by Judith Gould
He hurried up to his suite, found a bottle of alcohol in the bathroom, and poured half of it over his hand. He had to bite down on a towel to keep from screaming. The alcohol burned like liquid fire, and both his palm and the back of the hand were swelling so tenderly that when he wrapped a bandage gingerly around the wound, he screamed momentarily.
Just to make it through dinner, he swigged a half-pint of bourbon straight out of the bottle.
Abdullah presided over the dinner as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. The food was tasteless, greasy and grey and rubbery, and had been prepared by one of Abdullah's men.
Like footmen, the Libyan zombies were stationed just steps behind Abdullah's chair.
Najib pushed the fatty lamb around on his plate with distaste. With all the refrigerated and frozen gourmet delights in the kitchen, he found it difficult to believe that such slop could be served. Not that it mattered, really. It could have been oysters and caviar, and he still wouldn't have had any appetite. The bandage he'd wrapped around his right hand was stiff and dark brown with blood, and he could barely hold his fork for the bolts of pain which shot through his hand and sliced all the way up to his elbow.
Like some mad medieval monarch, Abdullah waited a full twenty minutes before he would touch his food. The zombies had to taste it first. The week his half-uncle had spent in Libya, Najib noticed, had unleashed his paranoia to new, previously unparalleled heights.
'Mecca, the Wailing Wall, and St. Peter's Square in Rome,' Abdullah was saying conversationally as he chewed a piece of long-cold lamb. 'A three-pronged attack occurring over a period of three days. It will be a multiple explosion heard round the world.' He smacked his lips and took a long sip of water.
Khalid dropped his fork with a clatter and Najib stared at his half-uncle in stunned shock.
'Mecca!' Khalid was the first to find his voice. 'Why . . . Mecca is the most holy shrine in all Islam! In all the world! It... it would be desecration!'
Abdullah stared at him sternly. 'Sometimes,' he said darkly, gesturing with his fork, 'it is necessary to tear down the old before rebuilding it for the better.'
'It's folly!' Khalid whispered. He pushed his plate aside. 'The Wailing Wall and St. Peter's ... I don't like those targets either, but they, at least, are infidel shrines. But Mecca—'
'It must be done!' Abdullah said sharply. He, too, pushed his plate away. 'The holy war must be started at once. The sooner it begins, the sooner it will be over, and then the entire world shall be Islamic. Consider for a moment.' He drummed his fingernails on the marble. 'First, Mecca will be destroyed. Bombs placed strategically will bring the walls tumbling down. Muslims the world over—Muslims in India and the Far East, Muslims in the four corners of the world—will be outraged and rise up as one! A day after that explosion, the infidels' Wailing Wall will be but a pile of Jerusalem rubble, and the third day . . . ah! On the third day, St. Peter's will come tumbling down. But Mecca must be the first! The outrage of that act will, of course, be blamed on the infidels. It is very simple, you see.' From the rising excitement in his voice it was clear that he was warming to the theme. 'The Christians and Jews will be blamed for the destruction of Mecca, and in turn, the destruction of their infidel shrines will be blamed on us Muslims. It will spark a holy war of such magnitude that the Crusades will pale in comparison! We will rewrite the world's history, my brothers, and in the centuries to come we will be almost as revered as the Prophet. All three of the world's major religions—and thus their armed forces—are going to battle to the death! And Islam will win!'
He sat back with the satisfied air of one having delivered a bombshell.
There was a stunned silence.
A sense of passionate and just outrage overrode the pain of Najib's wound. He shook his head slowly and chose his words carefully.
'An attack on Mecca has been tried before,' he reminded Abdullah quietly. 'The men who invaded the shrine were executed.'
Abdullah made an irritated gesture. "Those men were fools! They took Mecca and tried to hold it. We will merely destroy the shrine. Not one of our men will be within a hundred-mile radius when the bombs explode. No one will be able to blame us.' He paused. 'Muammar will provide extra manpower, as well as explosives. Although he will not admit any involvement in this either, he sees the necessity behind it. Look at the dazzling possibilities! Islam will, at last, not only be united, but will be a world strength to be reckoned with. All the countries of the Middle East—and India and Pakistan too, every country in which there are Muslims—may end up being reshaped into one massive religious state.'
'I fear this is begging for the fires of eternal hell,' Najib said flatly. 'On the contrary.' Abdullah permitted himself a faint smile. 'As Allah's warriors, I believe this will ensure us a spot in Paradise forever.'
Chapter 20
It was after two o'clock in the morning when something awakened him. He sat up in bed, his heart beating wildly, and held his breath, listening. But other than the hum of the reverse-cycle air-conditioning/heating unit, he could not hear anything. The suite was pitch black. So far as he could tell, nothing moved or breathed.
But that could not be true. Why else would he have the overpowering feeling that he was not alone? Why else were tingling breaths of caution dancing like electric currents at the back of his neck? His bandaged hand throbbed and stung.
With a growing fear he reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on. He gave a start and sat up straight. Khalid and Hamid were standing, still as statues, at the foot of his bed. He stared at them. 'What are you doing here?' he asked angrily.
'Ssssh!' Khalid held a cautioning finger to his lips. 'Not so loud,' he whispered. 'Keep your voice down.' He turned to the other man. 'Hamid, check to make sure the door is locked.'
Soundless as a furtive night creature, Hamid went back out into the living room, and neither Najib nor Khalid spoke until he returned. When he came back and nodded, the two men lowered themselves into chairs and Khalid lit a thin black cigar. After taking a few puffs to get it going, he sat back, crossed one leg over the other, and slid the cigar from his mouth. He studied it reflectively. 'I thought it was time the three of us had a little talk,' he said in a soft conversational tone.
Najib wasn't fooled for a minute. He knew that when Khalid's eyes drooped in the deceptive way they were drooping now, it really meant that he was sharply alert.
'You know,' Khalid said, 'I have been watching you for quite a long time now.'
Najib was silent.
'You are a strange man,' Khalid continued, his eyes sliding from the cigar over to Najib. 'You, more than any of us, have tried to maintain a certain distance from Abdullah. Also, you are the one among us who is the most indispensable to him. Yet you permit him to treat you no better than the lowliest new recruit. I have often wondered why.'
'Abdullah treats all men alike,' Najib murmured dismissively.
'Does he?' Khalid's gaze became sharp and silvery. 'Do you really believe he treats Qaddafi like he treats us?'
Najib shrugged and his reply was simple. 'I would not know that, would I, because I was not there.'
'But from the way he spoke of Qaddafi this evening,' Khalid said shrewdly, 'what do you infer from that?'
'Do you mean is he friends with Qaddafi?' Najib asked noncommittally, and then answered himself. 'Yes, he is. Does he respect him? The answer to that is yes also. He looks up to the Colonel. He is a nation's leader, after all, and whether you like the Colonel or not, you would feel no less pride if a ruler gave you so much attention. Nor, for that matter,' he added, 'would I.'
'That is not my point.' Khalid gestured with the cigar. 'To Abdullah, Qaddafi has become some sort of holy prophet. I would not doubt that this mad scheme of a holy war was Qaddafi's idea originally, and that he has recruited Abdullah to pull it off.'
'Then what are you saying?' Najib asked quietly, feeling his way cautiously through a potentially lethal minefield. Soon, now, he would have to decide whether what the two men w
ere telling him was genuine, or if they had been sent by Abdullah to trap him.
'Abdullah has changed.' It was Hamid speaking.
Najib looked at him now. 'Changed? In what way?'
'You know what way!' Hamid's voice was low but impassioned. 'Over the years, he has become a different man from the one he once was. It is almost as if someone else has slipped into his skin. There was a time when he did things to help our people. When he fought for the things which they could not fight for themselves. But now?' Hamid's voice became bitter. 'Now he revels in his own glory! Now he is even willing to sell us out, and has become Qaddafi's slave in order to forge new paths to glory! He has become blinded to the issues for which we have always fought.'
'I feel you are both dancing around the issue,' Najib said. 'Surely you did not creep into my room in the middle of the night only in order for us to chase one another round and round the palm tree?'
'No, we did not.' Khalid frowned and paused, as though gathering his thoughts. Then he sat up straighter. Tilting his head back and exhaling a cloud of blue smoke, he said softly, 'We cannot allow Abdullah to destroy Mecca.'
He lowered his gaze and continued in the same level tone. 'That is why we have come to you. We wish to enlist your help to keep this sacrilege from happening.'
'You speak of treason to Abdullah!' Najib reminded him coldly. 'Do you not realize that were I to repeat as much as a word of this to Abdullah, he would not hesitate to have you killed?'
Hamid jumped to his feet so quickly that his chair fell over backwards. A long-barrelled pistol, like a writhing blue-black snake, was aimed at Najib at point-blank range.
'Put the gun away, Hamid,' Khalid said wearily. 'Can you not see that he is already on our side?'
The pistol wavered, but Hamid's expression was doubtful.
Najib ignored the pistol and stared at Khalid. 'How can you be so certain that I am on your side?'
Hamid's smile was expressionless. 'You have proved it on at least two occasions already.'
Najib frowned silently, but did not speak.
Khalid blew a smoke ring. 'The first time was a test.'
A sudden memory flashed through Najib's mind. 'My overhearing you both talk. That night in the Jordanian hills!'
'After we lost the six men in that foolish raid on Zefat.' Khalid nodded. 'Yes, that was the test. We held that conversation for your benefit.' He smiled easily. 'If you had wanted to report us to Abdullah, you would have done it then. When you did not, we knew for certain that you could be trusted.'
The gun disappeared back inside Hamid's holster.
'You said there were two times,' Najib said.
'The second occurred this past week.' Khalid squinted at him. 'Your visits to the Jewish woman did not go unnoticed.'
Najib waited, his expression blank, but his thoughts were flying. What could they know about his visits to Daliah? How closely had they been spying on him?
Khalid's lips formed into a mirthless smile. 'Some of your conversations were overheard,' he said in a voice which was all the more powerful for its mild tone. 'You are in love with her. You plan on helping her escape.' He puffed contentedly.
Najib did not say anything.
'Would you like to hear some of the specifics, perhaps? The names she called you? The things she muttered to herself each time you left?'
'You were eavesdropping.' Najib's voice was a whisper, but its edge was ice.
Khalid shrugged easily. 'On Abdullah's orders, yes. However, therein lies the irony.' He smiled that mirthless smile again. 'Eavesdropping is only as trustworthy a source of information as the eavesdropper.'
Suddenly Najib had heard enough. 'You are trying to blackmail me for your own purposes,' he said grimly. Oblivious of his nakedness, he got out of bed and stood in front of Khalid. 'This discussion is finished,' he said contemptuously. 'I have never dealt with blackmailers in the past, nor will I begin to do so now. You will be glad to know that this conversation will go no further than this room.' He paused. 'Now, get out.'
Khalid remained seated and puffed on his cigar with slow deliberation. 'What would you call being tied to Abdullah for all these years? Was that not a form of blackmail? Or perhaps I read you wrong, and for all your power and alleged courage, inside of you beats the heart of a chicken?'
Najib's eyes flashed. 'Get out.'
Khalid did not move. 'Do you think you can help her escape on your own?' He waited for a reply, and getting none, added, 'No, I did not think so.' He gestured at the bed. 'Please, do sit back down. This could well be our last opportunity to meet like this. It would be a crime to waste it.'
Najib hesitated. Khalid was right, he knew. It would be folly for the three of them not to ally themselves. Basically, they each wanted the same thing. More important, he would need help in order to set Daliah free. After a moment, he nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Khalid nodded approval and flicked a length of ash into the crystal block on his knee. 'The three of us share enough common goals and problems that we cannot afford the luxury of fighting among ourselves. There is safety in numbers, and in order to be strong, we must be friends.' His eyes held Najib's in their lazy way. 'Well, if not friends exactly, then at least temporary allies.'
Najib nodded. 'Very well, then. Obviously you already know what it is that I want. Now it is my turn. What is it that you want?'
Khalid's voice was soft, 'I want this nonsense about a holy war dropped. I care neither one way nor the other for the Jews' Wailing Wall or the Christians' St. Peter's Square, but I care deeply for our people and for Mecca. I refuse to allow thousands of innocents to die needlessly, or our most holy shrine to be destroyed. In order to do this, as well as to ensure the continued survival of the PFA, Abdullah must go. Otherwise, it is only a matter of time before this organization is destroyed.'
'And then, after Abdullah?' Najib asked quietly. 'What will happen then?'
'Then I shall be the leader of the Palestinian Freedom Army,' Khalid said, surprised that Najib should have asked.
Najib held his gaze. 'And that will change things?'
'For the better, I hope. However, if you do not believe that, then you could at least draw comfort by considering me the lesser of two evils.' He gave a wry little smile. 'Are we agreed, then? We can count you in?'
'Not so fast.' Najib made a gesture. 'Back up a little. You said Abdullah must go. What exactly do you mean by that? Abdullah will not voluntarily relinquish any of his power.'
Khalid nodded. 'He must be killed. He leaves us no other choice.'
'And what about the men who are loyal to him?'
Khalid was silent.
'Then let me put it this way. Besides yourself and Hamid, how many more men can you count on to help us?'
'There are but the three of us,' Khalid said softly.
Najib stared at him. 'Are you mad? Abdullah has the support of hundreds. Of thousands.'
'At the moment, he has the support of ninety-seven men here at this palace. It goes without saying that if we are to succeed, we stand our best chance of eliminating him here.'
'And the two Libyans? Did you count them?'
'No. But they will die also.'
'And the German girl makes one hundred.' Najib shook his head. 'There are not enough of us,' he said with finality. 'It would never work.'
Khalid was undeterred. 'We would enjoy the element of surprise,' he said doggedly.
'There are not enough of us! We cannot even get to him while he sleeps. You heard him tell us. One of the Libyans is always awake guarding him.'
Khalid looked at Najib shrewdly. 'How were you going to get the Jewish girl out?'
Najib stared at him.
'Why do you look at me like that? As long as we work together, in the end we can both succeed and get what we set out to achieve.'
Najib pondered that before he answered. He wondered how Khalid would react when he told him. 'Are you willing to fight at the side of the Israelis?' he asked.
/> Khalid sucked in his breath and stared.
'Are you?' Najib repeated.
Khalid looked instinctively toward the door. His voice was a whisper. 'What makes you think the infidels will want to help?'
'The return of Daliah Boralevi and the prospect of cutting down Abdullah say they will. They cannot afford to let him begin his holy war. They stand to lose more than anyone else.'
Khalid remained silent.
'Well?' Najib was waiting.
Khalid frowned. 'Who will have to know of their involvement?' he asked at last. The moment he said it, Najib knew he nearly had him snared.
'The two of you,' Najib said after a moment. He frowned thoughtfully. 'Me. The girl. And the Israelis, of course. I don't think you have to worry about that, though. It is to their advantage to make Abdullah's death look like a power struggle within the PFA. Otherwise, if the Saudis know the truth, they are likely to consider the rescue attempt an invasion. The Israelis don't dare let that happen. It could spell war.'
There was a silence as each of them worked out the potential consequences in their heads. The risks were steep. But then, so were the rewards. All three of them knew that there was no such thing in life as major rewards for minor risks: risk and reward were always proportionate.
Najib glanced from one of them to the other. He could almost hear their gears turning. Now that they were nibbling, he knew better than to rush them. They had to make up their own minds.
'I have one question,' Khalid said tightly. 'We know that Abdullah must be killed. Possibly the two Libyans, and the German girl also. But we cannot massacre everyone in the palace.' He paused, his eyes searching Najib's. 'What I want to know is: how am I guaranteed that no one will connect Hamid and me with the Israelis? If they do, you know we wouldn't last the first night.'
Najib nodded. 'I've already thought of that. It's simple, really. No one will know they're Israelis because they won't be in uniform, and I'll make sure they carry an assortment of Russian and American weapons. As long as they keep their mouths shut throughout the operation, and leave no wounded behind, you're covered.'
