The Phoenix Affair

by Paul Clark

  *****

  Cameron and General Fahd walked quickly and talked little, needing to put some distance between them and the scene of the crime. They circled around the block and were now headed south one street east of where they’d left the mugged short man, and they would soon be several blocks south as well. Cameron was betting that if he could follower would try to continue north toward the river searching for them, and he wanted to be well away, in the other direction.

  “Abu-Sean” Fahd said quietly in Arabic when he began to feel composed. “You amaze me. What was that all about, who were those men? When did your Arabic become so good? You sound like you were born in Riyadh!”

  “Hold on, slow down” Cameron said in English. “It’s not really that good, but thanks for the compliment about the accent. I’m OK with phrases here and there, but I only got about a third of what you just said. English is fine, if we keep it quiet. What did you say, again?

  Fahd repeated, a little mollified. “OK, one at a time” Cameron replied. “You were followed, right? So, someone is a little too interested in you, and maybe me if we’re together, and that’s not going to be healthy for either of us. So, we had to do something about that. I paid those guys to mug the short guy, in case we should pass by there with him in trail. He was, they did, unlucky for him, he shouldn’t have signed up. Any idea who he is, or why he’s following you?”

  “No idea who he is,” Fahd admitted, “some idea why he’s following me, although I don’t know how, and I don’t want to talk about it here in the open. What was that language you spoke to them?”

  “Spanish. I don’t know any French, and it helps to communicate with Parisians in something besides English, makes them more hospitable for some reason.” Cameron shrugged his shoulders as he walked.

  “So Spaniards can be hired in Paris to do a mugging? Are they so bloody-minded? I would never have known.”

  “No, not especially bloody minded. It was a practical thing. I don’t speak any French, I figured it’s gotta be tough to do that kind of deal in English here in Paris, so Spanish was my only choice. I got lucky and found a bar with those guys in it, and they needed the money. Otherwise, I’d have had to do it myself, which would have been messy.” Cameron blessed his luck again, quietly. “If the guy’d been armed we’d have been in big trouble. Not a good risk, so this was better. If the little guy hadn’t got on the boat, you and I would simply have walked another way, and these guys would have come out for nothing, except for my thirty euros, that is. Anyway, a hundred eighty euros is a small price to pay to have us both clear of that guy so we can talk in peace.”

  “Where are we going now?” asked Fahd. The walk was making him warm in his coat despite the chill in the air, and he noticed for the first time since the internet café that he was hungry.

  “I’m not sure, really” said Cameron, looking at his watch and then ahead on both sides of the street. “I vaguely remember a restaurant in this general area when I was here in 2005. It’s here somewhere, we’ll find it. You hungry? I’d offer a mosque, it’s going to be Isha in a few minutes, but if you permit me, I think it would be best if we avoid mosques until we sort things out a little. This restaurant, if I can find it, is kosher, so it’s OK for you.”

  “You amaze me, Paul” Fahd said again. To himself he wondered how the man could remember little details like that. Muslim rules for food are identical to kosher rules for Jews. “Yes, I could eat a horse as I believe the expression goes in your country. How far do you think? Can we talk there?”

  “Yes, that’s the plan and it’s not far. I recognize that hotel over there now, the restaurant will be another block this way, and then a half block to the left. Are you here alone, abu-Mohammed?”

  “No. I brought Fadia and little Aziz, on the pretext that the boy needs treatment for his stomach. Nothing serious, but it was an excuse. Also Miriam to help Fadia, and Mohammed to watch them when I’m out. They’re at the hotel, but they should be OK.”

  Cameron frowned in the dim light of the street lamps, and shook his head a little. “Not OK, Fahd. Whoever had you followed probably picked you up from your hotel, so they know the family is there and they know you’ll come back. We’ll have to do something about that, but with shorty down for the count back in the alley, we have some time. First, we need to talk and see where we are. How are Fadia and the children? They are all well, I hope?”

  “Splendid” said Fahd as they turned left and he saw that Cameron must have spotted his restaurant. “And how is Elizabeth, and Sean, and what is that pretty daughter of yours called?

  Cameron smiled broadly. “Elizabeth is gorgeous as usual, and she’s taken a job last year. The kids are growing up. Sean still plays soccer, sorry, football, and started at his University this last fall. Lilly, is beautiful, and destined to cause me much worry and loss of hair. She’s in her third year, studying to be a teacher.”

  “I am glad, abu-Sean. I hope I can see them again soon.”

  Just then they arrived at the restaurant and stepped inside. It was typical of Paris. There were ten tables, close together, arranged along the walls of the narrow room on either side, with a small bar at the back and the kitchen beyond that through a door. There was dark wainscoting on the walls, and wallpaper above in a Provence color scheme. Curtains across the glass front covered the lower half of the windows to just above eye level on the walk outside. The lights were Paris-dim. There was nobody else dining yet, the only person visible was a tall, thin waiter at the bar who, seeing them, put on a smile and began to walk toward the door with two menus in hand.

  They sat at a table midway down the left wall, Cameron facing the door. In a few minutes each had ordered half a roasted chicken with vegetables and rice, and each began with a bowl of onion soup as a concession to the chill outside. Cameron wanted a beer or some wine, but his friend was a most observant Muslim, and while he knew Fahd would not have minded, he chose to abstain out of respect. With the soup before them and the waiter retreated to the kitchen out of earshot, they resumed small talk. “So important not to rush with Arabs” Cameron reminded himself. “Patience, sort out all the family business first on both sides, and he will come to the point when he is ready.”

  “So, Brigadier Fahd, who has charge of the rest of the children while you are in Paris?” Cameron began.

  “Our second son, Ali. You remember him, the heavier one that spoke the best English? He is in charge, but of course I have a cousin nearby in Dhahran who will look in on all of them. In fact, Ali will take them all to al-Ha’il today or tomorrow. That is the center of our tribe’s area, you know? We have a home there, of course, and much more family to look after the children. Ali will get them all there.”

  Through this Cameron watched his friend carefully. “He’s not quite so sure about that, is he Paul?” he asked himself. Then to Fahd, “Why not leave Mohammed, isn’t he three years older, or do I miss my arithmetic?”

  “No you are right.” Fahd’s shoulders slumped and he looked depressed, the weight of his burden heavier now that he had someone to share it with. “I’ll tell you what it is, Paul” he said. “I do not quite like Mohammed’s behavior lately. He is strange, rebellious, even hostile on occasion. He says evil things to his mother, may God forgive him, and the thing that most worries me is that he has begun to affect some of the hyper-radical rubbish that these terrorist maniacs spew in their tapes on al-Jazeera. I do not know for sure, but I fear he has fallen in with a bad crowd in Dhahran or somewhere along the coast. I could not trust him with the children, not now, I had to bring him along so I can watch him myself.”

  Cameron pondered this in silence and waited. He could see Fahd trying to screw himself up to coming to the point, deciding how to begin and how to finish what he’d come for. Finally Fahd went on, a look of determination set on his worried face.

  “Well, I suppose that brings me to the point, my friend. I will te
ll you the whole story, and then you will tell me what you think is to be done. You do not mind, I hope? How is your soup, by the way?”

  “Wonderful,” and it was, Cameron was famished and as he listened he was ladling soup and crunching on the particularly delicious crusty bread one only seemed to be able to get in Europe. “Of course I do not mind, abu-Mohammed. I have come to Paris to see you, and to listen to this story, and to help if I can.”

  That seemed to cheer Fahd, and he relaxed a little. He began, “Did you know that I had a younger brother? No, I don’s suppose I would have talked about him much. His name was Isa, which you know is “Jesus” in English, but never mind that. He was an F-5 pilot out at Tabuk Air Base. You have been there, I think, back when you lived in Riyadh?”

  “Yes, we went scuba diving from there during the Eid al-Adha, after the Haj the year I was there.”

  “I thought so. You will have to tell me about it sometime. Anyway, my brother Isa was killed in a mid-air with one of his mates in the squadron, it must be twenty years ago now. Isa has a son, Saad, a good boy, and I have tried to be as much of a father to him as I could these twenty years. He is just nineteen now and will be going to university next fall, perhaps in the US. He was born there, when Isa was at Squadron Officers School in Montgomery, he is a US citizen.”

  “And now you amaze me, Brigadier. You have two of your own children with US passports I think?”

  “Yes, by the grace of God, little Aziz the last time when we were at school together. Well, now we come to the point, abu-Sean. Saad is a good boy, and like all the al-Auda he is a good Muslim, but we have none of these vermin that tried tearing the Kingdom apart several years back, thank God. Anyway, three months ago or so, he was invited to a camp in the desert, an overnight thing, you know the kind. He went to one of these, and then another. At the second one he noticed that most of the other boys also had US citizenship, nearly all. And then, at a third, there was a mullah there, and some people who looked to Saad like ‘hard men’, that was what he said. These men talked about the corruption of the al-Saud, the heresy in the kingdom, the jihad against America, and the need to use all the weapons that the faithful could muster, even the sons of the great Satan itself. I will never forget the words, Paul, just as Saad reported them to me.”

  “And what did the boy do?” Cameron asked, a little alarmed.

  “Nothing, played along. You should hear his English, he has a southern accent. He played along, as he said, he stayed for the night as planned, listened to the mullah and the others. One, at least, was older and admitted he had been in Afghanistan when the US threw out that filth, the Taliban, back in 2002. Saad came home with his friends as planned, this was just three and half weeks ago now, and he came straight up to Dhahran to me.”

  Now Cameron was very concerned. “Straight, Fahd? Tell me exactly, as much as you can, how did he come?”

  “Well, you know the road from Riyadh, my friend. It is only a three and a half hour drive, three checkpoints along the way for papers. But the boy is clever, Paul, I think he has a source for those books you used to read. One of his friends drove him, and he rode in the right seat, like a wife, dressed in abaya, so nobody knew it was him.”

  “Good,” Cameron relaxed a little. “Go on, then. He told you this story?”

  “Yes, and a little more. The mood in the camp turned militant the last night, and it seemed to him that the boys there were already in teams, teams of perhaps fifteen, and there were sixty or seventy of them there, Paul. Saad and his friend, the one he went with, felt a little left out, but that was for the good anyway. That’s it. What do you think, my friend?”

  Cameron was thinking hard, very hard. Aside from the obvious, he was wondering what he should say to Fahd about what he thought, who he was working for today, and what that might mean for the sons and nephews of General Fahd al-Auda, Royal Saudi Air Force. He wondered what seventy young Saudis with US passports were doing camping out in the desert so damned much, and who was it that brought them together like that, and what for? “Well, they weren’t playing Texas Hold ‘Em out there, and it’s no supper club, you can bet your ass on that” he told himself. He gave Fahd a look, a probing look. “The man is worried. Has he told me everything? Ahh, what about Mohammed?” He considered for a moment, then chose his course.

  “What I think, my friend, is that someone was trying to recruit young Saad, that much is clear, and I think that could be a very dangerous thing for him, and for you. But there is this to consider as well. I am surprised that it was done so openly, even these days in the Kingdom, if you’ll pardon me. To me, that indicates that these men, this “cell” I’ll call them, are a little careless, or stupid, or poorly trained and organized, or perhaps all three, or maybe just arrogant. Either way, they have made a mistake, and that means, God willing, they will make some more. As to what these people are doing, I will not venture a guess, but I can find someone back in the US that I can tell, and they will know what to do. This began for Saad three months ago, you said?”

  “Yes, I think, not more than four anyway. Is that important?” Fahd asked.

  “Could be, maybe not. This is not really my field,” he said, “but I do have some ideas old pal” he thought to himself. “Where is your nephew now, Fahd?”

  “I kept him in Dhahran with us for a week, and then he stayed a week with my cousin. I’ve sent him up to al-Ha’il by car with Ali and the rest of our children, where someone will look after him until we sort this out.”

  “Good, that’s good,” Cameron said somewhat relieved. It would be a shame if the kid got killed for camping. “Now, Fahd, we have to think a little about this, and we should get moving soon.” By now they were halfway through the chicken dinner, which was excellent, seasoned in the French style, some garlic under the skin, and cooked slowly so that it fell off the bones at a touch. “Our little friend back there in the alley will wake up soon, perhaps in another hour, and when he does he may try to get to your hotel to pick you back up if he’s fit enough, or God forbid, he calls his chief and they send someone else in his place. Before that happens, we need to decide what to do with Fadia and the kids, so we need to talk some and make a plan.”

  Fahd blanched. “I had not thought of that. Should we go now?” He began to fold his napkin and pushed his chair back.

  “No, no, I think we have a little time still. Only listen a minute while I think out loud. I think Saad was clever, coming in abaya to warn you. But, in the end, somehow, you are compromised my friend, someone knows you left Dhahran and came here, because someone in Paris is having you followed. So it is good that Saad is in Dhahran, and it is good that Ali will take the rest of your family to al Ha’il soon, and it is good that we have met here. When we’re done, we’ll go and get the family and move them to another hotel and be lost to these people for now. But tell me, what do you think of Mohammed? Is he a US citizen, and could he be mixed up with all this, too?”

  Bingo, Cameron saw. Fahd was very uncomfortable all of a sudden, and he shifted back and forth in his chair two or three times before he replied.

  “Honestly Paul, I don’t know. He is not a US citizen, and thanks be to God for that in his case. I fear, I do not know mind you, but I fear that if he were, he might love to be involved in all this. I brought him, God protect us, because he needs watching, and because I thought a taste of the real world might bring him to his senses.”

  Cameron fell silent for a few minutes, finishing the chicken and rice, then a long pull on his glass of mineral water. He thought something would eventually have to be done about Mohammed, but he hoped not soon. For the moment there were some things that could be done, and these they should do before the night got much older. He turned and signaled the waiter for the check, then back to Fahd.

  “All right, abu Mohammed, time for us to get moving. First, we find an internet café. By the way, what was the name of your contact?”


  “Smith,” Fahd said matter-of-factly.

  “Mine, too,” They both chuckled at that. “We need to email Smith. It’s occurred to me that he may have the means to either detain or to follow our little menace back there, and either way that will buy us some time. It may even lead to his chief, which would be still better. While we’re on the internet we find you a new hotel, and I pay, not you. Actually, you’ll be the guest of the US government for now, not to worry. Now, we need to talk about picking up Fadia and the kids. Do you think she’d remember me, and would you feel comfortable if I went to get them? The thing is, I think it’d be better if you did not go back there, just to be on the safe side.”

  “What do you mean by safe, Paul. Are they in immediate danger, God help me!”

  “No, absolutely not. But, think of it Fahd. Someone knows what you look like well enough to follow you. We have one of them out of action for the moment, but there are almost certainly others. Who knows how long it’s been since the short guy checked in with his boss, or when he’s supposed to? What if he’s late already? What if the boss is suspicious and sends someone else to watch the hotel while he tries to find out what happened to the little guy? No, I don’t think there’s an immediate danger to the family, but you can’t go back there. On the other hand, nobody’s seen me.”

  “I see, of course, you are right my friend. What else, then?”

  “Let’s go to an internet café, you ask this guy (he pointed at the waiter at the back) where there’s one nearby, I have no French, you know. We find a hotel and I book it with one of Uncle Sam’s credit cards. Then, we call your hotel. You talk to Fadia, tell her I’m coming to collect her and ask her to pack everything up. Tell her nobody is to use the phone and they’re all to stay together, in the room, until I come. I’ll take a taxi, maybe two, and bring her and the kids. You go in advance to the new hotel and make sure everything’s ready. Do you want one room, or two, or a suite, my friend?

  “A suite if we can get it, with two bedrooms and a pullout in the living room for Mohammed, that’s what we have now. How long will we stay there, Paul?”

  “One step at a time, Fahd, I’m new at this little game, and I’m not that good at it yet.” The check came and Cameron counted out enough Euros to cover it. “What do you think, will she be OK with me picking her up?” He thought for a moment, decided. “One other thing, Fahd. Can the women come out to the taxi without abaya on? It would be easier to disguise them if they didn’t look like, well, themselves. Together, without the abaya, we might look like an American family at this hour going out to dinner together.” Cameron had never seen the face of either Fadia or the daughter Miriam. It was a tough question to ask.

  Fahd considered. “Abu Sean,” he said finally, “If I ask her, Fadia will consent to letting you collect her and the children, for the safety of the children, probably only because Mohammed will be there as well. But, my friend, I’m afraid not even the Prophet himself, Peace be upon Him, could convince her to show her face to anyone but her husband and close relatives. Do you know she wears abaya to greet my own brothers? And Mohammed would go crazy anyway. No, that won’t work, but not because I don’t wish it could, my friend. It will have to be with abaya, there is no other way.”

  “Well, then, that will be good enough, abu Mohammed” Cameron shrugged, and he had the beginnings of a plan in mind for the hotel. “Let’s go find this internet café, we need to get to work.” It was nearing seven-thirty in Paris. The two men rose and left the restaurant much refreshed, and heading East they set off for the internet café.