dead, and lying in the Fort Hood morgue,' Scott added.
'And I swear, Scott, if you don't answer that thing I'm going to hit it, or you, with a
brick.'
Scott curled his lip at Laura and picked up his vibrating cell phone. 'Scott Dreher.'
A totally unfamiliar voice said: '
Oh, finally! Thank goodness. Um, hi Scott, my name is Jana
Rossi and we met on Sunday afternoon at the Royal Princess Hotel in Chiang Mai.
'
Scott raised an eyebrow. 'We did?'
Houston Texas
Tuesday 8 pm
Abigail West placed her hand over her brother's as she listened to him struggle in
the telling of his terrible trip to Paris to reclaim their family. Nate van Louden smiled sadly at
her and pressed on. He made himself meet the eyes of his devastated nephew as he told him everything
he knew; including the things he really wanted to seal in a memory box labelled 'never to be
opened'. Some of the abstract facts he'd gathered in Washington probably should have stayed there
too, but his family were hurting. They wanted to know
why.
While Van Louden doubted anyone
could answer that question, he could at least tell them what he knew of the
who
and the
how
.
'So the people who bombed the train in Europe are the same people who blew up the American
Embassy in India,' Abigail said.
'It was the Consulate in Peshawar, but yes. Although not the exact same people Abigail. It was an
affiliated group called Groh Sitaarah, which belongs to the same terrorist organisation.'
'But you said al-Qaeda didn't do it,' Edwina said. She offered the plate of vegetables again but
no one felt much like eating anymore.
'That's right, Edie. This is a new group. They call themselves Atarsa Kára, which
evidently means
Fear the People
.'
'What on earth do we need a new group for?' Edwina asked. 'Isn't that Osama Bin happy with just
one?'
'Just one, Aunt Edwina?' Nathan said. 'Half the terror and insurgent groups around the world are
aligned with al-Qaeda.'
'But not Atarsa Kára,' van Louden said. 'They are a new breed, a new entity, a new threat.
They're not linked to al-Qaeda or Osama bin Laden or the wars in Iraq or Afghanistan.'
'But now Washington suspects they
are
linked to the Texas attacks. I don't understand,
Uncle Nate. The FBI has already come out and said that Dallas and Fort Hood belong in that nasty
category known as home-grown terror.'
'Well you can take that as fact, Nathan,' Van Louden said. 'To be honest, I don't know all the
details about the alleged connection with Europe. It was one of many updates just before I left
Washington, and I probably should not have mentioned it. On top of which, please bear in mind that
rumours flash round the White House corridors so fast that they're often denied by the time you turn
the next corner.'
'Can you elaborate at all?' Nathan asked.
Van Louden sighed. 'Brenda Janeway, she's the FBI's Executive Assistant Director of the National
Security Branch and in charge of the joint agency task force investigating things here in Dallas,'
he took a breath.
'Brenda briefed us on some strangely-coincidental evidence found in both Carthage and Paris,
that's Texas and France. Allegedly, and here's where the rumour mill is probably spinning on its
axis, the same video or computer game was found at the home of one of the Fort Hood conspirators,
and also confiscated by the French authorities when they arrested the woman who, ah, befriended
Justin.'
'A game?' Nathan said. 'What kind of game.'
Van Louden shrugged. 'A war game or adventure game. And at the moment it's just a coincidence,
and an unverified one. Brenda, however, is paying a visit to the FBI's Dallas Field Office on her
way to Fort Hood tomorrow. It was the Dallas agents who found the offending game in Carthage.
Realistically though, the connection between Texas and Europe is tenuous at best.
'Atarsa Kára is, however, unquestionably the link between Groh Sitaarah, who attacked the
Consulate in Peshawar, and the Brigade d'Etoile d'Euro group which bombed the train in
Luxembourg.'
Abigail spread butter on a bread roll and smiled at her brother's awful attempt at French. It was
nearly as bad as George Gantry's, the day he told her who had killed her family on that train.
'But the only known connection between them and the Dallas attacks is a game. I mean, a game;
what kind of connection could that be?' Van Louden threw up his hands. 'Brenda said it was even a
pirate version of something made in Japan for a British-American company called Blue Atlantico.
They…'
The crash of Abigail's falling knife as it hit her plate made everyone jump. 'Sorry,' she said,
somehow managing to keep her expression neutral and calm.
Oh my Lord.
'Are you okay Mother?' Nathan asked.
'Yes dear, it was just a little cramp in my hand. You were saying, Nate?'
Oh my Lord. Oh my
Lord.
Abigail desperately needed a drink but couldn't move her shaking hands from her lap.
'Before I say anything else, please remember that everything I tell you around our dinner table
tonight must remain in this house.'
'Of course Nate,' Abigail said. 'What did you say the name of that Pakistan terror group means in
English?'
'Don't think I did, Abigail. But I believe Groh Sitaarah is Urdu for Star Brigade.'
Abigail West wanted to die - right then and there. Either that, or kill someone. No. She
definitely wanted to kill someone.
'And Brigade d'Etoile d'Euro,' she said, in perfect French, 'also means Euro Star Brigade. You're
not going to tell us now that the Dallas attacks were carried out by the Texas Star Brigade or
something, are you?'
'No sis, not at all,' van Louden said. 'Don't believe there is such a thing. At this stage we
believe the Dallas bombers belong to something called the Carthage Thunder Militia.'
A commotion in the doorway heralded the arrival of Angela with the dessert trolley. 'I figured
you weren't going to eat much of your dinner,' she said. 'But fresh apple pie might do the
trick.'
Abigail was more than relieved with the interruption. It meant she could recover from turning
white and clammy all over. The awfulness roiling in her stomach, however, was a losing argument
between nausea, dread, despair and rising, rising fury.
She leant over to her sister. 'Edie dear, I'm just going to pop out for a minute and ring George.
I wanted to ask him something and I'm worried I'll forget.'
'Then you'd best write yourself a note,' Edwina said. 'George told me this morning that he was
going to Washington until the weekend.'
Honolulu, Hawaii
Tuesday 3 pm
Nick Kelman stepped out of the taxi on Ala Moana Boulevard and limped along the
walkway to the world-famous Ilikai Hotel on Waikiki Beach. Like many thousands before him, he could
no more not hum the surfing theme to the legendary
Hawaii Five-O
than stop himself from
looking up towards the penthouse balcony. And he could picture him there; Jack Lord as Steve
McGarrett, turning to face the aerial camera as it swept over the turquoise blue ocean off Waikiki
Beach.
Kelman made his way in through the foyer and out to the pool area. He needed a drink to wash down
the painkillers that were only doing half the job they were supposed to. Still he was lucky, or so
the so-called doctor in Chiang Mai had said. He hadn't even had to dig the bullet out, because that
bastard Rawley had shot him clean through the thigh. Two days later it still hurt, a lot; but he
could walk and the cane was only temporary.
He ordered a triple bourbon and glanced over at the table where one of the world's 'most wanted'
people sat, poolside at the Ilikai, just like any other tourist. The man was even dressed in blue
jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. Kelman dropped some notes on the bar, picked up his drink and limped to
take the empty seat opposite Jamal Zahkri al Khudri and his ruthless associate, Samir Krenar.
'You found the place then, JZ,' Kelman said.