But his father had taken that choice away from him.
He was going to give the kingdom away!
The prince pushed his hand through the sand as he sipped at his beer. He was frustrated and angry, more so than he had ever felt in his life. The day before, as he was preparing to leave for France, Abdullah had fought with his father, a bitter argument that had turned so angry three of the king’s bodyguards had been forced to step between the two men. And though the prince had argued and pleaded until he was hoarse, his father hadn’t listened, but instead cut him off.
“Leave me, Abdullah!” his father had screamed in a rage. “Leave me right now, and never speak of this again. I do not have to justify my decision to you. Now go and forget it. I will not discuss it again.”
And so it was that Abdullah found himself on the beach, fuming, his dark heart growing cold, his mind constantly racing, trying to develop a plan. His father was a fool. No, he was worse than that. He was a selfish, stupid, conceited old man who did not care one whit for his children. He was a slithering fool, a spider in the corner, a poisonous snake in the grass.
The sun moved toward the sea as Abdullah raged, leaving a blood-red horizon above the hazy waterline where the prince sipped his beer and kicked at the warm sand.
Then he looked up and saw him, a withery, old man. Abdullah had not heard him approach, and he stared up in surprise; then, cursing angrily, he pushed himself to his feet. He looked around for his bodyguards, but they were nowhere in sight. The old man stared at him and grinned. “How are you, Prince Abdullah?” he asked in heavily accented English. His voice was weak and raspy, and he smelled of cigar smoke and dry breath.
The prince glared with contempt. “Who are you?” he demanded in a sour tone.
The man smiled weakly, looking old and decrepit. Fine white hair and large teeth were his predominate features, but he moved quickly and with an energy that belied his small frame. His eyes seemed to glow yellow from some inner furnace, and Abdullah wondered quickly how old the man was. He could have been sixty or one hundred; it was hard to say, for his face was blotched with liver spots but his eyes were young and intense. He flashed a fast smile, his white teeth jutting brightly underneath a bony nose.
The old man pointed a slender hand to the east. “Your father is a very dangerous man,” he said without introduction.
Abdullah glared but didn’t answer. The old man waited, then ran a weathered finger across his lips, wiping away a line of dried spit.
“Speak not evil of my father!” Abdullah finally sneered.
The old man scoffed, looked away, then glanced down the beach. “Abdullah, please, don’t play the loyal son with me. There’s no need to impress me. I know what’s in your heart, and I don’t have the time or inclination for role-playing right now. We need to focus on our enemies, those we both need to bring down.”
Abdullah shot a quick look back at the resort. Three men stood at the top of the trail leading from the beach to the pool. Large men. Caucasian. Dark glasses. Dark suit coats hid the weapons at their hips. None of the faces were familiar, and he swore to himself. He glanced east, down the beach to a line of low trees and saw another stranger standing in shorts and an oversized shirt. An enormous beach towel was draped over his shoulders, and Abdullah knew that it concealed the man’s gun. He glanced left and right, feeling naked and alone as his gut tied in knots and his underarms sweated. For the first time in his life, he was alone.
Where had his men gone? He would have them shot!
He glared at the stranger, then nodded toward the hotel. “Who are they?” he demanded.
The old man hesitated.
Abdullah growled. “Come on, old man, tell me!”
The old man glanced at the bodyguards. “They work for me. That’s all you need to know.”
“Where are my people?”
“It seems they have left.”
Prince Abdullah shook his head in disbelief. Could it be true? He would have them shot! The old man watched him, then reached down and adjusted his loose T-shirt, pulling it down over his bony hips. “Don’t blame your men,” he said softly. “My people are better, that’s all.”
Abdullah felt the panic rising, the fear growing tight in his throat. His eyes darted up and down the beach, thinking of how he might escape. Another man appeared near the tree line. Abdullah looked in the other direction and saw that a small schooner had appeared on the beach. The two men who worked the small anchor kept an anxious eye on the old man.
Abdullah’s mind raced. A kidnapping! A murder! One of his rival cousins! He swore and looked down, then glared at the old man.
The stranger read the look on his face. “No harm, no foul,” he said calmly. “You are not in danger. Your men are not far away. So relax and forgive me, but I wanted to speak with you alone.”
“Who are you?” Abdullah demanded. “What do you want?”
The old man smiled, then reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of chewing gum. Unwrapping it quickly, he dropped the blue wrapper on the sand and stuck the gum in his mouth. “I want the same thing as you do,” he answered simply.
“How do you know what I want?”
The old man smiled again, his yellowed eyes burning bright. “I know the hearts of most men. I know how they think, and I know how they feel. I know what they desire and what they are willing to do. That’s what I know. And that’s what I know about you.”
Abdullah was quiet as the fear began to subside in his heart. He glanced past the old man. “How did you get past my bodyguards?” he asked.
The old man dismissed the question but waved a bony finger in front of Abdullah’s chest. “We need the royal family to hold on to power,” he said. “Your father, the monarch, must not go through with his plans. And your older brother, Crown Prince Saud, must not become the next king. They will share with their people their power, and the last thing we need is another democracy in the Middle East. I’d say the filthy Jews are enough—don’t you agree?”
Abdullah certainly agreed, but he still didn’t answer, and the old man wet his dry lips again. “Your father will ruin everything unless we stop him,” he said.
Abdullah snorted in disgust. “My father is a fool,” he answered bitterly.
“No! You are wrong. You might as well say the sun comes up in the west as to call your father a fool. The king is a visionary! And the most dangerous kind. But he is no fool, I promise, and until you understand that you will be useless to me.”
Abdullah stood silent. He wouldn’t quibble over words. Fool. Visionary. It didn’t matter.
The old man studied the prince, knowing he had not understood, but he also saw the fire of hatred and that was enough to begin. “Your father isn’t the only enemy you have, Prince Abdullah,” he continued. “You have more enemies than you know. And I’m not talking about jealous brothers, bitter cousins, or betrayed friends. I’m not talking about any man in the kingdom who could do you harm. I’m talking about the only real enemy you have, the only real force that could take from both of us what we most desire in this life.”
Abdullah stared at him. “What are you talking about?” he answered bitterly. He spoke sharply. Abdullah always spoke sharply—being raised as a prince made one prone to be rude.
The old man turned to stare out over the water. “Do you want me to show you?” he asked. “Do you want me to show you how to stop your old man? Do you want me to show you the greater enemy at your door?”
Abdullah glanced around him, but remained silent.
The old man nodded. “Yes, I thought that you might. Now, quickly. Come with me, and I will show you the truth.”
* * *
After a short flight, the two men sat in a rented car parked on a side street half a block from the American embassy in Paris. It was dark and warm, and the streets of Paris were busy around them. Cement barricades blocked the street twenty yards in front of their dark Mercedes SUV, and a contingent of metro police stood guard at a sec
urity booth near the barricades.
Prince Abdullah shifted nervously in the back seat of the Mercedes-Benz. A driver and another bodyguard sat in the front, but a dark, bulletproof glass separated the front and back seats. The old man sat beside him. Abdullah still did not know his name. The old man glanced at his watch, then began to explain. “The American ambassador is hosting a reception for the Saudi OPEC delegation,” he said. “You probably know that; it has been in the news. The public explanation for the reception is to strengthen the American ties to the lead OPEC nation, but the real reason for the meeting goes far beyond that.”
The prince shot a look toward his new friend. “What else?” he asked.
The old man shifted, moving himself forward in the seat. “The U.S. Secretary of State will be at the meeting. The U.S. and Saudi Arabia are going to sign a highly classifed agreement guaranteeing that the kingdom of Saudi Arabia will not reduce its output of oil for at least the next five years. It will also guarantee that Saudi Arabia will exert its influence to ensure that none of the other OPEC nations will reduce their production either. In exchange, the U.S. military will reassign the First Marine Expeditionary Force to the military base outside Dhahran. See, your father knows the transition to democracy may be difficult at times, and having a U.S. military presence established in the kingdom again will likely reduce the threat of bloodshed and instability. So everyone gets what they want. The United States gets cheap oil and a reestablished military presence in Arabia; the king gets the stabilizing influence of U.S. forces for the next twenty years. That is the essence of the secret deal that will be signed here tonight. And your oldest brother, Crown Prince Saud, was the brains behind the whole thing.”
Abdullah nodded gravely. He had already heard rumors, and he wasn’t completely surprised.
The two men were silent, and the night grew darker around them. The old man reached to the console between them, pulled out a package of cigarettes, and lit up, the orange glow illuminating his scrawny face. He offered one to Abdullah, who took it and lit up with his own silver lighter. The old man pointed to one of the French policemen who stood near the cement barricades. “You see the young sergeant there?” he asked. “The one in the black hat?”
Abdullah moved forward on his seat and nodded.
“He has twenty pounds of plastic explosives strapped up and down his legs,” the old man explained.
Abdullah grunted. He didn’t believe it. The old man stared at him, reading the expression on his face. “You have a question?” he asked.
Abdullah grunted again. “Your man does not have any explosives on him,” he said.
“Why do you say that?” the old man asked curiously.
Abdullah pointed to two guards with German shepherds standing at the barricade. “Sniff dogs. If your man had explosives, they would be going crazy right now.”
“Hmmm, of course you’re right. But you see, Prince Abdullah, earlier this evening the dogs were exposed to a fifty parts per million whiff of hydrogen sulfide, a strong enough dose to destroy their olfactory abilities for the next ten days or so. Truth is, you could throw those dogs a stick of dynamite and they would happily retrieve it and drop it at your feet. Those dogs couldn’t smell a skunk if it climbed on their faces and rolled on their noses.”
The old man took another drag, then continued. “In five minutes, at exactly 9:15 p.m., the young sergeant, our man in the black hat, is going to walk toward the embassy and talk to the canine guards at the door. He will be cleared to enter the embassy to use the restroom, but he will have to use the service entrance on the south side of the building. It will take him a little more than three minutes to get inside. Once inside the building, he will make his way through the kitchen, toward the service elevator. The reception for the OPEC delegation is being held on the second floor, just above the main reception hall. He can get to the main hallway from the service elevator. Once he is underneath the reception area, he will detonate the plastic explosives that are strapped to his legs, and most of the east side of the building will come down in a grand fireball.” The old man spoke calmly, as if he were announcing the future demise of rats. “We estimate forty to fifty casualties,” he concluded. “Some of them will be Americans, but there will be many Saudis as well.”
Abdullah turned toward him, his face stretched in surprise. “You’re going to kill them!” he muttered.
“No, Abdullah. You’re going to kill them! The decision is yours.”
Abdullah shifted, his eyes wide with sickness and fear. “But why? What is the purpose? What do you hope to do?”
“Our only purpose, Prince Abdullah, is to test you. We want to know who you are. We want to know what you value and how far you will go. That is the only reason we’re here. Now, we have chosen to strike the Americans, but that hardly matters to us at the moment, or at least in this case. Our only purpose in this exercise is to see if you will go along with us and to find out who you really are.”
“But,” Abdullah stammered, “if you kill the U.S. Secretary of State . . .”
“Relax,” the old man answered as he pulled another drag on his smoke. “The SecState isn’t scheduled to appear for another hour or so. He’s not the target. This is just our little test.”
Abdullah gasped. “I don’t understand . . .” he sputtered.
“Oh come on, Abdullah, it’s not that difficult. Say the word, say one simple word, and the entire operation is called off. One word from you and poof! not a thing happens here. You and I say good-bye. You’ll never see me again. I drop you off at the private airport where the executive jet is waiting to fly you back to the beach. You forget me. I forget you. This whole thing becomes a strange dream, nothing more. Just say the word and you save the lives of your countrymen and some American civilians as well.
“But if you decide you want to join with us, if you decide you want us to show you how to hold onto power, then don’t say anything, and at 9:21 fifty people will die, many of them Saudis, your countrymen, even friends. Many more will be injured, but I can’t say how many for sure.”
Abdullah remained silent, his heart slamming in shock and fear. “I don’t believe it . . .” he stammered.
The old man studied him by the glow of the street lights. “You ever see the result of a suicide bomber?” he asked.
Abdullah shook his head.
“Hard to explain what it looks like. Bloody . . . really bloody . . . a horrible mess. Pieces of bodies: bowels, heads, and ears. I’ve seen dead hands reaching for something that was no longer there. And the smell, oh the smell, it can give you the creeps. You will never forget!”
The old man looked at his watch, then turned harsh. “You’ve got to decide,” he commanded. “What are you going to do? Join with us, and we help you. I can guarantee you power. Join us and I promise you will be the next king. Or say no and we forget it. We call off the mission and just drive away.”
“I need time to think!” Abdullah hissed.
“No, Abdullah, you are young and still virile! I’m the old, feeble man. I’m the one who needs time! You don’t need any more.”
The prince frowned and cursed violently.
“I know it may seem a little rushed,” the old man continued, “but you’ve got to decide now. This is how we do it. This is how we find out what’s in your gut. If we give you time, you will think, . . . you will rationalize and consider. You will weigh the pros and cons and come to a decision in your head. And that’s not what we want. We want to know what’s inside of here!” The old man reached over and tapped the prince on his chest. “We have learned this is the best way to know what’s inside a man’s heart. Will he kill? Will he flounder? Will he hesitate to act? Or will he move with the commitment we hope that he will? Trust me, Prince Abdullah, this is a very effective test.
“If you really want to join us, you’ve got to have blood on your hands. If you don’t want to get bloody, then we’re not interested in talking to you. If you’re not willing to go the distance,
if you’re not willing to make the sacrifices of innocent lives, then you’re not ready to work with us and we will tell you good-bye.
“But if you think I can help you, then you have to be willing to take a chance. You have to be willing to get bloody. And that’s why we’re here. So what’s it going to be? You’ve got to decide, my new friend.”
Abdullah was silent as his eyes darted widely in doubt.
The old man glanced at his watch. “Thirty seconds,” he said. “Tell me to do it. It’s up to you. Say you will do it, or we say good-bye.”
“No! Not right now! Give me a little time!”
“No, Prince Abdullah,” the old man sneered his title now. “You must decide now. Join us and we can show you a way to be king, king of the House of Saud, one of the most wealthy and powerful men in the world. Join us, and we stop King Faysal’s foolish plan. Join us, and we save you. But understand this: You will be joining a battle that goes far beyond what you see. You will be joining a battle that goes far beyond the simple struggle for power inside the kingdom of Saudi Arabia. We have a much larger battle, a much greater war, a much longer vision, and a much broader plan. And you will have to fight those battles with us if we fight this battle for you. Now that is all I will tell you. What are you going to do?”
Prince Abdullah sat speechless, his mouth hanging wide, his cigarette burning to a long, gray ash in his hand.
The old man’s voice rose, growing like a snarl in his chest. “Fifteen seconds,” he cried as he stared at his watch. “Commit now to join us! Tell me to kill your countrymen. Prove to me we can trust you.”
Abdullah leaned suddenly toward him, his eyes burning with fire. “You swear to me, old man, that I will be king!”
“I swear it,” he cried in an almost shrill voice.
“Swear you won’t fail me!”
“I swear it, Abdullah! Now swear to me you will join us!” he hissed to the prince.
The Great and Terrible Page 20
