“I’m sorry,” Brighton answered, “but I don’t know who you mean.”
The prince shook his head in frustration. “General, I can’t be more specific. But is it so hard to understand?”
* * *
The call came through on his satellite phone, a phone that could reach him anywhere in the world.
The younger prince, handsome and thin, flipped the phone open and quickly punched in his security code. “Yes,” he said simply when the call was linked through.
“Sayid, Crown Prince Saud is meeting with the American general,” a deep voice replied.
“Where?” the prince demanded.
“His personal office.”
“You are listening, right?”
“Of course, Sayid.”
“Has he said anything to the American officer?”
“Nothing of note, Sayid. Only small talk is all.”
“You don’t think . . . he hasn’t warned him?”
“No, Sayid, God be willing. But they have walked into the garden where we are no longer able to listen.”
Prince Abdullah pulled anxiously on his chin. “Where is Princess Tala?” he asked.
“She is preparing to leave the mountain. They will be on their way in just a few minutes now.”
“And the children are with her?”
“Sayid, they are.”
Another moment of silence, one that was longer and more uncomfortable. “Your team is in place?” the younger prince demanded.
“They are ready to move.”
“All right, Khilid. You know what to do.”
* * *
The two friends stared at each other. “General Brighton, do you believe I support the basic concepts of freedom?” Saud asked. “Do you believe my goal is to move the kingdom toward democracy and closer ties with the West?”
“Yes, Prince Saud, I believe that is true.”
“Do you believe I am your friend?”
“I know you are.”
“Do you believe I am a friend of the U.S. as well?”
The general paused. This was more difficult. The prince had many allegiances, many voices demanding his ear. Many opposing forces were hanging on him as he balanced on the tight wire, and nothing was simple when it came to the tug and pull of international relationships. After thinking a moment, Brighton replied, “Yes, Prince Saud, I believe you are a friend to the United States.”
“Do you believe there are many who would like to see our friendship destroyed, those who would see the kingdom rise up and become an enemy of the United States?”
Brighton turned away as he thought. He needed to be cautious. Even though this was a personal conversation, he still represented his government, and he had to choose his words carefully. But he had always been honest with the prince, and he would be honest now. “There are some in my country who think that has already happened,” he answered. “There are some who believe, and with some evidence I might add, that many fundamental Islamist groups carry far too much favor within the kingdom.”
The prince considered, then answered, “There is no doubt that is true. But there is a fine balance, a delicate subtlety we must seek every day. Have we made mistakes? Yes, we have. And my father has taken steps to remedy any errors that might have been made. But that’s not what I’m speaking of. I’m not talking of radical terrorist groups. I’m talking of others, some within my government, some from opposing nations, who would like nothing more than to see the relationship between our two nations destroyed.”
“I understand, Prince Saud. We see those forces at work every day.”
“Do you see those forces within your own country? Do you see them within your own government? Can you see them, Neil—because believe me, they’re there!”
The general was silent, then sadly nodded his head.
“Then listen to me, Neil. Take this moment, and freeze it in your memory so you’ll remember what I say.” The prince took a step forward and narrowed his eyes. “I believe we are approaching the crossroads of a great clash between cultures. And I’m not talking about a clash between religions or a clash between nation-states. This isn’t Muslim against Christian. It isn’t Arab against Jew. And it isn’t a clash between democracies and totalitarian regimes. I’m talking about something far deeper and far more deadly, a clash between two fundamentally different sets of beliefs, a clash between groups who defy normal cultures or rules. Our enemies are not contained by borders, and when this is over we will find them everywhere.
“I’m talking about a fundamental conflict between those who believe in basic freedoms and those who would make all men their slaves. I’m talking about ruthless enemies who seek to destroy all free nations and free ways of life. I have seen a glimpse of the future, and you’ve never had a nightmare that compares with their plans.
“We are rushing forward, heading for what the Qur’an calls the Great War. And this war will be different from any we have ever fought before. It will be a war against an enemy that holds no territory, defends no population, and respects no moral law. Such an enemy cannot be deterred. It can only be destroyed.
“And this enemy seeks your country’s destruction above anything else. As long as you stand, then you stand in their way. So they have to destroy you. But in order to destroy you, they will come after me first.”
Brighton looked away as he thought, his eyes clouding with dread. He had never heard a government leader speak so frankly of his fears. And though he kept his face stoic, inside his gut grew tight in alarm.
* * *
There were three children: two young teen-aged boys and a daughter who had just celebrated her tenth birthday. Princess Tala hurried her children, and they moved smartly into the long sedan, a black BMW with bulletproof windows, steel rails in the side doors, and blast-proof metal plates welded underneath the floor.
As Princess Tala, first wife of Crown Prince Saud, followed her children into the back seat of the limousine, she moved carefully, her hand subconsciously protecting her abdomen. She was just weeks away from delivery of her third son, another prince for the kingdom, another son for the king, and she had developed a habit of resting her hand on her abdomen as she walked. Dropping into the back seat, she adjusted herself, smoothing her white dress and blowing a stray curl of hair from her eyes. Tala was slender and beautiful, with deep green eyes and rich chestnut hair hidden under a silk scarf and thin veil. She sat gracefully, every move elegant, her eyes soft and wide like her ancestral mothers, the ancient Egyptian queens. Her dark skin was perfect, and the sight of her long neck and green eyes revealed enough beauty to command the attention of almost any man.
The crown prince had chosen wisely. Tala was a princess in every sense of the word. Beautiful and intelligent, she was the kind of woman a man would fight for, the kind of woman who could start a war.
Which was both a great blessing and a weakness.
Depending on how long she lived.
The three children sat across from their mother in the long sedan, their backs facing their bodyguard and driver. The princess nodded to the men in the front seat, and the convoy began to move down the circular drive that led from the villa to the front gate that protected the grounds. The small summer palace, a mere forty-five rooms and three pools, fell behind the line of cars, and the princess sighed deeply, then quickly rolled down her window to get a last breath of cool air.
Built on the highest peak on the western side of the mountains, which looked down on the Red Sea, the summer palace was a refuge from the brutal desert below. Here on the mountain, the air was cool and tangy with the smell of juniper and pine. Ancient Joshua trees lined the private drive, their heavy branches hanging over the pavement and breaking the sunlight into shadows that flickered through the windows of the passing cars. The princess glanced back at the retreating villa with sadness. She spent more time in this place than anywhere else in the kingdom, and it was always hard to leave. To her, all of the other palaces, no matter how grand (and they
were grand indeed), were no more than hotels where she spent a few nights. But this palace, this mountain retreat—it felt like her home, the one place she was truly comfortable, and she would have stayed there forever if the crown prince would have allowed.
Tala watched her daughter stare through the back window, the stone villa growing smaller. She knew her daughter was also happier here than anywhere else in the world, and in this matter, at least, they agreed. “When will we be back?” the little girl asked her mother as the villa fell behind a line of conifer trees.
Princess Tala shook her head. “Soon,” she answered. “But we have other obligations. Our lives cannot be only pleasure. We have other things we must do.”
“Can we come back next week?” her daughter asked.
The princess cocked her head and smiled. “El-Tasha, if we came back next week, what would you do about school?”
“I would rather be here on the mountain than go to school. Did you know I saw a mountain goat yesterday? It was beautiful and white, way up on the cliffs. You should have seen it climbing. I thought surely it would fall. Can we come back next week and see if it is still there?”
The oldest son eyed his sister. “She’s just looking for an excuse to get out of her studies,” he teased. “El-Tasha would rather sit on a rock in the middle of the Euphrates surrounded by eel snakes than go back to school.”
The princess laughed, and El-Tasha shook her head. “That’s not true!” she answered. “I like school. Sometimes. Well, okay, I don’t like the academy but that’s not the reason I want to come back . . . at least it’s not the only reason.”
The oldest son laughed again, and Tala turned to him. He had the dark eyes of his father and was filling out in the chest. Though he was just fourteen years old he looked older. Something about the future responsibility of the kingdom made a boy grow quickly, and the princess could almost see the subtle weight of the kingdom begin to settle on his shoulders. He knew the kingdom would one day be his, and from the time he was a child he had been told to prepare, for the final phase in the transition to democracy would fall on him. And he was doing his best. While all of the royal children were educated by private tutors at the royal academies, not all of the students took their studies as seriously as he. He had proven smart and dedicated, and while probably not as smart as his father, what he lacked in intelligence he more than made up for in intuition and a steel-hard willingness to work.
Princess Tala watched her oldest son with pride. He looked so much like his father, it was almost uncanny. It was like a younger Prince Saud sitting there. She leaned over and patted his knee, then glanced through the bulletproof window at the road ahead.
* * *
A twelve-foot-high brick wall surrounded the mountain retreat; and the only access to the villa, which sat back half a mile from the security wall, was through a heavy steel gate. Thick trees lined the road. The convoy of five vehicles sped along the hardtop toward the gate. The first vehicle in the convoy was a black military van containing heavy weapons and surface-to-air missiles. A black SUV followed the van with the royal family’s personal bodyguards. Princess Tala and her family were in the third car, the long BMW sedan, followed by another SUV with her personal staff: her physician, the family pediatrician, a personal assistant, a secretary, a trainer, and a masseuse. The chief of security rode in the last vehicle, a heavy truck crammed with military officers and security police.
After years of training (and some painful experience) the chief had grown accustomed to riding in the back of the convoy, where he could more accurately observe the situation and measure the threats. From that vantage point, he could mark the progress of the convoy as it moved down the road.
The chief shifted uncomfortably in the front seat of the truck. As chief of security, he knew the princess and her family were completely in his charge, and he would willingly give his life if it were ever required to save her. The truth was, if harm were to ever come to the princess, Prince Saud would have him killed anyway, so he might as well die with honor. And though he had always felt pressure, he felt it more and more with each passing day. The radicals in the kingdom had grown more bold and more vicious. Like a dog crazed with hunger, they smelled the sweet tang of blood.
So the security chief moved anxiously to the edge of his seat, as the convoy passed through the main gate and onto the descending mountain road.
* * *
The road leading down the mountain was smooth and well-kept, but it was also cut with deep switchbacks and very steep grades. There were few guardrails or retaining walls, and the security chief knew the road was a dangerous place. From the compound at the top of the mountain the road descended more than six thousand feet, cutting and turning and dropping along sheer canyon walls. The terrain was rocky and steep, and the trees gradually thinned out as the road descended until the landscape merged with the barren desert floor.
The convoy moved quickly, the drivers braking expertly at each curve in the road before accelerating again. The princess watched the road tensely, then pulled out a cell phone and punched her husband’s private number. The call was relayed to a central switchboard in Ad Damman, where a sophisticated GPS tracking system kept constant tabs on the location of the crown prince; then her call was automatically transferred to the palace on the outskirts of Riyadh.
Prince Saud’s personal assistant answered the phone, his voice low and all business. “Yes, Princess Tala,” he said.
“Is Crown Prince Saud available?” the princess asked.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, Prince Saud is in a meeting.”
It never occurred to either the princess or Prince Saud’s assistant that he might offer to interrupt. One did not interrupt the prince. Not even his wife.
Tala thought a moment. “Is he still with the American general?” she asked.
“Yes, Princess Tala.”
“General Brighton, as I recall?”
“I believe that is right.”
“Do you know how long he will be?” Tala asked.
The older man huffed. “No, ma’am, I do not.” Princess or not, she was still just a woman, and the affairs of the prince were not her concern. “May I tell him you called?” Saud’s assistant offered. “I will have him get in contact with you at the first opportunity.”
“Yes, please. Thank you, Mishal bin Abd Mohammad. Tell him we are leaving the mountain and will meet him in Riyadh.”
“I will tell him,” the man answered, and the princess flipped her phone closed.
“Are we going to see Father tonight?” her oldest son asked as Tala looked at him. Princess Tala nodded, and all of her children smiled.
The sedan sped ahead, then slowed for a particularly sharp curve in the road. The princess reached for the handhold over her window, then felt her child kick, a strong thump against her abdomen, sturdy and swift. Placing her hand on her belly, she smiled. “Be still, my young prince,” she whispered. “We are almost there.”
* * *
The five assassins had concealed themselves in the brush on the uphill side of the road, just before one of the last switchbacks. Behind them, on the other side of a crest in the mountain, their helicopter hovered, keeping out of view. The men were dressed in identical black uniforms, leather boots, and thin gloves. The fingers had been cut out of the gloves to allow them to maneuver their weapons with precision, and their faces were concealed behind black masks.
The team leader listened to the tiny earpiece he had shoved in his ear. “Two minutes!” he hissed to his team as he glanced down the line. The men were expertly concealed, spread out twenty feet to his left and right. The gun-blue barrels of their Soviet-made weapons protruded from the brush.
The team leader listened again, then gave his final instructions. “Call ready,” he whispered into the microphone at his neck.
“Two’s ready,” the second sniper positioned to his right replied.
“Two, you’ve got the first truck in the convoy,” the team leader instruc
ted. “Repeat to me your instructions. You have number one.”
“Roger that. Two has the lead truck.”
“The first vehicle has the 20-caliber machine guns and missiles. You’ve got to take it or this whole thing is off. Understand, Two! We’re depending on you!”
“Got that, Colonel!” the other sniper replied.
“Three, you take the second vehicle, a black SUV,” the team leader continued. “The target is in the third car, a BMW limousine. Repeat that . . . target is in the third vehicle. Leave that car alone!” The lead assassin scoffed to himself as he thought of the lone BMW limousine. It was so obvious! No decoys. No deceptions. Which car contained the princess was almost comically clear. Fool of security! He was worthy of death.
He glanced at the two men to his left. “Four and five, you’ve got the last two cars in the convoy,” he instructed. “It is just like we planned.” He looked down the line. “Any questions?” he asked.
His men remained silent, and the team leader crouched lower in his hole, then glanced down the line, checking their positions one final time. He saw the four barrels of the RPG-7 shoulder-launched missiles protruding from the brush and smiled. The RPG-7s, recoilless, shoulder-fired antitank weapons, were simple and functional killing machines. Effective against fixed emplacements or moving targets, they had a range of five hundred meters and could penetrate most conventional armor plate. Proven again and again in combat, RPG-7s had been successfully employed against armored vehicles, bunkers, and American helicopters.
Taking out these lightly armored vehicles would prove easy to do.
The sniper nodded, approving, then turned back to the road.
“All right then, my brothers,” he said into his microphone. “This is the endgame. Prove yourselves worthy or die in the cause. That is the only choice you have now, so do not let me down.”
Twenty seconds passed, and the convoy came into view. “Praise be to God,” one of the soldiers whispered, and the team leader glared. This wasn’t about Allah. This was about power. And the kingdom. And the man they would have as their king!
The Great and Terrible Page 40
