The Camelot Code by Sam Christer Page B

the chance to run rather than fight.’ He raises his eyes. ‘Then I called and told you what had happened.’
    Nabil remembers his horror at learning of the raid. Halem had indeed been the first to alert him and, had he not, maybe he would have been arrested or killed by the Americans. ‘There is a traitor among us. Of that, I am sure. It may be one of you, or perhaps even Abbas or Samir. For the moment, I cannot be certain. But I will be.’ He puts a hand on the man at his side. ‘Aasif, show them how we will find out.’
    The enforcer dips his hands into a black garbage bag that the imam has given him and lifts out a thick fold of light brown canvas. As he unrolls it, a tangle of coloured wires and deep pockets packed with explosives and shrapnel become visible.
    ‘Tonight,’ says Nabil, ‘at the height of rush hour, one of our sisters will walk into Grand Central Station and turn a dull New York day into a truly historic one.’

35
     
GLASTONBURY, ENGLAND
     
    The daily briefing paper that Lance places in Owain’s hands is not dissimilar to one that will shortly be passed to the President of the United States.
    But this missive hasn’t been compiled by US or even British intelligence agencies. It’s come from the Arthurians’ Watch Team, a hand-picked group of security experts who gather information on the biggest threats to world security.
    Today’s dossier runs from A-U. From Afghanistan and Algeria to Uzbekistan. Down the alphabet of terrorism, Owain learns of changes in strength, new affiliations and successful and failed strikes. He picks up early intelligence on Cambodia’s Khmer Rouge, the Zviadists in Georgia, the Japanese Aum Supreme Truth movement, Hamas, and the Harakat ul-Ansar in Pakistan. He reads and absorbs it all, then settles on the separate paper that is always prepared for him.
    The one marked MARDRID .
    The title is the name of a company in the Spanish capital that is a front for an arms supplier, delivering tanks to Syria, warplanes to Iran, missiles to North Korea without compunction. Its CEO is Josep Mardrid, entrepreneur and evil personified.
    Owain reads each line carefully, knowing that somewhere in the world Mardrid is most probably perusing a detailed report about him and his various activities. If Myrddin’s prophecies are right, they will meet again soon. Just as their ancestors did. Then there will be blood. Such a torrent of blood that it will sweep away some of the finest lives the world has ever known.

36
     
BRITISH EMBASSY, WASHINGTON DC
     
    ‘You’re going the wrong way.’ Irish jabs a thumb towards the front gate as he fishes for the last of the clean tissues in his pocket. ‘The car and the exit are over there.’
    ‘I’ve never had a good sense of direction.’ Mitzi saunters down the service road that snakes around the back of the embassy.
    He sneezes then asks her, ‘Where you going?’
    ‘Garage will be down here. I figure we have less than five minutes before the Head of Ambassadorial Whitewash checks with security that we’ve gone.’
    Irish struggles to keep up. ‘Hey, we have no warrant and my captain doesn’t even know that we’re here. He’ll kick my ass if you cause any problems.’
    ‘Thought you said your ass was hard and kick-resistant?’
    ‘I lied. I have a soft pussy of an ass, a real —’
    ‘Enough, or I’ll kick it myself.’
    They follow the road as it winds through the cover of giant trees. In the clearing is a crop of old outbuildings and a spread of blacktop where embassy cars are parked.
    Near the vehicles are a gas pump, oil drums, and a long single-storey garage with rolled up doors. Inside is a dark-brown Range Rover that looks several years old and alongside it, a black Jaguar, a supercharged XJL.
    Mitzi’s gaze skips over the roofs and hoods. Right at the back she sees a silver Lincoln MKZ, with a panoramic roof.
    ‘Well looky look!’ She runs her fingers down the wing. ‘Don’t this seem familiar?’
    ‘This