“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 for refugees and the displaced. Nothing has ever been proved and to be honest, he has a number of friends on the Hill.”
“How much time until they land and where?”
Turner checked his computer screen. “Twenty minutes at Le Touquet, Northern France.”
Carson retrieved his cell, scrolled though his contacts and dialed a number that got him through to the Supreme Allied Commander of NATO forces in Europe. After a brief and exceptionally frustrating catch up, Carson finally got around to requesting the interception of the prince’s plane.
“How connected is this prince within the royal family?” asked Carson of Turner, removing the handset and covering the mouthpiece.
Turner checked his watch. They were down to ten minutes before the landing.
“What difference does it make?”
“Don’t be so naïve,” countered Carson sharply.
“He’s more connected here than in Saudi Arabia. He’s pretty much an outsider there from all reports.”
Carson relayed the information, giving the commander the ‘go’.
“All done,” he announced, replacing the handset.
“They’ll be landing in eight minutes,” said Turner, checking his watch again.
“No they won’t,” smiled Carson confidently.
Chapter 13
RAF Lakenheath was concealed deep in Thetford Forest, less than sixty miles from London and just 117 miles from Le Touquet, on the northeastern tip of France. Travelling at sixty miles an hour, it would take the same in minutes as the measurement in miles. However, a McDonnell Douglas F15 on afterburners will cover almost thirty miles for every minute, travelling at over two and half times the speed of sound, or 1,700 miles per hour.
Although called RAF Lakenheath, it was in fact almost exclusively manned by USAF personnel and equipment and was home to the 48th Fighter Wing. With two fighters on constant patrol, the two F15 pilots allocated the task by the Supreme Commander of European Forces had little to do but point their jets in the right direction and hit the afterburners. They would be on site in time to intercept the prince’s jet before landing and before hitting the French mainland, with two minutes to spare. Not that they had any issue with crossing over onto mainland France — the French would be more than happy to assist. They just wanted to minimize collateral damage wherever possible.
Nick readied himself for a fast exit. There wasn’t going to be lot of time. The pilot had made it very clear how unhappy he was. The money had convinced him to do it but no amount of money was going to make him happy about it. Fortunately, the pilot and co-pilot were blissfully unaware that Nick was the most wanted man on the planet. Once that came to light, the prince was going to have to dig even deeper into his pockets. Of course, there was the fact that if they ever did open their mouths, they would be admitting that they had not checked the identity of one of their passengers before departure. Nick had a sneaking suspicion that it may not take that much more money to keep them quiet. After all, pilots tended to be highly intelligent individuals.
He checked his backpack again, along with the slim metal briefcase that secured one of the most lethal viruses known to man. Nick did not enjoy carrying it around and looked forward to securing it in a safety deposit box as soon as physically possible. Maximizing the virus’ effectiveness required very precise timing and conditions. It was one of the last phases of his plan and until then, he just had to make sure the seals and the contents remained secure.
“You ready?” Nick asked the prince.
The prince’s face said no but he nodded. Nick turned to the stewardess who sat in the jump seat by the exit door. “Ready?”
She nodded, double checking her straps were properly secured.
Nick checked the door through to the bedroom. It was shut and the other two stewardesses were also strapped in and the cockpit door was secure.
“We’ve just been hailed by two American fighters,” came a panicked announcement by the pilot over the internal P.A. system. “They’re going to shoot us down if we don’t do what they say!”
“Okay, now!” Nick yelled to the stewardess, as a rush of air blasted into their faces.
“So why did you react when I mentioned the Saudi prince?’ asked Turner nodding towards Frankie out on the gangway. The silence, while they waited for an update, was deafening.
“How much do you know about her?” asked Carson warily.
“Other than she’s a Secret Service agent, obviously trusted by the President, despite her boyfriend trying to kill him and blowing up his house, and the fact that he insists she is part of the investigation, very little.”
“Well I suggest we learn a lot more very quickly. Her mother’s a Saudi princess.”
Turner’s head snapped back again to look at Frankie. “No fucking way!”
Carson nodded. “I’ve got her file being sent to me as we speak. I’ve just been to her house, trust me, it’s not bullshit. She lives in a mini palace behind Mom and Dad’s full sized one.”
“Do you think…” Turner didn’t want to finish what he was about to say.
“Honestly, no. However, Nick Geller is a very smart cookie and he may just have been using her for more than a booty call,” interrupted Carson.
“We’re just about to debrief her but it may all become a bit irrelevant very shortly,” suggested Turner, checking his watch again for the tenth time in less than two minutes. Almost on cue, the desk phone rang. Turner let Carson answer it.
Carson listened for a few seconds before replacing the handset.
“We got them,” he smiled triumphantly.
“So are the French going to hand him straight over to us?”
Carson looked at him strangely. “Why would the French have them?”
“Because they just captured them at Le Touquet,” replied Turner, somewhat confused.
“No they didn’t, we just stopped them getting to France!” said Carson.
“I thought you sent a team to get them when they landed?’ asked Turner, his mind spinning.
“Le Touquet’s in the middle of fucking nowhere. Do you think we’ve got Special Ops teams all over the world, ten minutes from anywhere?” asked Carson irritably.
“No but—”
“I sent two fighter jets to stop them landing in France and getting away.”
“Fighter jets? What the fuck have you done?” Turner shouted. He worked for the FBI. They followed process, they followed the law. They were not judge jury and executioner.
Carson laughed awkwardly. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough,” he said cryptically before leaving an infuriated and dumbfounded Turner to stew.
Chapter 14
“Come with me,” ordered Carson, slamming Turner’s door behind him.