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NEJD, SAUDI ARABIA (#ulink_64ea246c-4fd4-5c40-a95f-320133e86f8c)
IN PRESS INTERVIEWS IN THE WEST, Prince Khalid bin Mohammed spoke often of his reverence for the desert. He loved nothing more, he said, than to slip anonymously from his palace in Riyadh and venture alone into the Arabian wilderness. There he would establish a crude camp and engage in several days of falconry, fasting, and prayer. He would also contemplate the future of the Kingdom that bore his family’s name. It was during one such sojourn, in the Sarawat Mountains, that he conceived The Way Forward, his ambitious plan to remake the Saudi economy for the post-petroleum age. He claimed to have hit upon the idea of granting women the right to drive while camping in the Empty Quarter. Alone amid the ever-shifting dunes, he was reminded that nothing is permanent, that even in a land like Saudi Arabia change is inevitable.
The truth about KBM’s desert adventures was far different. The tent into which Gabriel and Sarah were shown bore little resemblance to the camel-hair shelters in which Khalid’s Bedouin ancestors had dwelled. It was more like a temporary pavilion. Rich carpets covered the floor, crystal chandeliers burned brightly overhead. The news of the day played out on several large televisions—CNN International, the BBC, CNBC, and, of course, Al Jazeera, the Qatar-based network that Khalid was doing his best to destroy.
Gabriel had anticipated a private meeting with His Royal Highness, but the tent was occupied by KBM’s traveling court—the retinue of aides, functionaries, factotums, groupies, and general hangers-on who accompanied the future king everywhere he went. All wore the same clothing, a white thobe and a red-checkered ghutra held in place by a black agal. There were also several officers in uniform, a reminder that the young, untested prince was waging war on the other side of the Sarawat Mountains in Yemen.
Of the crown prince, however, there was no sign. One of the factotums deposited Gabriel and Sarah in a waiting area. It was furnished with overstuffed couches and chairs, like the lobby of a luxury hotel. Gabriel declined an offer of tea and sweets, but Sarah attempted to eat a honey-drenched Arab pastry while still wearing the abaya.
“How do they do it?”
“They don’t. They eat with other women.”
“I’m the only one—have you noticed? There isn’t another woman in this tent.”
“I’m too busy worrying about which one is planning to kill me.” Gabriel glanced at his wristwatch. “Where the hell is he?”
“Welcome to KBM time. It’s an hour and twenty minutes later than the rest of the world.”
“I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“He’s testing you.”
“He shouldn’t.”
“What are you going to do? Leave?”
Gabriel ran his palm over the silken fabric of the couch. “It’s not so crude, is it?”
“You didn’t really believe all that?”
“Of course not. I’m just wondering why he bothered to say it at all.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because men who tell one lie usually tell others.”
A sudden commotion erupted among the white-robed courtiers as Crown Prince Khalid bin Mohammed entered the tent. He was dressed traditionally in a thobe and ghutra, but unlike the other men he also wore a bisht, a brown ceremonial cloak trimmed in gold. He was holding it closed with his left hand. With his right he was pressing a mobile phone to his ear. The same phone, Gabriel assumed, that Unit 8200 had compromised. He could only wonder who else might be listening—the Americans and their partners in the Five Eyes, perhaps even the Russians or the Iranians.
Khalid terminated the call and stared at Gabriel as though astonished to see Israel’s avenging angel in the land of the Prophet. After a moment he crossed the richly carpeted floor, warily. So did four heavily armed bodyguards. Even when surrounded by his closest aides, thought Gabriel, KBM feared for his life.
“Director Allon.” The Saudi did not offer his hand, which was still clutching the phone. “It was good of you to come on such short notice.”
Gabriel nodded once but said nothing.
Khalid looked at Sarah. “Are you under there somewhere, Miss Bancroft?”
The black mound moved in the affirmative.
“Please remove your abaya.”
Sarah lifted the veil from her face and draped it over her head like a scarf, leaving a portion of her hair visible.
“Much better.” It was obvious that Khalid’s bodyguards did not agree. They quickly averted their eyes and fixed them coldly on Gabriel. “You must forgive my security men, Director Allon. They’re not accustomed to seeing Israelis on Saudi soil, especially one with a reputation like yours.”
“And what’s that?”
Khalid’s smile was brief and insincere. “I hope your flight was pleasant.”
“Quite.”
“And the drive wasn’t too arduous?”
“Not at all.”
“Something to eat or drink? You must be famished.”
“Actually, I would prefer to—”
“So would I, Director Allon. But I am bound by the traditions of the desert to show hospitality toward a visitor to my camp. Even if the visitor was once my enemy.”
“Sometimes,” said Gabriel, “the only person you can trust is your enemy.”
“Can I trust you?”
“I’m not sure you have much of a choice.” Gabriel glanced at the bodyguards. “Tell them to take a walk, they’re making me nervous. And give them that phone of yours. You never know who might be listening.”
“My experts tell me it’s totally secure.”
“Humor me, Khalid.”
The crown prince handed the phone to one of the bodyguards, and all four withdrew. “I assume Sarah told you why I wanted to see you.”
“She didn’t have to.”
“You knew?”
Gabriel nodded. “Has there been any contact from the kidnappers?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“How much are they asking for?”
“If only it were that simple. The House of Saud is worth somewhere in the neighborhood of a trillion and a half dollars. Money is not the issue.”
“If they don’t want money, what do they want?”
“Something I can’t possibly give them. Which is why I need you to find her.”
11 (#ulink_fd8fa705-6eea-5add-8b5c-9dcd88fe51b5)
NEJD, SAUDI ARABIA (#ulink_fd8fa705-6eea-5add-8b5c-9dcd88fe51b5)
THE RANSOM NOTE WAS SEVEN lines in length and rendered in English. It was accurately spelled and properly punctuated, with none of the awkward wording associated with translation software. It stated that His Royal Highness Prince Khalid bin Mohammed had ten days to abdicate and thus relinquish his claim to the throne of Saudi Arabia. Otherwise, his daughter, Princess Reema, would be put to death. The note did not specify the manner of her execution, or whether it would be in accordance with Islamic law. In fact, there were no religious references at all, and none of the rhetorical flourishes common in communications from terrorist groups. On the whole, thought Gabriel, the tone was rather businesslike.
“When did you receive it?”
“Three days after Reema was taken. Long enough for the damage to be done. Unlike my father and his brothers, I have only one wife. Unfortunately, she cannot have another child. Reema is all we have.”
“Did you show it to the French?”
“No. I called you.”
They had left the encampment and were walking in the bed of a wadi, with Sarah between them and the bodyguards following. The stars were incandescent, the moon shone like a torch. Khalid was fussing with his bisht, a habit of Saudi men. In his native dress he looked at home in the emptiness of the desert. Gabriel’s Western suit and oxford shoes gave him the appearance of the interloper.
“How was the note delivered?”
“By courier.”
“Where?”
Khalid hesitated. “To our consulate in Istanbul.”
Gabriel’s eyes were on the rocky earth. He looked up sharply. “Istanbul?”
Khalid nodded.
“It sounds to me as though the kidnappers were trying to send you a message.”
“What sort of message?”
“Maybe they’re trying to punish you for killing Omar Nawwaf and chopping his body into pieces that could fit inside carry-on luggage.”
“It’s rather ironic, don’t you think? The great Gabriel Allon moralizing about a little wet work.”
“We engage in targeted killing operations against known terrorists and other threats to our national security, many of them funded and supported by elements from your country. But we don’t kill people who write nasty things about our prime minister. If that were the case, we’d be doing nothing else.”
“Omar Nawwaf is none of your concern.”
“Neither is your daughter. But you’ve asked me to find her, and I need to know whether there might be a link between her disappearance and Nawwaf’s murder.”
Khalid appeared to consider the question carefully. “I doubt it. The Saudi dissident community doesn’t have the capability to carry out something like this.”
“Your intelligence services must have a suspect.”
“The Iranians are at the top of their list.”
The default Saudi position, thought Gabriel. Blame everything on the Shiite heretics of Iran. Still, he did not dismiss the theory out of hand. The Iranians viewed Khalid as a primary threat to their regional ambitions, second only to Gabriel himself.
“Who else?” he asked.
“The Qataris. They loathe me.”
“With good reason.”
“And the jihadis,” said Khalid. “The hard-liners inside the Saudi religious community are furious at me for the things I’ve said about radical Islam and the Muslim Brotherhood. They also don’t like the fact I’ve allowed women to drive and attend sporting events. The threat level against me inside the Kingdom is very high.”
“I doubt that ransom note was written by a jihadist.”
“For now, those are our only suspects.”
“The Iranians, the Qataris, and the ulema? Come now, Khalid. You can do better than that. What about all the relatives you pushed aside to become crown prince? Or the one hundred prominent Saudis and members of the royal family you locked away in the Ritz-Carlton? Please remind me how much you managed to extort from them before letting them leave. The figure slips my mind.”
“It was one hundred billion dollars.”
“And how much of it ended up in your pocket?”
“The money was placed in the treasury.”
“Which is your pocket by another name.”
“L’état, c’est moi,” said Khalid. I am the state.
“But some of the men you fleeced are still very rich. Rich enough to hire a team of professional operatives to kidnap your daughter. They knew they could never get to you, not when you’re surrounded day and night by an army of bodyguards. But Reema was another story.” Greeted by silence, Gabriel asked, “Have I left anyone out?”
“My father’s second wife. She opposed changing the line of succession. I placed her under house arrest.”
“Every Jewish boy’s dream.” The air was suddenly very cold. Gabriel turned up the collar of his suit jacket. “Why did you send Reema to school in Switzerland? Why not England, where you were educated?”
“The United Kingdom was my first choice, I must admit, but the director-general of MI5 couldn’t guarantee Reema’s security. The Swiss were much more accommodating. The headmaster at the school agreed to protect Reema’s identity, and the Swiss security service kept an eye on her from afar.”
“That was very generous of them.”
“Generosity had nothing to do with it. I paid the government a great deal of money to cover the additional costs of Reema’s security. They’re good hoteliers, the Swiss, and discreet. In my experience, it comes naturally to them.”
“And what about the French? Did they know Reema was spending weekends at that ridiculous château of yours in the Haute-Savoie?” Gabriel lifted his gaze briefly to the stars. “I can’t remember how much you spent on that place. Almost as much as you paid for that Leonardo.”
Khalid ignored the remark. “I might have mentioned it to the president, but I made no request of the French government for security. Once Reema’s motorcade crossed the border, my bodyguards were responsible for her protection.”
“That was a mistake on your part.”
“In retrospect,” agreed Khalid. “The people who kidnapped my daughter were quite professional. The question is, for whom were they working?”
“You’ve managed to make a lot of enemies in a short period of time.”
“We have that in common, you and I.”
“My enemies are in Moscow and Tehran. Yours are much closer. Which is why I want nothing to do with this. Show the demand note to the French, give them everything you have. They’re good,” said Gabriel. “I should know. Thanks to Saudi ideology and Saudi money, I’ve been forced to work closely with them on a number of counterterrorism operations.”
