Traitor by Murray McDonald Read Free Book Online Page A

glass and noticed the other two stewardesses looking on from bedroom door. He was well aware of the immediate laxative effects eye drops could have on drinks and as such, laid the glass down on his armrest, untouched.
    “Thanks, maybe later,” he said with a smile, before turning to the prince. “I’ll just grab a word with the pilot.”
    Nick opened the door and entered the small cockpit. The view across the horizon was of Northern Europe. The pilot was surprised to see Nick, something he didn’t make any attempt to hide.
    “Who the hell are you?!”
    “I’m a guest of the prince,” replied Nick evasively.
    “But he only got on board with an old woman!”
    Nick shrugged. “You must have been mistaken. Anyway, I’m afraid I need to get off.”
    “Our flight plan is direct to Riyadh,” replied the pilot, confirming it with a look at his co-pilot, who nodded agreement.
    “I’m afraid that doesn’t work for me. The heat may be a little too much at the moment,” said Nick, not referring to the weather.
    He explained what he wanted to do.
    “Not a chance in hell,” replied the pilot.
    Nick left the cockpit to get the prince involved. Five minutes later and two million dollars richer between them, the pilot and co-pilot began the descent to an impromptu and unscheduled drop off.

***
    The National Counter Terrorism Center, NCTC, was located in Mclean, Virginia, just a stone’s throw from Tysons Corner in a modern custom built complex. As a direct result of 9/11, no expense had been spared on the building or the capabilities of its inhabitants. With expertise from across the law enforcement spectrum, the building housed the National Joint Terrorism Task Force, which would take the lead on tracking down their current number one target, Nick Geller. Further strengthened by their most recent additions, the team had access to over a hundred similar teams across the nation in regional sites.
    The sight that met Carson and the freshly showered Frankie was of organized chaos. Or at least chaos, they just hoped it was organized.
    Desks were being doubled up. Space was at a premium. Phones and computers were being hooked up as fast as technicians could keep up with the additional bodies that were flooding in as a response to the attack. Deputy Director Turner stood on a gangway that skirted around the three-story main intelligence room. He was looking down at the activity below, a captive audience who was reacting to him as he barked out orders.
    Turner spotted Carson and beckoned him up. Carson took Frankie by the elbow and led her up the stairs with him.
    “We have a lead,” said Turner, walking them back towards his office. “And we need some assets.”
    “Of course,” replied Carson, following Turner into his office with Frankie in tow.
    “A Saudi prince,” Turner said, causing Carson to stop him and look at Frankie.
    Frankie stepped outside, closing the door behind her.
    “What was that?” asked Turner.
    “I’ll tell you later,” said Carson.
    “A Saudi prince, Prince Abdullah Bin Fahd Al Khaled, left Leesburg Executive Airport about forty minutes after the attack and explosion. Two people boarded the flight, an Arab woman in full burka and the prince.”
    “And?”
    “We have no idea who the woman is. It was believed to be his mother or aunt, but both have now been accounted for elsewhere.”
    “Shit, where’s the plane now?” asked Carson.
    “That’s the thing, they filed a flight plan direct to Riyadh but they’ve just commenced a descent towards an airport on the northern French coast.”
    “Get me a phone. I’ll have the flight intercepted. That is exceptionally fast work!” congratulated Carson.
    Turner pointed to the phone on his desk. Carson walked across the room and lifted the receiver. “What do we know about the prince?”
    “Very wealthy, bit of a playboy, and up until now nothing other than a few rumors of funding a few militant groups but all covered as humanitarian support