“Is she in there?” the bodyguard repeated.
Rassa tightened in panic then shook his head. “You do not want her,” he hissed, his voice husky with rage. It was the voice of a fighter at the edge of a war. “It is me you have come for! Leave her alone!”
He took a quick step toward the guard while glancing at the holster underneath the dark suit. If they had come for Azadeh then he would die in their way.
The leader ignored Rassa and nodded to the bedroom. “Check it out,” he said.
The smaller guard nodded and slowly pushed the door open. Stepping into the room, he pulled a tiny flashlight from his pocket and flashed it inside. He saw the sleeping girl, her head buried on the side of her pillow. He swept the light quickly, taking in the simple bed, small chest, and white wicker drawer. A small collection of colorful dresses, silken hajib headscarves and full burkas were hanging from a rope tied across the far corner. A golden headband had been neatly arranged on top of the dresser. On the floor next to the bureau was a pair of sandals and leather shoes. He studied the room carefully, then stepped back and closed the door.
Rassa was waiting at the door, a look of rage on his face. He relaxed his glare only slightly when the guard closed the door. “Who are you?” he hissed. “What are you doing here? I have nothing to hide! I have nothing you want!”
The two guards didn’t answer as they nodded to each other. The larger man moved to the front door, pushed it open and raised his right hand. The automobiles turned off their engines. Rassa heard the car doors open, then the sound of soft footsteps. He waited, then moved to the center of the kitchen, placing himself between Azadeh’s bedroom and the front door.
A young woman entered the room, her dark eyes bewildered and red. She was dressed in a dark burka and leather sandals, and she pulled a deep blue shawl tightly over her shoulders. She moved to a position beside the wall, then pushed her burka back, revealing a long mane of dark hair. Another man followed, dressed in an exquisite dark suit. Rassa saw him and stepped back, sucking in a quick breath of air. The intruder walked into the room with the confidence of a king, his shoulders square, his head high, his eyes constantly moving with suspicion but still clear and sure. Rassa dropped to one knee as the prince moved through the room, the social chasm between them demanding he bow with respect.
The prince moved toward him and extended his hand. Rassa stood and the prince pulled him to his chest, kissing both of his cheeks in a display of respect.
Rassa dropped his eyes in confusion. What was this man doing here?
The prince stepped back and took in Rassa, measuring his appearance from his head to his feet. The woman remained near the doorway, her eyes dull with fright. The prince turned back to Rassa and gripped him by his shoulders. “Rassa Ali Pahlavi,” he asked, “do you know who I am?”
“You are Crown Prince Saud, oldest son of King Fahd bin Saud Aziz, monarch of the House of Saud, grandson of King Saud Aziz, future Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques, keeper of the Holy Cities of Mecca and Medina.”
Prince Saud nodded. Good. That was good. His cousin might have been raised in one of the most remote villages in the mountains, but clearly he was not an illiterate fool. He had read. He remembered. And he was aware. Some of the prince’s own citizens would not have recognized him and only one in a hundred Iranians would have known who he was. He nodded with approval, then motioned toward the young women. “Do you know her as well?” he demanded.
Rassa kept his head low, afraid of meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I do not know who she is.”
The prince nodded again. That was good as well. She mustn’t be recognized if their plan was to work. And he had doubted she would be, not here in the Iranian mountains, so far from their home.
The royal sons were rarely photographed inside their own country, and it was strictly forbidden to photograph their children or wives. This wasn’t England after all, with their maniacal fascination with the royal family. This was the House of Saud, the Kingdom of Arabia, Keeper of the Holy Cities. Theirs wasn’t a monarchy of fairy tales and magic castles, a kingdom of tabloids, gossip and family secrets revealed. The House of Saud was a kingdom of power, the kingdom of Allah on earth and paparazzi were simply not tolerated in their press. The royal wives and their daughters led luxurious but anonymous lives. It had always been thus and it would always be so, for it would have been demeaning to Allah and Mohammad for the women of the royal family to live public lives.
Which meant the princess could stay here if she would not be recognized.
Prince Saud nodded to the princess. “You do not know who she is?” he repeated.
“No, my Sayid. Should I recognize her?”
Prince Saud watched Rassa closely as he searched for any shadow that he was not telling the truth. Did he truly not know her? Would his eyes give him away?
Rassa’s face didn’t change. He did not know who the princess was.
The prince breathed a shallow sigh of relief.
It might actually work.
He studied Rassa again. His men had been investigating his cousin for almost a year, and there was little about Rassa that the prince didn’t know. And though the final plans had been laid some months before, when the prince first became convinced they might actually come after his family, this was the first time he had seen him and he wanted to take his measure.
Rassa held the prince’s gaze, never looking away. This man might be a prince, but this was his home. And no man was his master, a least not in this place.
Over the years the prince had learned how to measure a man. He had learned to distinguish between his enemies and friends, measuring secret ambitions and hidden desires, to recognize those who loved him and those who wished to bring him harm. Staring into Rassa’s eyes, he saw no guile in him. This was a good man, straightforward and honest and for the first time in days, the prince began to relax.
He took a step toward Rassa. “We are not strangers,” he said. “One of my grandfathers, your grandfathers, they were cousins I believe.”
Rassa nodded. The genealogy was not unfamiliar to him. “That was many generations back. Maybe even five hundred years.”
“Yes, but the bloodlines of royalty are extremely pure. We are far more closely related than you might at first guess.”
Rassa thought for a moment, getting past his surprise and fear. “Our forebears were enemies,” he added after reviewing the genealogy in his mind.
The prince smiled. “Yes, they traded a share of their men’s lives in battles, there is no doubt about that. But they were not unfriendly, I think. They were sheiks fighting for their kingdoms and to protect their gold, but when the day was over, I suppose they were friends. That was business, that was then, and of course this is now. So you and I, we are family. And the bonds of our ancestors that tie us are far stronger than any blood that has been spilt in the past.”
Rassa paused, then answered sadly.
“When the battle is over,
And the evening winds come,
When spear tips glint in the twilight,
And the skirmish is done.
Then I hope I am standing,
And brother, I hope you are too
For on the other side of the war ground,
I will be thinking of you.”
The prince stood without moving. The ancient sonnet was familiar. Then he frowned, his eyes narrowing with heartsickness as he repeated the verse.
“Then I hope I am standing,
And brother, I hope you are too
For on the other side of the war ground,
I will be thinking of you.”
He stole a glance at his woman, who stared at him in grief.
Not this time. Not his brothers. They only wished he was dead. He stood in mute silence, then suddenly shook his head.
Rassa stood close by, waiting, as Crown Prince Saud looked at him.
“Rassa Ali Pahlavi,” he began, “I have come to you because I need your help. M
y life is in great danger. My wife is in great danger too. And the only son I have left is outside in my car.
“I am bringing him to you for protection. I bring him to you so he will live and one day be king. But his life is in great danger, for there are many around us who would not have it be so.”
The room was deadly silent. Rassa gazed at the prince in disbelief, his mouth growing dry. Prince Saud nodded to his bodyguards, who motioned to each other and walked quietly from the house.
ELEVEN
The men were seated on the wooden floor, their legs tucked underneath them as they leaned against cotton cushions. A cup of chai sat between them, thick as molasses, sweet as sugar, and strong enough to give an almost instant rush of energy. The smell permeated the room, warm and syrupy, and a thin wisp of steam rose from their porcelain cups. The young princess sat silently beside her husband. She reached out her hand and he squeezed it, then let it go.
The bodyguards took up positions outside the small home and Rassa could hear their footsteps through the thin glass windows as they moved around the house and through the courtyard. Rassa realized they were keeping to the shadows, never revealing themselves as they moved from the corner of the small house to the line of trees on the north and west sides.
The prince turned toward Rassa and folded his arms. “I’m going to ask you a question,” he said.
Rassa’s back stiffened and he drew a tight breath.
“Do you understand why you are here?” Prince Saud asked in a low voice.
“Why am I here?” Rassa answered, a puzzled look on his face.
“Yes. Do you know why you’re here?”
Rassa stared at him blankly, confusion narrowing his brow. “I am here, Crown Prince Saud because . . . well because this is my home.”
The prince shook his head. “No, Rassa Ali Pahlavi, that is not what I meant. Why are you here? Why did God give you life? For what purpose were you born?”
“The purpose of life is to surrender my will to Allah,” Rassa answered automatically, repeating the words he had learned and repeated every day since he was no more than two.
The prince nodded impatiently. “Yes, Rassa, of course. But think beyond the Qur’an. I want you to tell me more.”
Rassa thought in bewildered silence. “Your Majesty,” he whispered, his voice trailing off. He looked at his chai, keeping his eyes on the floor. He finally shrugged his shoulders. “I do not know what to say.”
The prince leaned toward him. “I have spent most of my life studying the holy teachings of the Qur’an,” he said. “I am both by nature and training a deeply religious man. I have responsibilities to the kingdom, but more, I have responsibilities to Allah. Because of this, I have spent my life studying with the masters; the best educated Muslim philosophers anywhere in the world. And this is what I have come to believe. The Qur’an teaches that each man has a reason for living. Allah fates certain things, and he has brought me here, Rassa, to speak with you tonight. He has a purpose for you, Rassa and I know his will.”
“Whatever you ask, I will do it,” Rassa trembled in reply before he quickly added Insha’allal. If it is God’s will.
Saud lowered his voice. “My kingdom stands on the edge of a precipice,” he whispered. “We look over a terrible and deadly abyss. There are those within my country, even those within my own family, who want us to fail. There are those in my councils who crave a final battle with the West. There are those who believe we have a sacred obligation to join the jihad and are willing to do whatever it takes to make their dreams come true.
“They are dangerous. Extremely dangerous. They are a secret band of brothers, bound by blood oaths and lies. And they are not driven by a dedication to Allah! They are not driven by religion or a vision of a greater Islam!! They are driven by power! They are driven by hate! They are evil and deadly men who want to conquer our world.
“And like the shadows that spread when the sun sets, they grow even darker as the evening comes on. Yet no one notes their growing power, for the darkness settles so slowly it is nearly imperceptible. But their influence is spreading. I’m the only thing that stands in their way. And I am afraid.”
Rassa stared openmouthed. It seemed impossible! The most powerful man in Saudi Arabia! One of the most powerful men in the world! He could not understand it! But as he gazed at the prince, Rassa saw a cold look of fear.
Prince Saud dropped his eyes and a shadow crossed his face. “Early this evening I buried my family,” he explained. “My first wife and our children. A daughter. Two sons. Another son who was not even born yet also died in his mother’s womb.” He shot another pained look at his second wife, then slowly went on. “The only son I have left is outside in the car. I have brought him to you, Rassa, because you are my kin. I have brought my wife and child to you because I need you to keep them safe. There is nowhere in the kingdom that they could not be found. But here,” he gestured, “in these mountains, in this tiny village in Iran, they will be safe for a few days. And that’s all I need; a few days to destroy my enemies, that’s all I’m asking for right now.”
Rassa bowed in submission then gestured to his simple house. “But Sayid,” he questioned, “look at my home. It is unworthy of the princess. It is unworthy of your son.”
“My poverty is my pride,” the prince quoted the Qur’an in reply.
“But I am a simple man, Your Highness. A simple man who is trying to survive on my own.”
“Which is why this will work. They will never suspect! And Rassa, this isn’t a decision I came to rashly. I have thought this through. And I know in my heart this is the right thing to do.”
“But Sayid,” Rassa argued, “a young prince! In my home!”
“Listen to me!” Saud answered quickly, his voice growing strained. “You are Rassa Ali Pahlavi! The royal blood runs through your veins as it has run through your fathers for almost two thousand years! You cannot dismiss that! And they can’t take it from you! We share royal blood, Rassa! That is why I came to you!”
Rassa was silent and the prince pointed a finger. “They will be looking for him,” he prodded, his voice stained from fatigue and fear. “They will search through my kingdom, they will turn every rock, every reed, every reel. They will follow my movements, always searching for clues. But they will never suspect that I would dare take him out of the kingdom. And to Persia no less! They would not dream I would do this. And that is why this will work.”
Rassa didn’t respond. He did not know what to say.
Prince Saud watched him then stood quickly. He was finished explaining. It was time that he go. He nodded to the princess and she moved to his side. Turning to Rassa, Prince Saud made his final point. “The time is soon coming when Islam will rise from the ashes of the Ottoman Empire,” he said. “It will rise and reclaim its rightful position of leadership in this world. For more than one thousand years, while the West rutted through the dark ages and wallowed in decay, the people of Islam stood as the military, economic and spiritual leaders of the world. And yet from the day Napoleon marched into Egypt, we have reacted like a stunned bull. One shot and we fell in a quivering heap to our knees. But the time is soon coming when we will rise again. There will be a Pan Arabia! But it will take a new way of thinking. It will take a new world. A new kind of leader to lead us there! A new king is required, someone who can purge Islam of the poison and lift it again as a symbol of wealth and peace to the world!
“I am that man, Rassa. I am going to change the world. And my son will follow in my footsteps. So we must keep him safe. Now do you understand?”
Rassa nodded gravely then pushed himself to his knees. “I will do as you command,” he whispered as he bowed at the prince’s feet.
The prince put his hands on his shoulders and lifted him up. “You must speak of this to no one!” he demanded. “Do you understand how important that is? You will call the princess a cousin who is visiting from Riyadh. Tell no one I have been here or we are both dead.”
&
nbsp; Rassa kept his eyes low as he nodded his head.
“Do you understand that, Rassa? Do you see how important our secrecy is?”
“I understand, Sayid.”
The crown prince gripped his shoulder, then looked at his wife. He nodded to the princess. “Go and get him,” he said.
The princess left the house and returned with her son. The small boy stood shyly, holding tightly to his mother’s hand. He had round eyes and dark hair and he looked around wearily. His father knelt before him and pulled him to his chest. Looking up, he nodded sternly to Rassa, looking him straight in the eyes. “Keep him safe,” he demanded as he let his son go. “It will only be a few days, a week at the most before I come back for him. Keep them safe and I’ll reward you beyond your wildest dreams. But if any danger befalls them, then I will hold you responsible. This is your charge, your great purpose and you simply can’t fail.”
Rassa bowed. “Sayid,” he replied.
“It could be dangerous for you, Rassa.”
“Sayid, I will serve.”
Prince Saud pressed Rassa’s shoulder, turned sadly to the princess and reached for her hand. “I will come back for you, Ash Salman,” he whispered, leaning his mouth to her ear. “I will not leave you, not a day, not an hour, more than I have to. But for now we must do this. We must do this for our son.
“Now stay here. Be strong! Take care of my child and I will call for you soon.”
The princess nodded, her face firm and proud. Saud leaned over and kissed her cheek softly then turned and walked out the door, leaving the young mother standing with the child prince in her hands.
• • •
Rassa stared at her blankly, a dumbfounded look on his face. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Better to not sound like a fool. The young princess let her eyes drift to the floor. Her young son looked sleepily around the bare room. “Mother, why are we here?” he wondered. “Why did father go?”
The princess knelt. “Abd Illah, your father has gone for something very important. We are going to stay here for a few days.”
(Wrath-02)-Darkness of This World (2012) Page 9
