Ryan, Chris - Zero 22

‘Look how popular he is,’ Hamoud said. ‘Look how they cheer for him. Maybe, if that’s what it is to be an American, we should listen to what he says.’

‘No,’ said Rabia. ‘He won’t be president for ever, even if he would like to be. When he’s gone, things will change.’

‘It doesn’t feel like things will change,’ Hamoud said. ‘You’ve seen how people look at us. They don’t trust us. They think our children will grow up into terrorists.’

‘Then we will show them that we are good people,’ said Rabia. ‘That our children are good people.’

She was right, as always, and he smiled at her. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘when we get back home, I would like to find some work. I think I’m ready.’

Now it was her turn to smile. One of those smiles that was almost a cry. She squeezed his hand and then went to look out of the window. On the television, he saw two adoring members of the crowd hold up a banner which said ‘POTUS 4 EVA’. The President smirked and nodded. Hamoud switched the television off.

19.45 hrs.

Lightning flashed over the skyline of Washington DC. Thunder cracked and the rain lashed down. Lines of headlamps and brake lights glowed hazily through the elements. There were no pedestrians on the sidewalks. It was the kind of rain that made it difficult to breathe.

Danny followed the General’s directions, which took them to the heart of the capital. They queued over the Potomac River, where the water seethed and shone with each fork of lightning. ‘Jefferson Memorial,’ the General said, pointing out an illuminated domed building with classical columns.

‘We don’t need the full sightseeing tour,’ Danny said. ‘Just get us to the thing.’

Danny’s curt response didn’t stop the General pointing to the right a few minutes later. ‘United States Capitol,’ he said. Danny looked at the huge, impressive building, lit up in the darkness, the illuminations burning through the thick curtain of rain. A couple of minutes later, the General pointed ahead and to the left. ‘You know what that is,’ he said.

It was the first time Danny had ever been to Washington DC, and so it was the first time he had seen the White House in person. The atmosphere seemed to boil around and above it. A double fork of lightning streaked the sky, framing the White House on either side, and Danny couldn’t help a hot sensation of bile rising in his throat. He wondered how many operations he’d been involved with had been discussed in that building. How many men had been sent into action, and to their deaths? He thought of the Zero 22 team, and the taste of bile grew more bitter. He could just make out the American flag perched atop the White House, and the muscles in his face pinched. He suppressed a fantasy of breaking into the place, finding his way to the Oval Office and letting the President have it. That would be an impossibility, even for him. His only option was to help the General release the deepfakes. And quickly.

‘Where’s the memory stick?’ he said. And before the General had time to refuse to tell him again, he added: ‘We’re here now. We’ve got you into the country. We’ve got you in to DC. We can’t fuck around any more.’

The General was also staring at the White House. He didn’t take his eyes away from it as he spoke. ‘I have a lady friend,’ he said. ‘I keep an apartment for her downtown. On the QT, you understand? It wouldn’t be seemly for a man in my position to be involved in any kind of indiscretion.’ If he was aware of the ridiculousness of his comment, given what had happened with Bethany in Amman, he didn’t show it. ‘I hid the memory stick at her apartment.’

Danny felt himself deflating. How stupid was this guy? ‘You asked some random bit on the side to look after the most important intelligence object in the world right now?’ he demanded, incredulous. ‘How the hell do you know you can trust her?’

‘She doesn’t know I hid it there,’ the General said. ‘I didn’t tell her anything about it.’

‘What if she finds it?’

‘She won’t. She won’t even be there tonight. She works in New York during the week, flies back weekends. The apartment will be empty.’

‘You hope.’

‘I know.’

Danny gave that a moment’s consideration. ‘Tell me about the apartment,’ he said.

‘What you want to know?’

‘What kind of building?’

‘Terraced townhouses. Four storeys. The apartment’s on the second floor.’

‘Entrances? Exits?’

‘One entrance. There’s a fire window at the back with an external staircase. Don’t think it’s ever been used, at least not since I bought the place.’

‘Is there a concierge?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have a key?’

‘Don’t need one. Smart entry system. There are access keypads at the entrances to the building and the apartment.’

‘Are you known there? Will people recognise you?’

‘They’d recognise me if they saw me, I guess. I go in and out late nights and early mornings. I don’t think anybody knows I’m a regular.’

‘Where can we leave the car?’

‘Out front, if there’s space. Otherwise, a parking lot a couple of blocks away.’

Danny thought his way through this information. He didn’t like it much. A second-floor domestic apartment with only one entrance and one exit. If anybody was expecting them, it would be simple to surround the place. A couple of guys on the floor above, a couple on the floor below. Mark the entrance and the exit. Eyes on the street to see them approaching. If Danny had a team of his own, he could establish some countermeasures. But he didn’t. It was just the three of them. And it didn’t matter that the General thought his liaisons with his mistress were discreet. If Danny knew the intelligence community – and he did – they would be fully aware of O’Brien’s supposedly secret trysts. They would know about his apartment, what time he tended to arrive and leave. They might even have surveillance equipment installed in the walls and other hidden places. If they had even the slightest suspicion that the General was still alive, the vaguest notion that he had re-entered the country, the three of them could be heading straight into a death-trap.

‘Stop.’ It was Bethany. Her voice was a shocked whisper. They were driving along a street lined with shops. ‘Pull in,’ she said. ‘Back up.’

‘What the . . .’

‘Do it, Danny. I think I just saw something. You need to see it too.’

The road was busy. Danny earned himself some angry beeps as he put two wheels up on to the sidewalk and reversed several metres, past a drug store and a McDonald’s. He came to a halt in front of a TV shop. There were several large screens in the window. Had they been any smaller, the rain lashing against the glass would have completely obscured them. But they were huge, and they all displayed the same image: Danny and Bethany, in the clothes they were wearing in Amman. Their faces looked grim and purposeful. It would not be obvious to anybody looking at the image for the first time, but Danny could immediately see that this was footage that had been taken as they strode along the corridor of the General’s hotel.

‘How the hell—’ the General started to say.

‘The hotel’s CCTV,’ Danny said. ‘Your people have hacked it. Or they’ve leant on the Jordanians. One or the other.’

The picture disappeared. The news reel moved on. Danny silently pulled out into the traffic again. He felt sick. He tried to work out what it meant. Were they reporting that the Brits had launched an op to assassinate the General? The President’s Wagner Group contacts would have seen Danny and Bethany leave with him. They would be wondering who they were and what they were doing.