“She’s in the van,” he said. He looked up at the giant shipping container sitting at one end of the warehouse. Inside, there were food, drinks, blankets, a portable toilet and a handful of books. “Remember to keep her under cover at all times.”
He watched grimly as the men carried the girl — she looked almost childlike in her current state — out of the van and into the shipping container. She would wake up soon enough, Abdul judged, just in time to discover that she would be spending the next few weeks in the company of all three brothers. By the time they reached their final destination, she would probably be suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.
Or perhaps she’ll hate all three of us, he thought, ruefully. His brothers and he had spent years together, but their captive wouldn’t know them at all. But her feelings hardly matter.
Bracing himself, he stepped into the shipping container, followed by Amir and a reluctant Abdullah. His brother had gloom and misery written all over his face; Abdul silently promised the ghost of their dead mother that he’d take care of his younger brother. The last thing she would have wanted was for her son to be sent to a re-education camp.
“Make sure she’s secure,” Amir said. “We don’t want her breaking loose.”
Abdul snorted, rudely. The American girl wasn’t a superhero. Even if they released her hands, even if she managed to kill all three of them, she still wouldn’t be able to get out of the container. Still, he cuffed her to the side of the container anyway, then braced himself as the hatch slammed closed. Inside, even illuminated by a powered light, it was still thoroughly unpleasant. They were going to be sick of each other by the time they reached their destination.
“You may as well get some sleep,” he said, as he inspected the girl. She would probably recover without problems, he told himself. If they’d inflicted permanent damage, there was no way to deal with it in the container. “We’ll be on our way, soon enough.”
Moments later, the container started to shake as it was transported towards the boat. Abdul shuddered, trying hard to keep his reaction under control. He’d had nightmares ever since he’d had his first trip in a container, nightmares where the crane broke and sent the container falling towards the ground… or into the ocean. Or nightmares where the ship sank and they all drowned, helplessly.
He knew, all too well, that they could easily come true.
Chapter Thirty
New York, USA
The break came forty minutes after the terrorists were identified. A vehicle fire had been reported in downtown New York, but largely ignored in the wake of the bombings. However, when it became clear that a white van had been deliberately set on fire, Jürgen became very interested indeed. Further checks revealed that the vehicle had been carefully parked out of sight of any CCTV cameras, ensuring that there was no footage of the van or whatever vehicle the arsonists had used to make their escape.
But that wouldn’t stop him from identifying the vehicle.
He carefully went through all the records, working out the timing piece by piece. Logically, the terrorists would have left a timer on the van to ensure they had time to make their escape, but it would be a risky move. An abandoned van would attract attention, particularly now. It suggested that the terrorists had departed maybe five to ten minutes before the van caught fire, which meant… he went through the records and identified a number of suspect vehicles, then set the system to backtracking them through New York. Three of them vanished off the grid, but the fourth had gone directly to a shipping company.
Clever, he thought. The airports might be closed, the roads might be blocked, but it was much harder to stop and search even a small container ship. One of the many nightmares plaguing the Department of Homeland Security was a terrorist smuggling in a nuclear bomb in a shipping container, secure in the knowledge that even the best detection systems would be unlikely to pick up any traces of radioactivity. And this time the container ship was heading out of the country, back to Greece.
It would not normally have attracted much attention, he knew. Greece wasn’t on the list of countries to be viewed with deep suspicion, even though it was alarmingly close to North Africa and the Middle East. The ship might meet up with another ship during its voyage or simply move the container onwards when it reached Athens. And it wouldn’t be noticeable unless the ship was searched from end to end.
He cursed under his breath as he realised the ship was already on her way out to sea. They’d clearly planned it for quite some time, assuming he was right. The ship wasn’t leaving urgently, she had been scheduled to depart on this precise day for several weeks. There was simply nothing, other than a minor mistake, to use to identify her as a potential suspect.
Shaking his head, he reached for the phone. The Coast Guard would have to intercept the ship and escort her back into harbour, where she could be searched thoroughly. There would be complaints, he knew, and probably genuine ones too. Holding a ship long enough to be searched would be immensely costly to the shipping company. Ships simply didn’t make money when they were at anchor. But there was no alternative.
Besides, there were no other leads to follow.
“Sleeper agents, it looks like,” Mongo said. He’d been following the progress of the interrogations, but they’d yielded little of interest. “People who blended so well into our society that they remained well below the radar.”
Steve nodded, feeling cold rage replaced with icy determination. The brothers had been model immigrants, pretty much. They paid taxes, took part in community activities and never went to any of the more dubious mosques. Hell, from what the youngest brother’s American wife was saying, they never prayed at all. But it had all been a lie. They’d waited until they received their orders, then moved into action.
And they carried it off flawlessly, he thought, bitterly. Damn bastards.
He looked down at the reports. Iran was probably the prime suspect, either out of a desire for revenge — he’d given Israel the laser defence system, after all — or out of a desire to influence the off-world development of space. The Iranians had a long history of training insurgents and sleeper agents, as well as meddling in Middle Eastern affairs and trying to undermine their rival governments. But they weren’t the only suspects. The remains of the Taliban had good reason to want to hurt him, while the oil monarchies of the Middle East hated his guts. They’d spent billions of dollars at the UN, trying desperately to prevent the introduction of fusion technology. And they’d failed.
“Got something,” Mongo said. “A Greek ship — the Karaboudjan — may well be their getaway vessel.”
“Show me,” Steve ordered.
He looked at the image from the drone, then scowled. The Karaboudjan was a medium-sized freighter, large enough to carry hundreds of shipping containers. He remembered some of the rumours about the Al Qaeda Navy and shuddered, inwardly. Had New York been clutching one of those vipers to its bosom? Or had the Karaboudjan been serving as a perfectly innocent freighter up until now?
“The Coast Guard is calling for military assistance,” Mongo said. “I believe they’re putting together a team of SEALs now.”
Steve shook his head. “Tell them we want to scan the vessel first,” he said. “And if she’s on it, we can get her back quicker than them.”
He had no illusions about what orders the terrorists would have in the event of capture. If there was a strong risk of falling into enemy hands, they would first kill their captive and then kill themselves. Ideally, he knew, they would have to stun the terrorists, then sort out the mess afterwards. But if Mariko wasn’t onboard the ship, he didn’t want to attack it and cause another major incident. There would be enough repercussions from destroying the terrorist network and the country backing them.