by I A Thompson
“That’s a relief,” Treadwell sighed as his facial expression visibly relaxed. “Hopefully, we’ll hear from Zach and Kamal soon.”
“Is there any word yet on who is responsible for this?” Hernandez asked.
“Word on the street is ISIS, but neither they nor any other organization has made an official claim yet,” Tucker answered.
“Why ISIS? Aren’t the ultraorthodox ways of the Kingdom right up their alley?” Hernandez looked surprised.
“Oh sure,” Tucker nodded. “But that’s more than offset by the cozy relationship of the Saudi government with Western allies, namely the U.S. and ISIS doesn’t take kindly to that. Truth be told, they don’t take kindly to anything and anyone not bowing down to them.”
“And let’s not forget that there is a laundry list of countries with an axe to grind when it comes to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Iran, Iraq, Libya, Syria, the Houthis in Yemen, and the Hezbollah in Lebanon, just to name a few.” Treadwell didn’t need a world map to know who the regional players were.
“But you don’t think this was the act of another country?” Hernandez asked.
Treadwell shook his head. “No, I don’t. It would be a completely unprecedented move for any government agency or affiliate organization, no matter what country they are from. Striking a big civilian target like this is a one-way ticket to the top of the social pariah list. No, this has Al-Nusra, Khorasan or Ansar Al-Shari’a, basically the remnants of Al-Qaeda, or ISIS written all over it. Back in the early days of the war on terror, I would have put my money on Al-Qaeda, but they’re not what they used to be. Although one of Bin Laden’s off-spring is trying to pull what’s left of the old network back together, so I wouldn’t completely rule them out just yet. That leaves ISIS as the only other viable option in the immediate neighborhood.”
Hernandez frowned. “In other words, you don’t believe that ISIS is defeated and on the run?”
Al Tucker laughed. A bitter laugh. “No man, that’s political propaganda. These fuckers are alive and well. They’re like a metastasized cancer. Just because we cut out a big chunk, doesn’t mean the little pockets we couldn’t get to won’t grow into something big enough to kill you.”
Treadwell reached for the panel that controlled the video equipment. “Al, please let us know as soon as you get word about Zach and Kamal. In the meantime, Cliff and I will need to fill in our chains of command. Be well.”
He hung up and turned to Hernandez. “Al is a good man. If anyone can work the local wires to get us information, it’s him. But to be honest, I would feel much better if you or I were on the ground in Riyadh. Any chance your boss will let you go? I can tell you, as much as I want to, there is no way the DNI or CIA Director will allow me to hop on a plane and fly over there. It would simply raise too many questions.”
“I think I can justify it. It’s my task force after all. And I would like to link up with Hamid Rahal, my counterpart in Riyadh. I’ll keep you posted on any news.” Hernandez got up, straightened his jacket and left.
Traffic on George Washington Memorial Parkway was heavy this time of the day. It gave him time to put his thoughts together and come up with a game plan before getting back to his own office.
No good would come from informing the other ‘Identity’ team members of Zach’s and Regina’s situation. There was nothing they could do, and it would only distract them from their own assignments.
This damned attack could not have come at a worse time. With the intense international spotlight an event like this inevitably brought with it, Omar Salib and his cohorts would undoubtedly lay low and disappear in the shadows for a good long while.
For a split second, Hernandez wondered if Salib could be involved, but then discarded the thought as too farfetched. Men like Salib benefited from unrest and uncertainty. But in his case, it would likely be very bad for business if the royal family was challenged or put out of power. He had hitched his wagon to theirs for better or worse.
Right about now he sorely missed Regina’s analytical abilities and tools to help sift through the myriad of angles the situation warranted. While he was certain the wheels of the analytical engine at Langley were already shoving into overdrive, he couldn’t be sure he’d get all the information he needed from them.
“That seals the deal,” he said to himself as he pulled into the underground parking structure at the Interpol office. “I’m going to Riyadh, come hell or high water.”
It turned out to be less of an uphill battle than he had anticipated. Less than ten minutes into his phone call with the Deputy Attorney General, he not only had the permission for his trip, the Deputy AG also authorized him to travel on a DOJ chartered Gulfstream jet.
“Let’s make sure you can get out of whatever trouble you find over there as fast or faster than you got into it,” the Deputy AG said before he hung up.
50
Regina couldn’t understand the voices that woke her up. A man and a woman. She wished they’d shut up. Her head hurt like she had partied all weekend. She slowly opened her eyes to a white ceiling and cream-colored walls that she didn’t recognize.
A vaguely familiar looking face appeared; a man in a white doctor’s coat, looking down on her. “Miss Livingston, how are you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a dump truck.” She tried to sit up.
“I’ll help you.” A hijab-wearing nurse moved into her field of vision and pushed a button on the remote next to Regina’s arm. The back of the bed moved into a more upright position.
Regina looked around. The room was spacious and comfortable, befitting an upscale hotel, except for the hospital bed. “Where am I?”
“You are at Dallah Hospital. I’m Doctor Haydar Khan. My son Reza brought you here. You were injured in the attack on the Burj Najjar. Some lacerations that needed stitches and a concussion, which is why we’ve kept you until your sponsor could pick you up. They are waiting outside with my son.”
“Can they come in?” More than anything, Regina wanted to see Reza and find out what happened.
“Of course, if you feel well enough to see them.”
“I think so.”
Doctor Khan motioned the nurse to get Regina’s visitors.
Five minutes later, followed by Samir and Reza, a tall, bleach-blonde woman in her late forties sashayed into the room, instantaneously filling it with the scent of an expensive perfume whose name Regina couldn’t remember. “Where is our patient?” she asked with a broad smile and thick Texas accent.
She sat down on Regina’s bed without asking permission and grabbed her hand. “Hello darling, I’m Meagen Tucker, Al’s wife. Once we get you out of this bed and dressed, I’ll take you home. You’ll be our guest until the good doctor here says it’s safe for you to fly back to the States.”
Regina managed a half-hearted smile. As comforting as it was to know she had someone who would take care of her, the last thing she wanted was to be trapped with a well-meaning stranger.
She turned her gaze to Reza. “What happened? I remember we were getting ready to make our way to the embassy and then… nothing.”
“You fainted. One moment you were standing, talking to me, the next, you literally collapsed into my arms. I was worried that you may be hurt worse than we had thought. I thought the safest approach would be to take you to the hospital, in case you had a skull fracture or something like that.”
“Is there any news on Zach and Kamal?”
“Nothing yet.” Samir shook his head. “The authorities expect hundreds of casualties, if not a few thousand. According to the spokesperson for Eaton Hotels who owns the Burj Najjar, they had just shy of three thousand customers checked in and four and a half thousand employees and contractors scheduled to perform some type of work that day. Add visitors to that and you have a worst-case scenario of about eight thousand casualties.”
“Given that we saw at least a few hundred people in the triage area where we were, it’s safe to say, the real number will be lower,�
� Reza added. “But right now, nobody wants to speculate on how much lower.”
“You will be pleased to know that we’ve got in touch with the emergency contacts you provided on the paperwork required to travel to the KSA. I was asked to pass along the message that your uncle Cliff is on his way to Riyadh to safely escort you home.” Samir smiled at her.
Regina acknowledged the information with a nod. “Thank you.” Uncle Cliff. That was a good one. She had no doubt Hernandez wanted to see firsthand what kind of damage control to their mission was needed.
Her eyes filled with tears when realization set in that she could have died in this desert city without her parents even knowing she was out of the country. She wondered what kind of bullshit story the government would have come up with to explain her death, or Zach’s for that matter.
“There, there.” Meagen patted her arm. “Everything will be alright. Don’t you worry. Soon, this will be nothing but a bad memory.”
Regina wanted to scream that nothing was going to be alright and that Meagen needed to pull her head out of the sand and face reality, but what good would that have done? The woman was doing her best to comfort her the only way she knew how.
“Looks like you’re in good hands, Miss Livingston,” Dr. Khan said as he was signing forms on a clipboard. “I’m releasing you into Mrs. Tucker’s care. No strenuous activities for the next two weeks, and please follow up with your primary care physician in the States to make sure there are no long-term effects from your head trauma. I wish you all the best.”
He turned to his son. “Come, Reza, there is nothing more you can do here.”
“Give me a moment. Can I borrow your pen, please?” Reza stepped closer to the bed, despite his father’s disapproving look. He took a business card out of his wallet, scribbled on the back and handed it to Regina. “Call me when you get home. I want to know you’re okay. And I’m sure Yasmin would like to know too, once she hears what happened to you.”
Regina smiled and took the card. “Thank you for everything, Reza. You went above and beyond what anyone could expect.”
Meagen turned to Samir. “Why don’t you step out for a moment too? I’ll help Regina get ready.”
Once the men left the room, she reached for a shopping bag and handed it to Regina. “I got you a change of clothes. I figured you probably wouldn’t want to wear the same stuff you wore when you came here.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Regina pulled out a set of sports underwear, leggings, a loose-fitting tunic, and the ever-present abaya, hijab and niqab pairing.
“Apologies in advance if they’re not the right size,” Meagen grinned. “Samir’s description was a tad too vague to be helpful, but at least he got your height right. And one of the blessings of the local dress code is that it doesn’t matter much what you wear beneath, right?”
That was certainly true, and an added benefit was that Regina didn’t have to put on a brave face on their way to the Tuckers’ home. She politely nodded here and there as Meagen made small talk, but for the most part, she tuned her out until they reached Ishbilia, the expat compound where the Tuckers lived.
Apart from the distinctly different architectural style, the upscale neighborhood could have been anywhere in the desert South West of the U.S. Children were playing in a large outdoor playground, women of various ages were speed walking on sidewalks framed by lush greenery and every once in a while, they passed a jogger. No hijabs or niqabs anywhere. It was a strange clash with the world outside of the compound walls. Regina tried to imagine what the water bill for this tropical haven would look like on a monthly basis. Horrendously high, no doubt.
The Tuckers’ villa was spacious, with marble floors and a pool in the back yard, surrounded by a tall privacy wall. “Typically, a household like ours would have a maid, but I simply can’t stand the thought of having someone who’s not family constantly being in our business.” Meagen realized how uninviting her statement sounded and added, “Of course, guests are always welcome.”
51
Two hours into their flight home, Cliff Hernandez finally got Regina to stop staring at the clouds beneath their aircraft. The heavy Gulfstream jet quietly cut through the air at 37,000 feet above the ground. It was equipped with all the necessities of a flying executive office and time was of the essence. For the first time since they got on board, she began to pay attention to her surroundings.
“Any thoughts on what ISIS is really getting out of attacking a luxury hotel in a country that could be considered at the very least sympathetic to their cause?” he asked.
The organization had officially claimed responsibility the previous evening, just as the Tuckers and their guests sat down for dinner. Hernandez had arrived in Riyadh only a short time prior, keeping the conversation superficial while they discussed the news.
“Hard to tell. For one, we need to still figure out how this would constitute a blow against capitalist forces trying to enslave the Muslim world, as they touted. Any way we can access the hotel’s guest and employee lists?”
Hernandez pushed a few buttons on the remote and the oversized TV screen on the wall switched from displaying their flight path to a computer login screen. “All yours.” He pushed a wireless keyboard and mouse in her direction. “Eaton Hotels provided both to the authorities and I’ve obtained a copy for our purposes. It’s in the KSA folder on ‘Identity’s OneDrive.”
Regina logged into her account and pulled up the two files. “I’ll have to run this through analysis. I doubt that names and passport information alone will give us anything useable beyond speculations. Anything specific you want me to look for?”
“Let’s start with the usual suspects and see if that gives us anything. Religion, politics, money, weapons, hot commodities like diamonds, oil and the likes.”
“10-4.” She started typing as he watched CP’s algorithms go to work. Within minutes they had three potential target groups. Two tourist groups; one from China, the other from Germany, and a cluster of government employees from a dozen different countries.
“I don’t think the tourists would classify as significant factors in capitalism’s quest for dominance over Islam,” Regina concluded. “At best, they are a nuisance and offensive to the radical fanatics; killing them would have no more than symbolic value. This third group, however, is worth looking at. These guys are all representatives of OPEC countries; each individual is a low-level government employee with no negotiating power but seeing them all together makes me think we’re looking at an advance team preparing for an OPEC summit.”
“I don’t recall hearing anything about an upcoming OPEC meeting.” Hernandez frowned and reached for his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found the name he was looking for.
“Hamid?” he asked when the other side picked up. “Have you heard anything about a planned OPEC summit in the region? - No? – No, no particular reason, thanks a bunch.” He hung up and turned back to Regina.
“Hamid Rahal, the director of Riyadh’s Interpol office, is also unaware of an upcoming summit,” he said.
“In other words, the ISIS guys landed a trifecta. Take down a famous luxury hotel, make a statement against mass tourism and disrupt a peaceful, behind the scenes coordination to keep the world’s oil flowing in a mutually beneficial manner. I’d say that’s quite an evolution from their typical MO.” Regina traced the outlines of the keyboard with her right index finger.
“Can you be more specific?”
“As dangerous and despicable as ISIS is in its immediate sphere of influence, aka the territories they’re occupying, or what’s left of them, this level of scheming at the global level was more in Al Qaeda’s wheelhouse during the height of Bin Laden’s power. So, either ISIS is ramping up its game or someone else is calling the shots.”
“Is there any intel at all about ISIS adapting to its new reality and focusing more on decentralized strikes? After all, there is little left of their prized caliphate.”
“
I would need to do some digging. I have a friend in Ops at the CIA who is much more experienced with their inner workings than I am. I could make a call.”
“Let’s hold off on that. We should talk to your boss first before we expand our circle.”
This time it was Regina who frowned. “Monty Richards? I didn’t know he was read in on this?”
Hernandez laughed. “God, no. We’ll go a few echelons higher.” He grabbed the remote and typed in a number.
A few seconds later, DDA Treadwell appeared on the screen. “Cliff, I just got in, you’re lucky you caught me. Miss Livingston, good to see you, how are you holding up?”
“For the most part okay, sir. My head still hurts, and I’m worried about Zach. Not to mention I’m mad as hell, but other than that, alright.”
“I’m sorry I don’t have any good news for the two of you. The authorities in Riyadh are still working the crime scene, but it looks like all survivors have been accounted for at this time. Neither Zach nor Kamal were among them. While we don’t have any forensic proof, we must presume they perished in the blast. I’m very sorry.” Treadwell’s face spoke volumes as he looked at them.
Even though Regina had known all along that she was holding on to hope against the odds, being told that her partner was likely dead still came as a shock. It was like someone had just punched her in the stomach, the physical pain she felt made her double over and brace herself. It took her a few seconds to regain her composure.
“Thank you, John.” Hernandez bent his head slightly, acknowledging the DDAs sentiments. “We need the expertise of someone in the Directorate of Operations. Can you help facilitate that?”
“Sure, who should I ask for?” Treadwell asked.
“Esin Kahraman, sir,” Regina said. “If anyone in the agency knows what ISIS is up to, it’s her.”
“I’ll make the arrangements. I’ll call you both back when I have her here. It may be a few hours though, I have to inform the chain of command first, but rest assured, you have the full support of the agency.” With that, he hung up.
