Chapter Two

I UNLOCKED THE bathroom door and came face to face with half a dozen pissed-off passengers who had summoned a flight attendant. It was clear from the tilt of her jaw that she had justice on her mind.

‘People have been knocking on the door, ’ she said icily.

‘Yes, I heard ’em, ’ I replied. It was true, but what was I gonna do – hang up on the director of intelligence?

‘You know it’s an offence to use a cellphone in flight. ’

I nodded. God, I was tired. ‘Yeah, ’ I said. ‘I know. ’

‘And you saw our video making that clear? ’

‘Sure, lady. But you know something – I don’t care. ’

The passengers glared at me, speaking in Turkish or Lebanese, as I went to my seat. Another ugly American, I guessed was what they were saying.

It was with some satisfaction then – after we had touched down in Beirut a short time later – that I realized we weren’t heading to a gate. Instead we stopped out on the apron as a motorized cherry-picker, three police vehicles and half a dozen black SUVs headed out fast to meet us.

As the passengers and cabin crew looked out the windows, wondering what the hell was happening, getting scared, the icy flight attendant approached me.

‘Mr Wilson? ’ she asked. ‘Could you come with me, please. ’

A British guy sitting in the next row stared at the squads of armed cops approaching. ‘Jesus – all that for using your cellphone? The Lebanese don’t screw around, do they? ’

He was joking, and it made me smile as I grabbed my carry-on and followed the ice maiden down the aisle. Two of her colleagues were already turning a handle and releasing one of the cabin doors. As it slid open, the platform of the cherry-picker rose into place.

Standing on it was a middle-aged guy in a dark suit. He looked into the cabin and saw me. ‘Brodie Wilson? ’ he said.

I nodded.

‘Got your passport? ’

I pulled it out and handed it to him. He checked the photograph, the physical description on the data page and entered the serial number into his cellphone. A moment later he got a Code Green and handed the book back.

‘I’m Wesley Carter, Commercial Attaché at the Embassy, ’ he said. I had never seen him before, but I knew it wasn’t true – without doubt, he was CIA station chief, Beirut. ‘You wanna come this way? ’

Watched by everybody on board, the ice maiden looking embarrassed, I stepped on to the platform and the cherry-picker lowered us to the ground. There were four more Americans in suits standing at strategic points around the SUVs, and I knew they were armed security. They watched as Carter shepherded me into the back of one of the vehicles and signalled to the Lebanese cops in the squad cars.

They hit their flashing lights and, travelling at high speed, we charged across the asphalt towards an adjoining runway.

‘We’ve arranged a private jet for you, ’ he explained. ‘It belongs to an Arab arms dealer, a sort of friend of ours. It was the only thing we could get at short notice. The pilots are ours, though – ex air force, so they’re good. ’

I looked through the armoured glass and saw a black G-4 corporate jet with an extended fuselage sitting in the distance with its engines running. I wondered how many rocket launchers you had to provide to the CIA’s friends in the Middle East to afford one of those.

Carter spoke quietly. ‘Whisperer told me you were way off the books, said you were looking for the nuclear trigger. ’

I nodded. ‘Isn’t everybody? ’

He laughed. ‘You can double-down on that. Three thousand out of Beirut station alone – everybody in the region’s helping. Nothing anywhere, though. What about you? ’

I shook my head. ‘Nothing yet. ’

‘I think he’s flying solo. ’

‘Who? ’

‘Nuclear-boy. ’

I turned to him. ‘Why? ’

‘Human nature, I guess – if he wasn’t, we would have heard something. People always talk; everybody gets sold out. Not far from here, there was a revolutionary guy – not a bomb-thrower but a fanatic, a lot of people said. He had a dozen followers who worshipped him, and they went through hell together. Even so, one of them sold him out. You know the story – Judas betrayed Jesus with a kiss. ’

Now it was my turn to laugh.

‘It was two thousand years ago, ’ Carter continued, ‘and nothing’s changed – not in this part of the world anyway. ’

The SUV pulled to a halt at the steps of the G-4, and I grabbed my bag. ‘Good story, ’ I said, and shook his hand.

I opened the door and ran for the steps. I heard Carter calling after me. ‘Don’t forget – those guys where you’re going, they’re garbage wrapped in skin. Good luck. ’

I smiled – I didn’t need luck. Even if the Saracen was flying solo, it didn’t matter. In another few hours I would have his full name, date of birth, a history of his early life and probably a photo. That would be enough for Carter and a hundred other station chiefs like him to mobilize their men and those of other nations – the whole secret world, in fact – to find him.

Forty-eight hours was my estimate. In forty-eight hours we would have him: we were going to do it in time.