‘Forgive me, Your Excellency, but I didn’t come here to argue over the war in that country. That war doesn’t have anything to do with this.’
‘If you think that, you’re a fool. That war is part of the war that has gone on between the Sunni and the Shia since those unworthies chose to name prophets of their own and reject the will of Allah and his prophet, Muhammed.’
‘Saddam Hussein was a sadistic dictator who menaced the world,’ Hamilton snarled, taking a step forward. ‘If we’d let him be, he might eventually have put his boot on the back of your neck. Brave American servicemen put their lives on the line to preserve the peace in the Middle East. I won’t have you talking ill of them.’
One of Khalid’s personal guards took a step forward, but Webster threw out a hand to stop Hamilton, and Khalid gestured to his men to stay back. The prince’s right hand wrapped round the butt of one of his pistols.
‘No man will put his boot on my neck,’ Khalid said in a low, threatening voice. ‘I promise you that.’
‘Perhaps we could all take a step back,’ Webster suggested. The situation was getting out of control faster than he’d thought it would. Part of him was glad to see that, but he knew he had at least to appear to keep control of things.
‘What your government did was mask its villainy and greed as patriotism,’ Khalid growled. ‘China’s economy has been steadily rising, and they’ve been able to match your dwindling American dollars for oil. My country, in fact all the Middle East, would be better served to sell oil to China and India than to the United States. Our profits will be greater and the risk will be less.’
‘Until the Chinese decide to annex the Middle East,’ Napier said evenly. ‘It’s been a habit with them for millennia, you know.’
‘Ah, Mr Napier, I was wondering when you would have something to say. To counter your supposition, the United States never managed to annex the Middle East, although they certainly succeeded in making their presence felt, so what makes you think the Chinese would be any more fortunate?’
‘Americans aren’t inclined to pursue war unilaterally -’ the prince snorted in derision – ‘with a very few exceptions,’ Napier continued smoothly. ‘And our recent experiences in that arena have confirmed our reluctance to do so as good policy.’
‘The Chinese can roll an army right into your country,’ Hamilton said. ‘Do you really think you’ve got soldiers and hardware that will stand up to them? Or even be willing to stand up to them?’
‘I would sooner choose to believe that than that the United States would stay to protect us. Your country doesn’t have a good record of defending other nations when the price gets too high.’ Khalid said. ‘And your people, your soldiers, wouldn’t be fighting for my people. They would be fighting for the oil.’
‘Common interests,’ Hamilton said. ‘That’s what makes brothers of people.’
Khalid lifted his eyebrows. ‘So now we’re brothers? Then I suppose it was your father and brother who were murdered also?’
Hamilton cursed beneath his breath.
‘Familial relationships notwithstanding,’ Webster said, ‘we do have common interests.’
‘We sell, you buy,’ Khalid said. ‘We could have that relationship with anyone. The United States, however, can’t. Your people depend on us for oil, but now we find ourselves surrounded by people who could depend on us for the same thing without having any of them meddle in our business and seek to impose restrictions on how we handle our relations with other nations in this area.’
‘We have domestic oil wells that can pony up and deliver more oil if we need to,’ Hamilton threatened.
‘So you say. Yet, when oil prices soared, your country paid and didn’t aggressively seek to increase domestic production.’ Khalid shook his head. ‘No, your government worries about the domestic supply of oil and they hoard what they possess like a fearful widow.’
Hamilton turned to Webster. ‘It ain’t worth it to talk to this joker.’
‘Your country,’ Khalid went on, ‘has made a habit of becoming friends with an oil-producing country, forcing economic treaties on them through bribery and coercion, rewarding the handful that hold the most power in that country while ignoring the struggling masses, then siphoning the oil away until there’s nothing left. When the oil is gone, so is the goodwill. My country is not some road kill waiting for carrion birds to pick her bones clean.’
‘Your Excellency,’ Webster said, ‘that’s not what we’re here to do.’
‘Nonsense,’ Khalid said. ‘That’s exactly what you’ve been doing for years. Let’s fantasize for a moment. Let’s say that China does indeed decide to take advantage of us and invade because we insist on trading with United States and our output cannot meet the demands of both countries. Let’s fantasize further and say that the United States even chooses to enter a land war against the Chinese.’ He turned his attention to Napier. ‘And let’s say Mr Napier’s corporation became successful in finding an alternative fuel energy source that is competitive in price – maybe even slightly higher than the cost of oil.’ The prince’s voice became even quieter but had a harder edge to it. ‘How long do you think it would take America to withdraw its armies?’
‘Those things you worry about are a long way off,’ Webster said. ‘It would take an enormous amount of time to turn a country like ours around from petroleum-based products to something else.’
‘Perhaps in your vision.’ Khalid looked out at the city again. ‘Not in mine. That future lies just round the corner. I have seen this future in my dreams. My father would never recognize that it exists.’
‘Maybe it would be better if we could talk again in a few days,’ Webster replied. ‘When your mind is more settled.’
Khalid faced him. ‘My mind is settled. I have not had myself crowned king today because I chose to wait for that honour until after my father’s and family’s murders are resolved. Then I will take my crown, and I will take my people. I will initiate a cleansing of my country. All those who live within our borders who do not live according to the rules of the Prophet will be driven out or killed. I will not be merciful or foolish as my father was. I know who my enemies are, and I will not suffer them to live in my kingdom.’
‘My God,’ Vicky whispered.
Webster noted the fear that had settled into his companions.
He rejoiced.
They would return to their hotel rooms and spread that fear to others among them who had money and investments in the Middle East. Panic would ensue. It wouldn’t just end with the collapse of confidence in the economic sectors in America and the Western world. It would also affect the military when the Pentagon realized how many of its soldiers and materials might be at risk. It looked like his timetable for the Middle East meltdown had just escalated.
‘How are you going to resolve your father’s murder?’ Webster asked.
‘I will find the Shia assassins responsible, and I will have them executed. I have military teams already closing in on the men behind that cowardly attack.’
Webster knew that was only because Colonel Anthony Eckart had left a false trail behind him leading to known Shia dissidents within Saudi Arabia. The frame would be believable. And in the end, who knew? Those Shia dissidents might even claim credit for killing the king and his family members.
Khalid focused on Webster. ‘There is another matter I would speak to you about. Perhaps you could help.’
‘Of course, if I can.’
Khalid nodded to one of his personal guards, who walked to another door and opened it. The guard led another man into the room. He was in his twenties. White gauze covered his left cheek and his right forearm. Scabs clung to recent lacerations all over his body. He walked with a limp.
‘Do you know this man?’ Khalid asked.
Webster made a show of looking at the man, but didn’t recognize him. ‘No. Am I supposed to?’
The man stood trembling, sucking in air and looking at the floor as if afraid to look
anywhere else.
‘His name is Farok,’ Khalid said. ‘He came to me seeking asylum. He claims to have worked for your CIA.’
‘I wouldn’t know anything about that.’
Khalid smiled, but the expression was frosty and distant. ‘I suppose if it were true or false, you would deny it all the same.’
Webster didn’t bother to reply.
‘He insists that the CIA hired him and his friends to abduct a man from Ataturk International Airport only a few days ago. A man named Professor Thomas Lourds. Do you know that man?’
‘I know who he is, of course. That story of the attack on him has been in the news. The last I heard, Professor Lourds had been allowed to stay in Istanbul to pursue his studies.’
‘He has,’ Khalid commented. ‘This one managed to elude the police, but he brought back an interesting story. Would you like to hear it?’
Webster made himself remain calm. This wasn’t at all expected. ‘Of course, Your Excellency. If you think it’s of interest.’
‘This story is of interest.’ Khalid walked behind the trembling man and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘This man went on to tell me that not only was he supposed to take this professor captive, but he was also supposed to find out if the professor was in possession of a document.’
‘A document?’
‘Yes, evidently something of historical significance regarding Istanbul’s religious history. Do you know anything about that?’
‘No,’ Webster lied. He throttled back his anger that somewhere there had been a leak. It had been ill-timed luck after all that the Joy Scroll had turned up at the same time he was making his move on the Middle East. Dawson should never have told anyone they were looking for a religious manuscript.
‘Perhaps,’ Khalid suggested in a neutral tone, ‘you could make enquiries when you have the time.’
‘Of course.’
‘Istanbul is an important city to my people’s history.’
‘And to mine.’
‘Muslims and Christians have warred there for centuries,’ Khalid acknowledged. ‘That city contains the histories of both our cultures, and any religious documentation would be of great interest to me.’
‘I understand.’
‘I have sent a contingent of warriors to Istanbul in hopes of securing that document.’
‘If it exists,’ Webster countered.
Khalid stepped back from the handcuffed man. ‘It is no secret to me that there are spies among my people. I know some of them belong to you. This man feared for his life, and he came to my father seeking absolution for his sins against us. Is this not true, Farok?’
‘Yes, my king.’
‘My father would have forgiven him and perhaps sought to find a way to use Farok to find out more of what the CIA wishes to know about my country.’
Vicky suddenly closed her hand over Webster’s. Her nails bit into his palm. ‘My God,’ she whispered, and turned her head away.
Evidently sensing what was about to come, the handcuffed man tried to turn round and duck at the same time. He raised his hands to defend himself. With a quick movement, Khalid whipped the sword from his back. He slashed sideways at the man standing in front of him. The blade cut through the prisoner’s hands and caught the man just under his jaw line. The keen edge passed cleanly through flesh and bone. Blood sprayed over Khalid and the window as severed fingers rained to the floor and wriggled. Crimson stained the prince’s thawb, ghutra, and face. He stood without flinching.
The decapitated man dropped to the floor and sprawled as he jerked through the final moments of his life.
Khalid knelt and cleaned his sword on the dead man’s clothing before returning the weapon to the sheath across his back. Then he stood and addressed Webster.
‘I am not my father,’ the prince said as blood trickled down his grim features. ‘I will not be betrayed. And this country will become strong in its faith in God. My enemies will not be forgiven or ignored.’ He stepped over the corpse. ‘Do you understand, Vice-President Webster?’
‘Of course.’ Webster had to work to sound shocked. He was surprised by Khalid’s personal bloodthirstiness, but that trait would only make his plans work out better.
However, the prince’s knowledge of the events in Istanbul could pose a problem there. But Webster reconciled himself with knowing Eckart and his men should be on the ground there now. The prince would be too late.
Thomas Lourds would be in Webster’s custody again soon.
15
Istanbul University
Beyazit Square
Istanbul, Turkey
19 March 2010
‘Do you know who the author of that book is?’
Despite his longer legs, Lourds struggled to keep pace with Olympia as she strode down the halls of the college where she taught history. Several students remained on campus for afternoon and evening classes. Conversations buzzed all round and bright laughter seemed counterpoint to the dark, anxious mood that had infected Olympia so suddenly and mysteriously.
‘No name was given.’
‘Any other names?’
‘No. None.’ Exasperated, Lourds reached out and caught her wrist. He brought her to a halt beside one of the glass display cases that held Roman weapons. ‘What’s going on? What has you so concerned?’
Her liquid eyes held his. ‘Just trust me, Thomas. Wait just a moment longer.’ She took a breath. ‘Before I try to explain any of this to you, I need to show you some files. The thing you deciphered has a long history and we don’t know all the answers.’
‘We?’
‘I can’t talk about that yet. You don’t know what you’re dealing with. Or how important it is.’
‘There was just a message,’ Lourds said. ‘I’m not convinced that it is anything important yet.’
Olympia placed her slim hand over his mouth. ‘Don’t tell me about it for the moment. I need to wait. I want to think about this as clearly as I can and be as prepared as I’m able. Understand?’
Having no other choice, physically as well as logically, Lourds nodded.
She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into motion again. They barrelled up two flights of stairs at an embarrassing speed. Olympia was small enough and slim enough to slip between the students without a problem. Lourds wasn’t so aerodynamically built, being taller and broader. The backpack made him more awkward. He inadvertently bumped into a few students while trying to remain on his feet. He excused himself as best he could.
Mild cursing and a few snickers as well as comments about why Professor Adnan and the visiting professor were in such a hurry chased them up the steps.
Finally, Olympia reached the top of the stairs and headed for her office. She pulled her keys from her purse before she reached the door. The frosted glass pane held precise black lettering in English and Arabic that read:
PROFESSOR OLYMPIA ADNAN
DEPARTMENT OF HISTORY
The key rasped in the lock and finally turned. Olympia took a final wary glance over her shoulder and headed inside. After Lourds followed her, she locked the door behind them.
The office was clean and tidy, the books neatly organized on the shelves, and the desk immaculate. Artefacts from the Roman and Ottoman empires that had helped build Constantinople were artfully arranged in shadow boxes. Lourds had been through Olympia’s collection before and found nothing unique. She had gathered most of the items during her grad-school years when she occasionally went out into the field on digs with archaeologists. She had proudly shown Lourds photographs of those days, but she had never pined to return to them. One of her favourite artefacts was a vase depicting an image of a young woman kneeling before a young man. Carbon dating had verified that it had come from the Mycenean period, probably around 1600 BC. It had belonged to a believer in the Eleusinian Mysteries, which had been based on the mythology of Demeter and Persephone.
Persephone was the daughter of Zeus and Demeter, brother and sister gods, and she’d be
en seized by Hades, her uncle. Hades had taken her to the underworld to live after he’d fallen in love with her. Zeus had given his permission for the kidnapping, but Demeter had brought eternal winter to the world of mortals in her grief. At length, Demeter had freed her daughter from the underworld for nine months of the year, providing an explanation for the winter months to those people who wondered about such things. The Eleusinian Mysteries, one of the so-called Mysteries practised in the Graeco-Roman period because they continued without benefit of doctrine or written support, had been instituted to define some men and women as more godlike than others. Which, Lourds reflected wryly, was often the case with religion.
The other piece on her desk was from the Ottoman Empire at the time the Roman empire entered its decline. Olympia had found a sizeable trove of artefacts on a local dig and had received a plate depicting Osman’s Dream.
Osman I had been the nickname of the charismatic and idealistic king of the empire during its glory days. Although even during the days of its telling, the idea of Osman’s Dream was never accepted as a real event, it was nonetheless attributed to him. In his ‘dream’, Osman was driven to conquer the lands round the borders of his empire by a vision of a big tree with roots spreading through three continents. The branches had woven throughout the sky. As a result, he’d formed the Ottoman government that changed the lives of everyone living within the empire, and those who became subjects of it.
‘Sit down.’ Olympia waved him to a chair while she knelt in front of her bookshelf. ‘If you’re going to keep anything secret in your office, where should you keep it?’
‘On the lowest shelf,’ Lourds replied immediately. ‘All the other professors will probably be too old and fat to get at it. And the young ones will be too proud to search.’
Despite her tense mood, Olympia laughed. ‘And if that isn’t the case, most of them aren’t athletically inclined enough to get up quickly. So if they’re snooping, you’ll catch them.’
The Lucifer Code Page 18
