Using the funds over the last six months, on his travels he had purchased and loaded numerous pre-paid credit cards in various currencies. All transactions relating to the cards had been made in cash, rendering them anonymous and totally untraceable. His first transaction was for a ferry ticket to Algiers, departing in a few hours from Marseille, France’s largest port and gateway to North Africa and his African army of believers.
Chapter 31
Rafik took his seat as the 8:00 a.m. class in General Chemistry was due to begin. The six seats to his left remained vacant. His friends had not shown up yet. He called them friends but ‘acquaintances’ was probably more accurate. They never fully welcomed him into their fold. They seemed wary of his background, a Muslim immigrant from Iraq. His family was killed during the insurgency and he was left alone in the world. Bitter and unhappy with life, he had tagged onto the group and it seemed at times that he was accepted and at others excluded. He looked at the vacant seats and wondered what it was today that he had been excluded from.
Perhaps he had pushed his anti-American rhetoric a little too much and had frightened them off? It was a beautiful day and there were better options than being stuck in a classroom for the morning. However, they were very serious students, like him, and keen to learn as much about chemistry as possible. He looked around the lecture theatre and noticed that all of the normal seats were occupied. Just the six to his left remained vacant.
The clock above the blackboard at the front of the lecture hall clicked to 8:01 and like clockwork, the lecturer entered the room. Rafik had voiced his disgust to his friends at being lectured by a female. He watched with disdain as she placed her coffee cup on the desk and bid them good morning.
Rafik looked out for his friends, but still they didn’t show. He thought back to the previous Friday. Had he said something that may have scared them off? He had tweaked the rhetoric up slightly but not dramatically. He was playing the long game, gaining their trust. At 8:10, they had still not arrived. Perhaps he had pushed it too far. He began to consider that he might be in danger. He looked around and recognized all the faces. The exits appeared to be unmanned. At 8:15, Rafik got up from his seat. Something was definitely amiss. He made his way out of the lecture hall and, checking the corridor carefully, to an exit. There was still no sign that he was being watched.
He crossed the street and walked the short distance to Central Park, losing himself amongst the early morning joggers, tourists and sun worshippers. He withdrew a cell phone from his backpack and swapped the SIM card with another from his backpack. A pre-programmed number on the SIM required him to dial a code to access the number. He entered the code number into the cell, hit the dial button and waited.
Special Agent Sarah Reid had arrived at 6:00 a.m., having left only five hours earlier. Many joked that she had no life. It wasn’t a joke; she didn’t. She lived for her work. She was forty-five years of age, single, a little too short for her weight and not a looker. She was the stereotypical definition of a plain Jane. If there had been a pictorial example in the dictionary, her picture would have fitted perfectly. However, her personal lackings were the Bureau’s gain. Special Agent Sarah Reid was without doubt one of their best and most talented investigators. When Deputy Director Paul Turner put his team together, there had never been a doubt he would select Reid as his number two. There was not a more hardworking or tenacious investigator in the Bureau. She had refused promotions into management and training many times. She lived to catch criminals, particularly terrorists. Her father had died in the North Tower on 9/11. It was one of the many reasons she lived for her work.
There were over a hundred Joint Terrorism Task Force Centers across the country, all feeding into the main National Task Force at the NCTC where any patterns could be noted and analyzed. Resources could be shifted as and when required at any particular hotspot.
Updates throughout the day were normal. The regional centers were encouraged to notify the National Center of anything out of the ordinary.
By 8:00 a.m., the phone lines at the National Centre were struggling to cope. By 8:30, Reid had secured additional resources and lines to take the sudden and unexpected increase in calls.
Rafik’s listened into his cell, it rang once. A pause followed and a connection was made. He waited, ensuring he was out of earshot.
“ID?”
“Rafik Al-Basri,” replied Rafik quietly.
“Go ahead.”
“I need the Watch Commander asap.”
After a few seconds, the line clicked and another voice came on the line. “Come home, bud, they’ve gone, flown the coop.”
“Shit! They made me?” asked Rafik.
“No, son. Rafik was perfect. They’ve all gone. Come home, Ricky,” replied the New York JTTF Watch List Commander, using undercover FBI Agent Ricky Hernandez’ real name.
Reid didn’t know whether to be ecstatic or more nervous than ever. Across the board, the phone calls were informing them that the radical Muslims — jihadists — on their watch lists were booking flights and heading out of America. If this continued as the sun rose and the west caught up with the east, there wouldn’t be a jihadist left in North America.
Reid picked up the phone and called Turner. Like her, he was nervous. She heard him update Carson and could have sworn he shouted at the pilot to fly faster. Whatever the case, they were already heading back after their wild goose chase.
Chapter 32
After twenty hours on board the packed ferry, Nick was glad to stretch his legs properly. The small Peugeot had been left with keys in the ignition not far from the Marseille terminal. He doubted it was there five minutes later. Marseille had improved dramatically from its less than illustrious reputation. However, like any large city, there were areas best left unexplored. In Marseille, that was the area around the ferry terminal. Nick had felt his pockets brushed a little too closely twice while he was waiting to board the ferry. If it happened a third time, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to restrain himself.
Algiers was an African city with a very mixed heritage. The various buildings from its history of empires stared back at Nick as he left the ferry; it was loud, chaotic, smelly and beautiful all at once, the way only ancient cities could be. Nick wasn’t interested in any of it. He checked his watch and approached a passport checkpoint. This was a mere formality but the facial recognition system of any camera in the hall was certainly to be avoided. An increased exaggeration of his limp ensured a perfect view for the cameras of the crown of his head.
Nick placed himself two thirds of the way into the line, not keen to get off but not keen to appear he didn’t care, just a normal guy getting in line. His passport in the name of Jacques Guillon scanned perfectly and Nick walked freely onto another continent. While the noon call to prayer echoed across the city, Nick headed towards the Casbah area of Algiers. The traditional walled quarter was a maze of alleyways and buildings built on a steep incline, some preserved beautifully, others falling dangerously into disrepair.
The call to prayer quieted, and Nick found himself in front of the Ketchaoua Mosque, a beautiful entrance to the old city behind. Nick entered and paid his respects to Allah. His western appearance drew a number of disapproving looks from fellow worshippers, particularly the younger men. Nick continued unperturbed.
Being one of the last to enter, Nick was one of the first to leave. He entered the Casbah by climbing the steep staircase and, owing to his limp, he was soon overtaken by many other worshippers. As he moved deeper into the Casbah, the tight alleyways stole the sunlight and shadows became longer and darker. Nick had a rough idea of where he was going, although he had a feeling the four youths who had followed him from the Mosque had other plans. Nick turned a sharp right and, out of the youths’ sight, bounded up a short flight of stairs. As he neared the center of the Casbah, the walls closed in further. The alleyways tightened and darkened with each step and they climbed further and further up the hillside.