Free The Camelot Code by Sam Christer Page B

entrance of the British Embassy. Both cops clock the plethora of surveillance cameras and heavy-duty guards with machine-guns and sniffer dogs.
    Irish winds down the window and dangles his ID for a gate guard. ‘We’re investigating a major crime and need to speak to the ambassador, or one of his representatives.’
    The security man lifts the road barrier. ‘Park over there and we’ll do some checks, then I’ll take you round to the rear entrance. One of the consular officials will come and speak to you.’
    ‘Thanks.’ Irish drives through and parks in a visitor space.
    Mitzi gets out and takes in the red brick and ivy, the grand windows and pristine gardens. ‘
Not bad
. I guess at a push I could live here.’

31
     
THE BRONX, NEW YORK
     
    Nabil Tabrizi has been a cell commander for only eighteen months. The bomb factory was his first big responsibility. One he screwed up.
    He knows the CIA didn’t simply get lucky. His operation was taken out two days before they were ready to blow up Wall Street. Someone acted on top-quality information. Possibly from the inside.
    Brought up in The Bronx, he is outwardly as much a New Yorker as most. But his heart has been with al-Qaeda ever since he was bullied at school for being Muslim. Long before his cousin was beaten to death by rednecks because he bore the same name as Khalid Sheik Mohammed, one of the masterminds of the World Trade Center attacks.
    Nabil meets his contact in a back room of a lawyer’s office near Stan’s Sports bar, a ball’s throw from the Yankee Stadium. The thin, black-eyed man sits in the shadows.
    ‘You have been compromised from within, Nabil.’ The words hang in the musty air. ‘You do realize that, don’t you?’
    ‘Yes, I do, Imam.’ He knows he must be both contrite and focused if he is to survive. ‘I am very sorry this has happened.’
    ‘Do you have any idea who it might be?’
    ‘Not Abbas or Samir. They were both taken by the authorities. And not Tamir; he was killed.’
    ‘Who does that leave?’
    ‘Halem and Malek are the only others. Malek was the bomb-maker, so I don’t think it was him.’
    ‘Then it may be Halem. But who is least known to you?’
    He has to think for a moment. ‘Samir and Halem.’
    ‘This Halem, has he run?’
    ‘No. He is still around, which is why I think it may not be him.’
    The Imam scratches at his beard. ‘It is not impossible that the Americans have arrested one of their own, in order to make him look guilty. They could always release him later and say they had to because of judicial problems.’
    ‘You think it might be one of them?’
    ‘I think nothing, Nabil. These are your men – it is you who must think. Think and act decisively. Does the holy book not tell us “fight the unbelievers around you, and let them find harshness in you?”’
    ‘Yes, Imam, it does.’
    ‘Then that is what you must do.’
    Nabil feels relieved. He is going to be given a second chance. ‘When I look into their faces, I will know who betrayed me.’
    The Iman raises his arm and knocks twice on the wall behind him. The shadowy space he’s sitting in is broken by yellow light from an opening door. A large, olive-skinned man enters, dressed in baggy white trousers and a white vest that showcases gym-pumped arms. His head has been shaved and his angular face is framed in a beard shadow as dark as his eyes.
    ‘This is Aasif,’ he explains. ‘My most trusted enforcer. For now, he is your new recruit. He will help protect you and get to the truth.’
    ‘Thank you.’ Nabil bows his head in gratitude.
    Aasif steps out of the shadows and stands intimidatingly close to his new colleague.
    ‘I have a test for you and your men.’ He looks up to the giant at his side. ‘Take him in the back room, Aasif and show him our “lie detector”.’
    Through the shadows, Nabil sees a glint of teeth, the hint of a rare smile.
    ‘Go. It will help you determine who your traitor is – and teach the Americans a