by Brad Thor
Reynolds set down his drink. “What do you want me to do?”
“I need to find out where and when that meeting between the Saudi Monarchy and the Wahhabi hierarchy is going to take place. That’s where Kalachka’s people are going to make their move, and if I’m right, Prince Hamal is going to help them do it. He and Kalachka are the only people who can give us the answers we need.”
“Wait a second. You think Hamal and those militants are going to pull the trigger? They’re all Wahhabis. Why would they be party to killing their own religious leaders?”
“Because,” replied Harvath, an adept student of militant Islam, “with Paradise assured for the Wahhabi leadership, if it takes their deaths to bring about a greater good for the rest of the Islamic people, they won’t hesitate to take them out.”
EIGHTY-SEVEN
W ESTERN H EJAZI M OUNTAINS
S AUDI A RABIA
W ith a few well-placed phone calls, Reynolds discovered that just as Kalachka had predicted, the Wahhabi leadership had managed to force the Saudi Royal Family to the table. But because of the rioting, the Royal Family had been afraid to return to Riyadh for the summit. Instead, they had insisted the Wahhabis come to them at their summer capital just north of At’Taif in the Western Hejazi Mountains.
The Royal Family had been relocating to these lush mountains, known as the garden spot of the Saudi Kingdom, for decades in order to avoid the superheated summer temperatures of Riyadh. As a result, all of the most important members of the Royal Family had palaces built in and around At’Taif.
Less than sixty kilometers from the holy city of Mecca, At’Taif was also home to the King Fahad Air Base, which housed both the Royal Saudi Air Force’s 5th Fighter Squadron and the Royal Saudi Air Force’s Western Approach Region Air Defense radar complex, responsible for guarding the kingdom’s airspace against hostile penetration.
With opulent summer palaces lying cheek-by-jowl with modern military complexes, all that was missing from the dysfunctional Saudi dream site was religion, and At’Taif had that too. For almost one hundred years, the area surrounding At’Taif had been the principal stronghold of the ultra-conservative Wahhabi faith. In a sense, for the Wahhabi religious leaders traveling in from Riyadh, it was like coming home.
They arrived by a private jet that had been magnanimously chartered for them, only after they had vociferously complained about the Royal Family’s unwillingness to meet in Riyadh. Everyone knew the relationship between the Monarchy and the Wahhabis was teetering on the edge of disaster and the credibility of both sides hinged on being able to demonstrate that they acted in good faith in everything they did.
Not above subtle power plays, and in fact quite dependant upon them, the Royal Family chose to hold the summit in the most intimidating palace at their disposal, that of Crown Prince Abdullah bin Abdul Aziz, de facto ruler of the Saudi Kingdom. In addition to Prince Abdullah, other family members in attendance were Saudi defense minister, Prince Sultan bin Abdul Aziz, and Prince Nawaf bin Abdul Aziz, minister of state intelligence. There was a good chance the summit was going to get very heated, and Abdullah wanted as few witnesses to the hostilities as possible. His family had made a big mistake paying what amounted to protection money to build mosques and schools and contributing to the other pet projects of the radical Wahhabis, and he was sick of them running roughshod over his country. They, not the Royal Family, had set loose upon the world the specter of modern Islamist terrorism and as a result had not only blackened both of Saudi Arabia’s eyes, but those of the Muslim religion at large. For once and for all, the Wahhabis would listen to him and not vice versa.
With all of the different soldiers standing guard, landing at the King Fahad Air Base reminded Harvath of arriving with the president aboard Air Force One at Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland.
The early morning air was cool and markedly different from Riyadh as they descended the Citation X’s stairs. Jillian had worked through the night, analyzing her samples and conferring with the Whitcombs and other USAMRIID personnel back at Fort Detrick. Concurrent with their discussions, teams of FBI and Hazmat agents, warrants in hand, were busy raiding the warehouse of Kaseem Najjar, as well as the cash-heavy businesses owned by every name on the list Chip Reynolds had discovered in Prince Hamal’s Riyadh warehouse. Anything and everything that was suspect was placed into airtight containers and transported back to Fort Detrick for further analysis.
Based on the brain tissue samples from Hannibal’s elite guard, the Whitcombs had been able to confirm what Alan had suspected—rabies was indeed a prime component of the illness, and the elite guard had been inoculated against it. But inoculation against rabies alone only increased resistance to the illness—it didn’t make people one hundred percent immune. This information explained why one of the victims strapped to the ceiling of the Provincial Ministry of Police building in Asalaam—a former veterinarian—was still alive when the Stryker Brigade Combat Team arrived. Another part was still missing from the puzzle.
Hoping to buy time, USAMRIID and the CDC had ordered all first responders to be treated with hyperimmune antirabies serum. The Herculean effort to collect enough doses and have them shipped around the country as quickly as possible was now under way.
In the meantime, Harvath had held a lengthy phone conversation with Gary Lawlor. In the belief that standard rabies vaccine had just bought them more time, Lawlor officially bifurcated Harvath’s assignment. Not only was he to do everything he could to uncover both the source and any possible cure for the illness, but he had been additionally instructed to do whatever was necessary to prevent the assassination of the Wahhabi leadership, which all the political minds back in DC agreed would plunge Saudi Arabia into an all-out revolution.
For years, American military and intelligence strategists had been preparing for the possibility of a coup in Saudi Arabia. If the Royal Family was overthrown, a full-blown military operation, codenamed Sandstorm, would go into immediate effect. The plan called for mobilizing U.S. armed forces to slice the eastern Saudi province of al-Hasa off from the rest of the country and place it under American control, thereby preventing the Wahhabi extremists from occupying the world’s largest proven oil reserves. At this point, though, there was just one problem. The intense summer heat made it nearly impossible to fight in full chem-bio combat gear. Until they were inoculated, neither the U.S. nor any of its allies could fully field enough troops to put Operation Sandstorm into effect.
There was also one other problem. Though it had never been proven and was much debated after the Iraq WMD intelligence fiasco, Washington was well aware that Saudi Arabia had pumped over a billion dollars into Pakistan’s nuclear program. Despite repeated denials by the Saudis, there were many who were willing to stake their careers on their belief that in exchange for their generous contributions to Pakistani scientific advancement, the Saudis received one or more nuclear weapons.
Though Gary Lawlor was reluctant to heap more upon Harvath, he had no choice. Equally as important as getting to the bottom of halting the illness was preventing the Royal House of Saud from losing its grip on power.
Not knowing who might be plotting against the kingdom from the inside, Lawlor was afraid to reach out to anyone in the local diplomatic or intelligence food chain on Harvath’s behalf. It was common knowledge that the office of the Saudi Crown Prince leaked worse than a sieve, so a direct call from the president was out of the question. Finding someone they could trust and who would cooperate with them to get Harvath inside would take time, and time was something they were very quickly running out of. Harvath, though, had an idea and knew someone who might be able to make it happen and make it happen fast—Chip Reynolds.
Coached by Harvath on exactly what to say, Reynolds had played the best card at his disposal. Following Harvath’s script word-for-word, Reynolds contacted one of the few honest men he knew in the Crown Prince’s court—a man he hoped wasn’t involved with any attempts at overthrowing the al-Sauds—and to
ld him that he needed an immediate audience. With the seriousness of the summit looming over them, the advisor was reluctant to even broach the subject with the Crown Prince, but with Harvath signaling for him to keep going, Reynolds pressed on.
If there was one thing the Arabs were good about rewarding, it was loyalty. Reynolds had not only saved the life of a member of the Royal Family, but had also been an excellent head of security for Aramco. If the ex-CIA man really had information about a threat against the Crown Prince’s life, then the advisor had no other choice but to make sure he was heard.
Reynolds hated using a lie to gain access to the prince, but he knew it would be the only way they would get a meeting. Eliciting a promise from the advisor not to mention the plot to anyone but the Crown Prince himself, Reynolds hung up the phone and waited with Harvath for what seemed like an eternity for a response from At’Taif. When the call finally came, Reynolds was told that the Crown Prince was willing to see him and the two witnesses he sought to bring along who had “firsthand” knowledge of the plot.
Now, as the trio was bundled into one of Abdullah’s heavily armored Suburbans and driven toward his summer palace, Harvath prayed not only that Abdullah would believe them, but that he would agree to turn over one of the most highly visible and highly volatile members of the Royal Family.
EIGHTY-EIGHT
S hit,” mumbled Reynolds as the Crown Prince and several other men entered the reception hall.
Based on the pictures Reynolds had pulled from the hidden flash memory drive back at his house, Harvath had been busy studying the face of every SANG soldier in the room and hadn’t paid much attention to the other men on their way in. “What is it?”
“Second guy from the end. That’s Prince Aziz, minister of state intelligence.”
“Faruq’s boss?”
Reynolds nodded his head and was silent until the men approached. “Your Highness, “He said, with a slight bow, reaching out to shake Abdullah’s hand once it was offered. “Thank you for taking time out of your very important schedule to see us on such short notice.”
A courteous smile appeared on the prince’s face and he politely tipped his head.
“With your permission, Your Highness,” continued Reynolds. “I would like to introduce Mr. Scot Harvath and Dr. Jillian Alcott.”
The prince nodded politely at Jillian and then as he extended his hand toward Harvath, said, “You look very familiar to me. Have we met before?”
“Your Highness has a very good memory. I used to be part of President Rutledge’s security detail.”
Abdullah smiled and grasped Harvath’s hand warmly. “I knew it. I never forget a face. Now, “He said as he turned toward Reynolds, “what is this all about?”
“Your Highness,” interrupted Harvath, “you’ll forgive me, but I think we should do this in a private setting with the least amount of people as possible.”
“Understood,” replied Abdullah, who then issued a string of orders to the men standing behind him.
Accompanied only by his defense minister and the minister of intelligence, the Crown Prince showed his visitors into a wood-paneled study.
In customary desert tradition, he asked them if they cared for any refreshments before getting down to business. All three politely declined. “Okay, then,” said Abdullah as he fixed his gaze on Reynolds. “Let’s talk about this plot against my life.”
Once again, Harvath interrupted. “There is no attempt on your life, Your Highness, at least not directly.”
“But Mr. Reynolds said—”
“Exactly what I told him to say.”
The defense minister reached for his radio and said in Arabic, “This is preposterous. This meeting is over.”
“Not so fast,” replied Harvath in perfect Arabic, before switching back to English. “Your Highness, there is a plot to remove you from power, and that is why we’re here. Mr. Reynolds cooperated because he believed he was acting in your best interest.”
Abdullah raised his hand and motioned for his defense minister to stand down. “I’m listening.”
When Harvath had finished explaining, the Crown Prince asked, “Do you have evidence that would support this?”
“Yes we do, Your Highness,” said Jillian as she handed Harvath a manila envelope to give to Abdullah. “Tests are ongoing, but this is a summary of what we’ve been able to gather so far.”
“Which is nothing more than sheer conjecture, from what I have heard,” replied the minister of state intelligence. “I’ll admit, I am not very fond of Faruq, but he has been an unquestionable asset to our organization.”
“And the meeting I witnessed with soldiers of the Royal Land Forces, the National Guard, and known militants?” replied Reynolds.
“For all we know,” said the defense minister, “they were informants. America isn’t the only country that pays for information, you know.”
Reynolds conceded the point. “That’s true, but what about the faked surveillance reports?”
Now it was the intelligence minister’s turn to jump back in. “To tell you the truth, I am more concerned with how you were able to get your hands on classified state information.”
“If that’s what you are more concerned with, then maybe I should be looking for a new minister of intelligence,” interjected Abdullah. “Are you or are you not familiar with the militants Mr. Reynolds is referring to?”
“Of course I am, Your Highness.”
“And is there any truth to what he’s saying about their surveillance reports being falsified?”
“I couldn’t say,” stammered the minister. “I do not personally review such matters.”
“That’s not the answer I expected to hear, Nawaf.”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, I—”
Abdullah held up his hand for the man to be silent. “Where is Faruq now?”
“Your Highness, I do not think it is prudent to discuss state intelliegnece matters in front of—”
“Answer the question,” demanded the Crown Prince.
“Sa’dah.”
“Yemen? With everything that is going on in our country, all the trouble in Riyadh, what is your deputy minister doing in Sa’dah?”
“The trip was planned some time ago, Your Highness.”
“I’m sure it was,” said Abdullah, and he looked at his visitors. “Do you have any further questions for either of these men?”
“Just one,” replied Harvath as he removed the pictures Reynolds had printed at his house. “We have reason to believe these men are going to try to or may have already infiltrated the ranks of your National Guard here at the palace. Their goal is to kill the Wahhabi leadership and make it look like the Royal Family was responsible. Have any of you seen these men since you’ve been here?”
Both the defense and intelligence ministers looked at the photos and then shook their heads.
“I would like to circulate these and have every National Guard member at the palace accounted for,” said Harvath.
“But the meeting is almost over. If things continue going well, we should have a consensus within a matter of hours and the Wahhabi leadership will be on its way home. Don’t you think if these men were going to try something, they would have already done so?” asked the intelligence minister, pressing his luck.
“Do what he asks,” commanded Abdullah as he handed the photos to his ministers and then dismissed them from the room.
After taking a minute to collect his thoughts, the Crown Prince turned back to Harvath and said, “Now that we’re alone, we must discuss the involvement in all of this by Prince Hamal.”
“We know that will be difficult, Your Highness,” said Harvath.
“More difficult than you can imagine,” replied Abdullah wearily. “Prince Hamal is my son.”
EIGHTY-NINE
H amal is your son?” repeated Harvath.
“The result of an indiscretion in my youth of which I certainly am not proud,” said Abdullah, looking away.
<
br /> “While I have been largely successful in keeping his lineage quiet, the boy has been nothing but a source of constant distress for me.”
“You’ll forgive me for asking, Your Highness, but why have you let him live here? Why not banish him? Send him to Europe or America, anywhere but here where he has been making so much trouble for you?” said Reynolds.
“You don’t have children, do you, Mr. Reynolds?” replied the Crown Prince.
Reynolds shook his head.
Abdullah smiled the smile not of an all-powerful ruler but of a father. “If you did, you would understand that I would rather cut off my own arm than to see my son forced from the land of his birth. That’s not to say that I didn’t try. I thought that if he had someone to travel with, another worldly young man, a young man of Arab birth, but of a second cultural influence, he might open up and decide life outside this kingdom was more to his liking.”
Harvath didn’t know why, but suddenly there was that ping from a remote corner of his mind as connection of some sort was made. “Who was this traveling companion you selected for your son, Your Highness?”
“His family was from Abha, a small city in the southern province of Asir. The family’s name was—”
“Alomari,” said Harvath, putting it all together and finishing Abdullah’s sentence for him. “You entrusted your son to the companionship of Khalid Sheik Alomari.”
It was the first time Harvath had ever seen a major head of state lose his composure. “I didn’t know how evil he was. How could I?”
“You are the ruler of the Saudi Arabian Kingdom,” replied Harvath. “You have amazing resources at your disposal. Why didn’t you use them?”
“I did!” he asserted. “I was too embarrassed to air my dirty laundry to my minister, so I asked his second in command to do the checking for me.”
